"Let me guess. They get the shark."
"I'm not gonna spoil it for you. My lips are sealed, you'll just have to watch it yourself."
"Right. They totally get the shark. Why did I not see that coming?"
Beca and Jesse walk under the blanket of darkness as the sounds from the mixer fade off the farther they walk, with Jesse leading the way, hands in his pockets.
To say that he really likes this, walking with her under the moonlight, would be more than a slight understatement. He may not show it, but being away from her had been like being deprived of water. Granted, Beca is more like lemon concentrate than water, but that's besides the point.
"Do not mock the clichéd ending of one of Spielberg's masterpieces."
"Spielberg? What's that?"
She never fails to find ways to shock him, especially when she spews out her classic one-liners. In the face of her blatant ignorance of his favorite cinematic icons, it's those little details about her that are so ridiculous, so absurd, that really get to him. Like how, right now, she's wearing kitten heels. Which she never does. But she doesn't take his arm, either. Which she used to do. That night in her dorm had changed the dynamics of their relationship, and he knows it's his fault. So he walks on, avoiding the overwhelming urge to stare at her because she is so beautiful tonight, grateful of the fact that, despite all the shit, they are still friends.
"I can't believe I'm friends with you," he says, and he means it.
"Yeah, well, I'll need a letter of resignation when you decide I'm not worth it anymore."
He has to bite his tongue, remind himself not to do anything creepy or show more than he should. The last thing he wants to do after the events of last week would be to come across as hopelessly devoted to her. Which he is. (Again, that's besides the point.)
"I'll keep that in mind," he answers instead, walking backwards to face her. He leads the way, giddy and a little skippy (Beca calls it his "shitballs crazy" mode) and after a few more minutes, they finally reach their destination.
"Oh. Wow. This is... just..."
Beca stands awkwardly, hands crossed in front of her from the chill of the night air, while Jesse walks towards the station, the same workplace that they see almost everyday, together, like, all the time. For all the crazy ideas that Jesse has had, this has to be the one thing that is truly, truly stupid. Especially because he had promised a night of "wild debauchery", and Beca already had incredibly low expectations. But really, breaking into the station? Really?
"...so bad," she says, moving next to him as he takes out his phone and places it in his mouth as a flashlight. His hand flies to hair ("Dude, what are you-") and he takes out two of her hairpins. Beca looks absolutely disgusted as he crouches a bit to try to pick the lock. Poor Jesse. So deprived of excitement in his life.
"If this is your idea of a wild night out, I feel really sorry for you."
"Urfst hmoo hfait," he answers, the phone in his mouth hindering his speech capabilities.
"This is... so badass, I've got to hand it to you. It's almost like drawing dicks in the bathroom. Almost."
"Hfrtervher, hfreca."
"Congratulations for once again lowering my standard for lame. You are constantly setting records."
"Hfrour shfelcome."
Beca huffs and looks around, because they really do look like thieves in the night, and god forbid if they actually got caught; no way can they sweet-talk their way out of what Jesse is so obviously doing.
She rolls her eyes, not realizing how this really stupid thing is actually amusing her. Jesse's brows are furrowed in intense concentration in actual effort to try to pick a lock with her hairpins. Hairpins, for gods sakes. She gives him a few more minutes.
"Have you ever actually done this before?"
When he doesn't answer, she's even more amused.
"Dude..."
He looks up at her, eyes wide and a little peeved she's distracting him from living his dream to be Nick Cage in National Treasure. What?
She just shakes her head and puts on her famous What the Fuck face like it's all she really needs to say.
"Oh my god," she finally says. She practically jerks his arm out its socket as she leads them to behind the building.
"Hmpphere are you taking me?" he says, spitting out his phone. She leads them to the back door, where she (lo and behold) breaks glass with her elbow and unlocks the knob in one swift movement...
Jesse's open mouth can fit a fist.
"You coming, nerd?" she calls, already going inside.
"It's really too bad I don't have my black light on me," she says, going over to the desk. The booth is on a pre-queued list, and the mellow strains of The Script's Science and Faith is playing in their background.
She's sits on the No-Sex-Desk (a habit she's acquired from him) and goes through a few albums, while he wanders around the empty station...
This is definitely not their station anymore. Night had changed it into a different entity altogether, and Jesse was right to choose here, of all places. The blue of the screens from inside the booth mixes with the subtle yellows of a few lights open. The place is unrecognizable. Surreal, even.
"So, what now?" Beca asks, setting aside the soundtrack for Say Anything. Jesse emerges from behind one of the shelves and just shrugs.
"Seriously?" Her eyes are mocking him. "This... is it? This was your grand plan for tonight?"
He joins her on the desk, sitting beside her and he doesn't really have anything else to do but look apologetic and smile the disarming smile she has always loathed and loved.
"Sorry," he starts. "I didn't really think this through. I was hoping for a dead body by the end of the night, but I'm no criminal mastermind. Unlike you." They take a few moments to appreciate this insanely wild and reckless night of shenanigans and other outrageous behavior, sitting in an empty station on a semen-smeared desk.
