A/N - So I remembered that I screenshotted a post about this a while ago and totally forgot about it, so it may have already been done but I just couldn't resist.

They call her "The Roommate", which doesn't really seem to sum up Beca in your mind, but technically they aren't wrong - she is your roommate and that is about as much as they know about her from your vlog, so you can't blame them for picking a name and running with it. But that's mostly because she expertly avoids your filming at all times so that she generally appears as a lone leg, or an arm, or that extremely attractive jawline poking through the fridge for a snack.

Somehow they haven't found her on social media, which only adds to the mystery that is Beca Mitchell because those guys are like vultures making a meal from scraps - resourceful and determined. Although now even you don't talk about Beca as anything other than "The Roommate" to them because it's become this kind of game with them trying to guess what her name could be from what she looks like, or how old she is, what her job is and it's funny. You quite enjoy the hypothesizing that's she's the nineteen year old Kate from Michigan, or that she's a ghost too lazy to haunt you but also to lazy to leave. The second seems closer to life for you but you don't comment. You just go with it and Beca begins to exist as nothing more than a myth, a legend.

That is, she did. Until the moment where she walked purposefully into your live stream, swigged straight from your bottle and then rested her forehead on your collarbone with a muttered "my dad is a total ass", and it catches you by surprise. Not because this wasn't a common thing for the two of you because it was – complaining about her dad was a hobby of yours at this point. It's just that she usually had this sixth sense for the camera, and yet, she sat in full view, not even clocking the blinking light until your laptop went on the fritz with the amount of excited "IT'S THE ROOMMATE" messages.

"Chloe." She said slowly as she skimmed her eyes suspiciously over the screen and the subsequent messages of excitement bursting up the side. "Oh fu-"

"Language!" You admonish and she rolls her eyes but shuts her mouth nonetheless. Then you turn to the screen and smile whilst sweeping your arms towards Beca in an exaggerated gesture that only seems to make her chuckle softly at you. "So guys as most of you know this is," you turn to Beca "drum roll please" she complies with a smirk and you smile in return. God she's cute. "The Roommate!"

"The Roommate? I've lost the right to my name and swearing in one night - that's pretty cold, Chlo." She mocks and you almost forget the camera is there as you reach to tickle her before getting your hands batted away with a warning look.

"Waffles." She shouts.

"You can't use the safe word before I even start." That sounds sexual. You know that sounds sexual. Why would you say something that sounds so sexual to all these people on the internet when it isn't even sexual? You should tell them it's not sexual. "I would like to clarify that the safe word is only ever used when tickling, and also means that I get waffles made for me in the morning which is awesome." Beca smiles at you softly for a moment before she seems to realise herself and starts standing up to leave you. You grab her arm quickly and tug her back down with what you hope is a convincing smile. You know she's giving in when she sighs and adjusts her position, only serving to press her body further into yours – not that you're complaining. You would never complain about Beca touching you. You usually revel in the contact she gives you considering you can easily recall a time that she would tense slightly under your hands, mostly because you constantly watch her do it to others.

"You can't leave now or you'll upset the internet." She watches the screen pointedly for a second before conceding.

"Fine, but only if you finally get the crunchy kind of peanut butter this week."

"You drive a hard bargain but I accept your terms." She returns your smile before you turn back to the camera with a practiced grin. You're actually kind of excited. This is going to drive everyone insane and now you don't have to try and think of semi-quality content to talk about for an hour.

"Everyone, this is Beca Mitchell, official roommate and she is going to do a Q&A"

"I should never have agreed to this."

"Come on, Beca, we both know you're dying to tell the world what your favourite kind of ice cream is." She looks vaguely perplexed as to why you've said that until she sees the feed beside your faces and watches a bunch of random questions shoot through one after the other.

"Firstly, why the hell would that be a legitimate question? Secondly, obviously mint choc chip because I'm not a savage like some people in this room who enjoy raspberry ripple." You feign hurt as you clutch dramatically at your chest and wipe a stray tear from your eye.

"Raspberry ripple is a classic, you take that back."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Fine, I'll let you have this one. But make no mistake, Mitchell, once we're off camera I will make you pay for this mistake." She chuckles at your faux seriousness and pushes you gently so that you tumble off your precarious perch on your shared chair. You laugh from the floor before she pulls you back up and points wordlessly for you to pick a new question. "Obviously you want something meatier, so what's your favourite colour?"

