A/N: hi my dudes! i'm back! i had this idea in my brain for like a year and a half and finally got around to finishing it now that i have three other papers i should be writing! anyways! i'm quarantined for an extra two weeks and will probably be procrastinating for the last three weeks of the semester, so you'll probably see more of me! (also, there may or may not be a potential part two to this if y'all like this one!)
for outfit context: beca and benji are rocking anna and ben's 2018 grammy looks! anyways, enjoy!
Beca can't wait to get off the red carpet. It's way too hot in Los Angeles to be wearing this damn suit jacket and she lost feeling in her feet about twenty minutes ago. To make matters worse, she doesn't even have a date to suffer through this with, because apparently all the Bellas were too busy to accompany her to the Grammys. Where she was nominated for Best New Artist. And freaking the fuck out.
On top of freaking out about her nomination, she knows Jesse's there somewhere, because he's nominated, too, for a movie he scored. (And she's really, really proud of him). They hadn't really talked since they broke up after graduation, aside from a congratulatory "holy shit, that's incredible, Beca! I'm so proud of you," phone call post Beca's televised USO performance (the West Coast/East Coast living situation was too much for their busy schedules), and although they ended on good, mutual, terms, Beca still feels like she's going to throw up when she thinks about seeing him tonight.
The Bellas haven't stopped texting her since she got out of the car at Staples Center. Despite none of them being in LA with her, they're all really invested in whether or not she's going to talk to Jesse. The girls seem to think that she never really got over him. (They might be right). In the time between their breakup and the USO/DJ Khalid ordeal, Beca wasn't in any other relationships. She dated a little bit, but nobody smiled at her with their whole entire face, or made her feel entirely comfortable, or was able to keep up with her dry humour the same way she had gotten so used to.
"Bec!" She hears from her left, whipping around to see Benji, immediately filled with relief at the sight of a familiar face amidst all the bright lights and famous people. "Hi!"
"Oh my god, how are you?" Beca asks, pulling Benji in for a long overdue hug. He's currently starring in a show on Broadway that she got to see in previews last year. The cast recording was nominated for an award, too. (Who would have thought three a cappella nerds from Barden would end up with Grammy noms all in the same year?).
"Good! I can't believe it's been so long since we've seen each other, especially with both of us in New York!"
"Well, you're a bit busy being a Broadway sensation right now," she laughs. He looks really good. He's lost a lot of weight in his face, making him look so grown up (which Beca guesses they kind of are now), and has cleaned up really nicely for the awards ceremony. His suit is plaid, like hers, and he has a burgundy shirt underneath.
"I always have time for you. And hey, it's not like you've got much downtime being one of the greatest recording artists of our time."
"Thanks, dude."
"Hey, um, have you seen Jess yet?" Benji asks, and her heart flips over in her chest. They've made their way down the carpet by now, and Beca can see the doors to get inside. She really just wants to sit down, take her shoes off, and have a drink.
She shakes her head in response, not really trusting her voice at that specific moment.
"Okay, well he was looking for you earlier and I just thought you might want to know."
"Thanks," she smiled softly, trying to ignore her heart beating far too hard in her chest. He was looking for her.
"I can't wait to see your performance, you're going to kill it," she says. She wants to ask Benji more—if he knows where Jesse is, if he knows why he wants to see her (but it doesn't really matter because she's pretty sure she really, really wants to see him anyways), is he seeing anyone—but this is her night and Benji's night, too. And Benji is going to perform Somewhere from West Side Story and she gets to present his performance and it's all so overwhelming and exciting.
"Thanks, Bec," he smiles back, and they stand there smiling and the cameras are flashing and the photographers are yelling and they aren't the kids they were in college anymore but at the same time, they so are. They're older, more mature, but the energy radiating off Benji and the nervousness she's feeling but refusing to acknowledge brings her right back to Lincoln Center in 2012. She's proud of them, proud of herself, for getting here.
"I'm going to head in, I have some last-minute stuff to get organized backstage before the show starts, but I'll see you in there, yeah?"
"You bet. Good luck!" She gives him one last squeeze, then watches him hustle down the remainder of the carpet with his publicist, disappearing inside Staples Center. She stays for a few minutes longer, smiling and posing and smiling and posing until her feet are too sore and her back is too sweaty, and she really, really needs a drink.
