A/N: Seeing as how I still have quite a few things in my life to do and don't currently have the time to sit down and write the next chapter of BM, here's the next chapter of the mood-fic that I've been trying to get done…

Thank you all so much for understanding and for your patience, and I'll get to BM, AoA, and part two of Give Me a Shot as soon as I can.

Also, I don't know if I have said this before or not, but this is a mood-fic, so each chapter is a different mood and don't necessarily follow a specific/consecutive timeline, meaning if some chapters have Chloe pining for Beca and others have them being "couple-like," it's just cuz I believe that that dynamic is the best one for that particular "mood."

With that being said, on with the show, and don't be hesitant to let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Pitch Perfect universe.

Rose/Sleepy

Beca wakes to the quiet click of the bedroom door next door and to the feel of a hand sliding across the bare expanse of her stomach. She blinks, blearily, squinting against the morning light shining through the curtains of her bedroom window, and is just about to stretch when the hand on her stomach moves up and brushes against the underside of her breasts.

Jolting at the sudden sensation, Beca's brain finally kicks into gear, and she quickly glances down the opening of the sheets covering her chest to see a movement under the thin material of her shirt. Even as she stares, trying to figure out what and how exactly the hand is doing/got there, it shifts once again—this time tracing against the line of her ribs—and a waft of faint floral shampoo fills her nose.

Chloe.

Beca lets out a shaky breath, and closes her eyes as she thinks back to the day before, to the events that had led to her redheaded best friend cuddling up to her in her bed in her room in Bella House early Monday morning.

Yesterday afternoon had come with a bright and heated sun, and combined with the excitement and sadness of Aubrey leaving the Bellas and moving out to do whatever she needed to do to move on with her life, the Bellas had suggested that they spend the day going to the beach and sending their former captain out with a last hurrah, and so Beca and Chloe had put on their bathing suits and agreed, and went out with the rest of the Bellas to spend the day and early last evening doing just that.

Obviously, Beca had avoided Chloe like the plague—since she is harboring a pathetic and hopeless crush and she had looked so damn delectable in her baby blue bikini set and wind swept red hair—and had absolutely refused to help her with the sunscreen on her back and shoulders when Chloe asked, not even five minutes in and under the scorching glare of the sun.

(Beca had taken great pride in doing so, especially when Chloe had doled out her signature puppy eyes and quivering pout.)

Apparently, Chloe had not asked anyone else to do it for her when Beca had said no, and had continued on sunbathing and swimming in the water, acting as if she did have the protection of the reflective product on her fair and sunburn prone skin.

(Beca had felt bad for refusing then, but was still proud of herself for not falling into the trap of rubbing her hands all over the silky expanse of her best friend's body.)

Then, later that evening, when Chloe had winced as she sat down in the booth of the restaurant that they all had picked out for dinner, and Aubrey had noticed and furrowed her brows in worry, Beca had mentally slapped herself in the sudden realization that because of her flat out opposition to heed Chloe's request and Chloe's weird but stubborn unwillingness to go to one of the other Bellas for help, her back had been completely vulnerable under the harsh light of the sun, and is now (then) likely sunburnt and the reason for her gesture of pain as she laid gingerly back onto the seat of the booth.

(Her pride had sizzled out then, like a shake of a fire on a matchstick, and guilt had become a fast replacement, seizing her chest and clogging her throat, and Beca had alternated between hanging her head in shame—concentrating on digging into her food—and casting short but hopefully apologetic glances over to the giggling but inconspicuously flinching woman on her right.)

So, late last night, when it came time for everyone to go to bed and prepare for their classes the next day, Beca had not hesitated for even a second when Chloe knocked on her door and bit her lip and practically begged to sleep in her room—on the excuse that she was sad that Aubrey is now going to be miles away and she needs someone to act as a distraction for her impending emotions—and had nodded and pulled the sheets aside and scooted when Chloe shut the door and meekly made her way over.

(Beca had felt so sorry then, and would have done literally anything Chloe wanted her to do, even if that included her pushing aside her feelings and panic and allowing her to be a cuddle buddy for her best friend/crush/love of her life.)

So now—now that it's morning and the events of the day before have fully manifested into Chloe dozing against her back and Beca discovering that the redhead is particularly handsy even at the early hours of the day—Beca is reluctant but anxious to get up, torn between not wanting to wake Chloe up with her activities and not wanting to allow herself to indulge in the feeling of having Chloe's hands wander further, and she watches with bated breath and pounding pulse, as the lump of Chloe's hand drifts from her ribs up through the valley of her bare chest.