"Oh gosh, that's a really hard one but I think I'll have to go with like a sky blue."

"Smart choice, but more importantly, what is the best kind of cheese?"

"Hard hitting content right here…" It continues on like that for a while, the back and forth laughter at each question. Beca pretending to be seriously questioning her answers and you waiting in anticipation to see what she'll say next like you couldn't answer all these questions yourself. It ends with one arm wrapped around Beca and the other blowing a kiss to the screen before you shut it down. It takes all of two seconds of the laptop being shut for Beca's head to be in your lap and your hands to be in her hair. The way she snuggles into your body desperately reminds you of what state she had entered in just under an hour ago.

"How's your dad?" You question softly as you tenderly push her hair behind her ear.

"He doing fine, still telling me that I wasted my intelligence which I totally understand he thinks is best for me and I appreciate the care and all but like, shut up dude, I afford more than my rent and people are starting to ask for me specifically at clubs now. I've finally made it and…"

"And he's too busy asking why you didn't go to med school?" You finish and she nods before you push her up and pull her into a full body hug. "Come on, I recorded Miss USA and there's crunchy peanut butter in the cupboard."

"You already bought it?" She asks excitedly.

"Of course."

"Then load that shit up while I get the spoons, Beale." She jumps up and rushes to the kitchen before you can reply and all you can do is chuckle because she's completely adorable, and nothing like the shut off rock chick you met first day of pre-med.

All you can say is thank god you both got out of that.

You're halfway through a bowl of Lucky Charms when she shuffles out of her bedroom, half asleep and watching her phone curiously like she's woken up with no idea what the device even is anymore.

"Chloe, what's a Bechloe? And why am I being sent thousands of twitter messages about it?" You should have been expecting the question really. You woke up to way too many excited tweets about the thing, and then gifs on tumblr of the two of you just looking at each other (which admittedly did look somewhat shippable, you think), and fanfiction that you didn't dare click on knowing it had been written in the dark hours of night. But you decided to play it cool. Just ease her into the whole thing.

"It's our ship name." You state simply but it does nothing to ease her confusion.

"I don't even know what that is. I just wanted to see what The Rock was up to and now this?"

"It's like Brangelina" That has her head snapping up to you in an instant.

"Like a couple name?" She asks.

"...yeah" She opens her mouth a few times before closing it and opening it again. She seems legitimately confused as to the concept for a moment but then you watch her nod slowly, almost acceptingly, except you can't help but wonder if she means it in the way that she would be happy with it being true, or if she just understands what you're talking about. You find yourself kind of hoping for the first.

"Oh, well that's... they know we're not though?"

"Obviously. People just think it'd be cute." She scoffs.

"Of course it would be cute. It would fit all High School loner and cheerleader fantasies." You laugh at her immediate train of thought before you reply.

"You know I was never a cheerleader." You reprimand and she rolls her eyes just as expected.

"Oh, I'm sorry - loner and acapella singer stereotypes. It's a dream come true."

"Shut up. And you know you were never a loner, I have it on good authority from Stacie that you had girls throwing themselves at you for four years." She shakes her head as she slowly approaches you. Her body is pressing delicately into your side by the time she stops to rest her lips against the shell of your ear. You're not really sure what you expect her to say. Part of you knows your body is preparing for her to say something salacious, something that would usually make Beca blush. Part of you knows your brain just wants her to say something like that, to finally stop this game the two of you have been playing and do something about it. Then there's the more logical part of you that definitely should have expected what she says next.

"That's where you're wrong Beale; I've had bitches yearning since first grade." She goes straight about making waffles then, like she hasn't just got your pulse racing in a matter of seconds.

God, she's incorrigible.

They don't stop. The fan questions and the pleas to get Beca back on your vlog. You don't actually know how you convince her to agree, all you know is that you're setting up the camera, and Beca is setting up various pieces of musical equipment that you have no idea how to use and are kind of scared that she's allowing you to touch with so much faith. She gives you a thumbs up as you finish the final touches to the setting and click the on button.

"Hi guys, I'm Chloe, in case you've never been here before or didn't read my username. And back due to popular demand is my roommate, Beca." You pull her into the shot and she lands with an oof at your side. "So I kinda had no idea what to do with Beca here but being the savior that she is she suggested we all learn how to mix songs. Well, mix songs to a basic level because I've watched her do this by herself before and she does all this complicated stuff and pushes and pulls a bunch of doohickeys to make audible magic and I cannot be doing that." You can feel her laughter reverberating through your body the more you talk until the point where you eventually cut yourself off and she immediately places a serious look on her face.