So, it turns out that the Grammys are a dry event. Which sucks. Because Beca is nervous and she could really use some liquid courage. This is too much to handle on her own (well, she's technically with DJ Khalid, but his major keys aren't exactly what she needs right now), with the nomination, the possibility of having to make a speech and remember to thank everyone, and also with Jesse. Knowing that he's there somewhere, that he's looking for her, that he wants to see her.
I hate all you bitches, she texts the Bellas group chat. This is potentially the most important night of her whole entire life, and her best friends have left her with the company of DJ Khalid, Theo (he still looks like a turtle), and her publicist, none of whom were going to be able to help her deal with this ("this" being predominantly Jesse and her not gone feelings for him) in any way, shape, or form. Especially not Theo. Jesus.
She doesn't know what it's going to be like to see him. Sure, she's kept up with his LA life via Instagram and seen every movie he's scored so far to support his career, but that's not the same as this.
Jesse probably knew her better than anyone. For those four years in university, when they were living more-or-less next door to each other, when she sang to him at their first ICCAs, when she first told him "I love you", the first person she'd ever said that to and really, really meant it. He was always there, always safe. Even when they broke up, she never felt like he was abandoning her—the one thing she'd always been so wary of. They just needed to grow, and that needed to happen in separate places. Jesse in Los Angeles, Beca in New York. It was easier that way, for both of them. No slipping away and apart into busy schedules and different time zones and slowly not having time for each other anymore. It was still shitty, of course it was, but she was okay. They were both okay.
He probably still knows her better than anyone. Nobody broke down her walls quite the way he did. Not Chloe, not Amy, not any of the Bellas. Nobody got her quite like Jesse.
The Grammys are one hour in and Beca's wondering how inappropriate it would be for her to remove her shoes. Her toes are being squished and her feet are still sweating from how hot it was on the red carpet and she can feel blisters forming against her pinkie toes. It's very unpleasant.
She's backstage now, waiting to introduce Benji's performance. He's standing beside her in the wings, taking deep breaths and bouncing slightly. His energy—the nervousness and excitement—it's contagious. Even though her feet hurt, even though she hasn't had a drink and could really use one, she's smiling and squeezing Benji's hand tightly, whispering to break a leg, before stepping out on to the stage.
It's brighter than it was in rehearsal. Louder, too. It takes her a second to adjust.
She reads off the teleprompter like she practiced, knowing what to say well enough that she grants herself a second to scan the audience. She doesn't know where Jesse's sitting. She wishes she did, so that she could catch his eye and he would smile that bright smile at her and it would make her insides feel a little topsy-turvy. But she doesn't know where he is, or if he would smile that topsy-turvy smile at her. She has to remind herself to keep reading, to finish introducing Benji. "Ladies and gentleman," she says, "my friend, Benjamin Applebaum."
Benji is on a small circle stage about 50 feet in front of the mainstage. The lights have gone out on Beca and on the audience, and Benji is about to start singing when she hears a familiar whoop come from the left of the audience.
Jesse.
She can't see him, but her heart still gets fluttery and she hates that he still has that effect on her. She hates that she can't pretend that he doesn't have that effect on her. She used to be so stoic but the Bellas cracked her, made her mushy and soft and sometimes emotional with their constant oversharing and invasions of privacy. It was much easier being stoic.
She's the first person on her feet when Benji finishes his song. Beca can see that his eyes are all shiny and teary and if she's being honest, hers are too because fuck she's so happy for him. Everyone else is standing, too, and Benji looks like he's about to burst into tears and Beca wishes she was standing with Jesse instead of DJ Khalid because she knows he's feeling the exact same way she is.
She did it. She just won Best New Artist at the Grammys and she can't remember how to breathe. Beca's stumbling to the stairs in her pink heels because her legs are too shaky to work properly and she's so glad she's wearing pants instead of a long dress that she would have absolutely tripped over on her way up the steps.
She takes the trophy and stands in front of the microphone, trying to figure out what the fuck she's supposed to say. Her mind is going a million miles a minute, so overwhelmed and so unable to comprehend anything that's happening. Then, she hears him again. Jesse.
"Becaw! Becaw!" And he's whistling and still standing and just so completely in awe because holy shit he didn't know it was possible to be this proud of someone.