Beca gasps, her arm twitching against her pillow, and then she's suddenly removing Chloe's hand from under her shirt and rolling off the side of her bed, heat rushing into her cheeks and between her legs as she looks frantically around for her dresser and new change of clothes, so she can dart into the bathroom and take a shower and wash off the scent and feeling of Chloe's fingers dancing and gliding across her sensitive skin.

Locating the furniture in which she keeps her clean bras and underwear, Beca tip toes her way over, quickly but silently pulling out what she needs from the top and middle drawers, and runs into her closet to snatch a flannel and a pair of jeans before beelining her way to the bathroom door.

She closes and locks the door behind her, and lays her head briefly against the edge of the sink before stripping and stepping under the cold stream of the shower.

The water patters against the burn of her face, the jitter of her arms, the flutter of her chest; the cold temperature soothing the warm aftermath of Chloe's fingertips sliding on her stomach, and Beca sighs as she lays a hand on the shower wall, absolutely refusing to relieve the tension wounding up the nerves in her body in her sudden desired way when the subject of it is laying just outside the bathroom door.

Timing herself at around five or so-ish minutes, Beca turns off the water and steps out, wrapping a towel tightly around her body and reaching for the materials to brush her teeth and wash her face once she has succeeded in making her way over to the sink and wiping the residue off the accompanying mirror.

Once she is done with everything in her list of her usual morning routine, Beca unwraps the towel and tosses it aside and dresses herself in the clothing that she had hastily put together in the presence of the dozing redhead in her bed. Buttoning the last button on her flannel, she glances into the mirror one last time before gathering up her things and opening the door, dumping the bundle in her arms into the hamper in her room.

"Beca?"

Beca jumps, glancing over her shoulder to the source of the tired and raspy voice, and despite all the chemical reactions still happening throughout her entire being, she still finds it within herself to dole out a soft and gentle smile.

"Hey."

Chloe squints at her, her hair tousled and her back resting against the headboard, looking like she is caught between the haze of sleep and the awareness of consciousness, and she yawns, before scratching a hand under her pajama shirt and mumbling, "Where're you going?"

Beca gulps, eyes taking in the way the early morning light bounces off messy red curls, her feet seemingly magnetized to the beautiful sight right there in her room, and she sits at the edge of the mattress, "I'm going to class, Chlo."

Unfocused blue orbs blink slowly behind half-mast eyelids, and there's a rosy red hue dusting across her face and neck and what Beca could make out of her shoulders and back, and Beca has to lean in to catch her next words, "Why do you have to go?"

She flits her gaze uncertainly and confusedly between Chloe's eyes and feverish disposition, concern suddenly taking hold in her heart, palms pushing into the soft sheets under her hands as she shuffles closer still to her unnaturally bleary and sleepy best friend, "Because I don't want to be behind and risk spending less time with you and the rest of the Bellas."

Chloe shakes her head and reaches for her, burying her face into the crook of Beca's neck, and Beca is shocked at the burning temperature of her skin, "No. Stay, Beca. I don't want you to go."

Beca's hands instinctively leap to tangle in Chloe's hair, and she drags herself further onto the bed when Chloe crawls into her lap and wraps her legs around her waist, her eyes dropping to the slit at the back of Chloe's pajama shirt, and she softly curses at the redness covering the expanse of Chloe's back, the guilt from last night once again hitting her at full force, "Chloe, I think you're sick."

"I don't care," her voice puffs into her ear, weak and faint, "I just want you to stay. Stay, please, Becs. I don't want you to leave me, too."

Beca's heart clenches in on itself and drops several feet, and she hastily nods and cradles the exhausted and sunburnt redhead tighter against her chest, her legs giving out and her heels digging into the mattress, and she says, "Of course, Chloe. Of course I'll stay. I won't ever leave you."

Because she couldn't leave her, not when Chloe is hot and feverish and it was all her fault.

Because it was her fault that she refused to give in to Chloe's request, too scared and self-protective to just take the damn sunscreen and smooth its contents over the places on her skin that she found it hard to reach.

Because it was her fault that Chloe is now acting this way, needy and desperate for her to promise to be endlessly by her side.

Because it was her fault that Chloe is now having to live with the fact that rose red to her is to be mind-numbingly and feverishly sleepy.

A/N: Um… yeah. Let me know what you think and I'll see you for another?