"Keep going Chlo, you're explaining it perfectly."

"Stop being an ass and show us step one, Becs." She grins cheekily at you as she shoves you over to the decks before softly running her fingers over the gadgets.

"Firstly, these are my babies so please don't be 'two AM Chloe' right now." You gasp at her but then chuckle regardless because she does have a point. That point being that two AM Chloe walks into everything, occasionally breaking a lamp, but doesn't actually realise she's causing more destruction than Godzilla until she wakes up in the morning to the disheveled apartment. Eight AM Chloe hates two AM Chloe because she has to try and buy the exact same lamp she broke in order to replace it before Beca notices she's been at it again. It never works. Beca is like a ninja, like a broken lamp detector. Like a sniffer dog for small pieces of china that you haven't managed to catch in your sweep up. You shove her anyway though because, yes, she is right but it doesn't have to be such a joke - the biggest joke is already the amount of money you have to spend on lamps.

"What did I say two seconds ago?"

"Stop being an ass. Okay then, step one is switching it on." You shove her but she stands her ground. "I'm not being an ass, I have legitimately had people ask me why it's not working and the answer is the plug isn't in the socket and the green light isn't blinking."

"That's…" How can you phrase this that doesn't sound horrible?

"Now I won't say anything on the matter but know that if Chloe here can't think of a nice word to say then those people are total ass wipes. Anyway, we'll do this the basic way and then you guys can build upon that if you want, or just count the amount of times Chloe slaps my arm and tells me off." You roll your eyes at her but smile nonetheless, mostly because you're refraining from slapping her arm and telling her off for saying ass wipes. You were trying to be clean on your channel.

That plan was falling apart one video at a time apparently.

Okay so here's the thing about the next five minutes that pass - you have no idea what Beca says. Somehow you note you're actually following her instructions, you may even be asking a few questions along the way but you pay absolutely no attention. Actually, you pay a lot of attention – not to what you're supposed to be paying attention to, but there is attention being directed somewhere. Namely her eyes and the way they light up as she excitedly tells you all about how she does something with the doodad, and twizzles the thingamajig, and the way she bounces on her feet like a little excited dance the more she gets into the whole thing, and her hands, her nimble, nimble hands pressing into your own. You only actually begin paying attention again when she settles against your back, telling you it's easier if she pretends she's doing it for herself and you love the logic.

That kind of logic you can completely get behind.

It's the same logic that has you turning your head and whispering, "what's next?" against her lips. She doesn't dignify your question with words though; she just propels herself forward and kisses you.

Now, you've thought about kissing Beca for a long time. You think about it a lot. You think about in the shower, when you're buying cereal, when you're going to sleep, in the shower. You think about it a lot in the shower. The point is you've imagined it a hundred times over but you never imagined this. You don't think you possibly could have conjured up the way she'd nibble on your bottom lip until your mouth slipped open and her tongue slid delicately in. Or the soft palm that would dare to sneak beneath your shirt and spread across your stomach, painting patterns in tandem with said tongue. You knew she would drive you crazy, you didn't realise kissing her would make you certifiably insane.

Somehow you actually manage to pull yourself away, allowing your forehead to press into hers as you try (in vain) to catch your breath. The whole dominant thing is making your blood vibrate because she's always so timid about these things and right now all you can see is the fire in her eyes.

"You know we'll have to erase thing whole thing now."

"Probably fine since you weren't listening at all." You don't even blush. No point in lying now anyway, right? You got exactly what you wanted.

"It's not my fault you get all passionate and hot about music. The next one will have to be something funny, something I can't make sexual." She laughs when you finish, claiming there's nothing on Earth that you couldn't somehow make sexual. You settle on the accent challenge because watching her butcher impressions should be endearing. It should be the safe zone. Except it turns out Beca's English accent is like insane and it would've definitely been weirder if you hadn't of thought it hot, and then got distracted and started kissing her again.

And then, well, once you'd started kissing her, it would have been weird for you not to get carried away and ask her to do it again and again until she was screaming you're name in it.

Wouldn't it? It totally would.

You were just being sensible.