"This... is actually pretty great," she says, suddenly mindful of how it's nice to have the whole place alone to themselves. It's like being on a different plane of existence, where all the fucking shitty cares in her world don't exist, and it's him and her. Just them.
They let the silence cover them and it's both scary and amazing to Beca how this feels so, completely... fine. With the gentle hum of Kris Allen's voice tying the echoes of their breaths together, it occurs to her that it's a strange phenomenon, how she feels right now. There is no silence that can ever love her back as much as she loves this one, in this moment. With Jesse. Sitting together, side by side, the one person that she could actually almost admit to caring for...
With the harshness of nothing in the still, cold air, Jesse is terrified that his heart rate would pump loud enough for Beca to hear, to realize just how deep a shit he is actually in. It was never his plan to be here. Truth be told, he had no plans whatsoever into the night. But, Beca...
That she had showed up at the party was the most pleasant surprise, and he had almost lost concentration over his lyrics, mind going blank at her little black dress. But since she had put some effort into showing how she doesn't hate him, he is more than eager not to disappoint.
She has a way of making and breaking him with her eyes and her frowns and the sharp cuts of her words, and yes, he is attracted. So desperately, irrevocable attracted to the woman who would barely give him the time of day. It's the cliché of clichés, really, and he should know better. It is at this exact moment that it hits him: he is falling. He's falling hard and fast, no safety net, no parachutes. Just him and her gravity. And if her actions last week are any indication, this cliché, this thing of theirs might not end the way he was hoping it to. He needs to save himself...
"Beca..." he starts. They need to talk about last week. He needs clarity, goddamnit. He knows where they stand. But he needs to hear it from her.
"Hey," she cuts him off, "is it okay if we don't talk?" She turns to look at him, really look at him.
And there she is.
This is Beca. For the briefest and most sacred of moments, she has her walls down to their lowest, and her eyes tell him all he needs to realize how hopeless he is, how pathetic. She looks at him as though to say everything he has ever wanted to hear from her, and everything he had considered impossible to hear from her, communicated through her eyes, now empty of any mockery or sarcasm or bitterness, or any of her defense mechanisms. This is the first he's ever seen her. This is her, telling him that he doesn't need to say anything, and that she doesn't need to hear it. This is her, telling him in the only way she can, that even if she didn't kiss him back, and even if she never will, this... whatever this is, is theirs. And no one else's.
"Okay." A single word can only hold so much...
Okay. You've taken me. I give up. I don't know what you've done, but I don't think I've got a choice now. I never expected this, never wanted this. Hell, didn't really think about it, but you surprised me. Oh god, how you surprised me.
You hold back like every smile costs you so much. And it's a pain in the ass to have to keep working so damn hard for those little moments, but it's worth it, because every time, it's like you've given me a gift. Because it is. It's a gift to know that, even when no one else is trying to make you smile as much as I'm trying right now, and every moment, it happens. You smile. You've always been worth it. And fuck if I know how you do it, I know I'm pathetic. I do. But I don't care anymore. I live for your smiles, even if they're half-smiles. I live for your insults and your impossible wit. I live for the breaks in your armor, because I know someone has to. The worst thing I can think of is for you to live your life without having someone to tear your walls down. I can't live with that thought. There is no way.
So, okay. I know you don't kiss me. I know this isn't something that I can, or want to, hope to develop into something more. I know we're not, in any way, together, in any sense. But that doesn't mean I can't want you to be happy. God, if only you knew. At the end of day, every day, I die a hero knowing that I made you smile. Or smirk. Either one, I'll take what I can get.
I don't need your kiss, Beca. I just need you. I need to know... even if in the slightest, you hold back, when I try. I need to know that it's working, that when I try, it's a step towards making you okay. Because I just want you to be okay. I need you to be okay. To see your eyes like this, that's all I can ever hope for.
"Okay," he says again, swallowing the sudden weight in his chest with the implications of everything that had just gone unsaid.
.:.
Those little memories are what makes waking up painful for him, back at home, spending spring break in the aftermath of the biggest mistake of his life. He had forcibly placed himself where she had never wanted him to be: there for her. And, really, he should have known better. His poor aca-heart can only take so much.
And to think, it had only taken her two sentences.
Eventually, he tells himself. Give it time. With a little practice, he'll be able to salvage what's left of himself after the desolation she had left in her wake. How she had made it clear, on more than one occasion, that she does not want him, in any form or way, is enough. What they had was an illusion that his lovesick heart had deceived itself into believing. He is done with being the hopeless romantic, and he is done with feeling sorry for falling for her and breaking his everything. He is done with the idea that this cliché could work.
He's done.
AN:
Music: The Script - Science and Faith; Adele - To Make You Feel My Love (as covered by Kris Allen)
Movies: National Treasure (2004), Jaws (1975), Say Anything (1989)
Coming soon: Beca and Benji...