She sees him then, finally. His blue suit, his freshly cut curly hair, his beaming face. "Way to go, weirdo!" he yells and her heart clenches. She misses him so much. She's so happy to see him. She can't believe she just won a fucking Grammy.
Beca is not going to cry on TV. She won't. A few tears slip out anyways, because this is the craziest moment of her life.
"Okay, wow, um, holy shit," she says, then remembers she's on live TV. "Sorry, I just, wow." She takes a second, trying to collect herself. "I want to thank DJ Khalid and my team for the opportunity to work on this album and for believing in me," she says because she has to. "And my dad for forcing me to go to Barden University, which lead me to the Bellas. Chlo, Aubrey, Amy, Cynthia Rose, Stacie, Lilly, Ashley, Jessica, Flo, Emily, even though none of you wanted to be my date tonight, I love you guys so much. Thank you for loving me and supporting me and trusting me even though I can be a total pain in the ass. None of this would have been at all possible if it wasn't for you nerds, and I'm so thankful to have you. You are the best family I could have asked for. Bellas for life."
She wants to thank Jesse, but she doesn't know what to say. So, instead of saying anything, she finds him in the crowd and raises a fist in the air. Not all the way, but enough that he'll get it. Enough that he'll know she's saying thank you to him, too, for being there just as much as the Bellas.
The rest of the show is a blur. Beca's ushered backstage for photos, and then ushered backstage again after the show for more photos. Finally, she makes it to the Vanity Fair afterparty, and finally, she can get a drink. She really needs it now.
She's ditched her suit jacket somewhere between there and here, leaving her in her bustier top, suit pants, and heels. It's much better this way, far less stuffy.
Jesse arrives after Beca does. She watches him scan the crowd from the doorway until he spots her and his face lights up. He navigates through the crowd to where she is at the bar, grinning the entire way. "Oh my god. Are you Grammy award winner Beca Mitchell? I'm such a huge fan! Can I get your autograph?" She doesn't even bother to try to look unimpressed with his antics.
"Hey," she laughs, allowing herself to be pulled into a tight, familiar hug.
"I'm so proud of you, Bec," he says into her hair. His hands are hot on her back, even through the material of her top.
"Thank you," she hums, smiling up at the boy. His hand hasn't left her waist.
"How are you feeling?" He asks. He has to shout somewhat over the music, keeping his head titled towards hers, closer to her ear.
"Good. Overwhelmed. Glad to see you," she answers, talking before thinking but not regretting it. She is glad to see him. So glad.
"I've missed you," he says.
"I missed you, too, nerd." His smile grows when she says that, which shouldn't technically be possible but she knows it is, because she knows him.
"I'm going to buy you a drink."
"The drinks are free, Jess."
"I'm going to get you a drink." The way he says this is so reminiscent of their first hoodnight that it hurts. In a lot of ways, this feels kind of like that hoodnight. A classy, less-sloppy (well okay, still kind of sloppy) party for a group of musicians to get drunk and make questionable choices. And Jesse being there, making her stomach feel all fluttery and weird just because he smiles too big at her as he slides her drink down to her in a real glass, not a red Solo cup (not that she would ever admit to anybody that he made her feel all fluttery and nervous at their freshman hoodnight).
She takes a sip of the drink, a Long Island ice tea, her college go-to, before she speaks again. "So, congratulations are in order for you, too," Beca smiles as Jesse resituates himself on the barstool next to her, "with that movie you scored. Which was brilliant, by the way."
"You saw it?" He asks, grinning.
"Of course, I did. Seriously, Jess, the score was amazing."
"Thanks," he meets her eyes and his face is soft. "That means a lot. I can't believe you, me, and Benj are all here tonight, never mind the fact that we're all officially Grammy winners."
"Have you seen his show yet?"
"No, I want to so bad, but it's just been so hard to get out of L.A. at all right now, never mind all the way to New York."
"Well, next time you're in the city. He's phenomenal."
"How's New York treating you, anyway?" Jesse asks. "Still dying to get to LA?"
"It's good," she answers, then hesitates. "It's all just so much, and now that Chlo's splitting her time between the city and wherever Chicago is, and Amy can afford rent on her own since she's a millionaire—"
"What?" He asks, though the information doesn't surprise him nearly as much as it would have had it been one of the other Bellas who inherited millions of dollars. Amy was something.
"Oh, um, yeah, there was this hostage situation we were involved in the night before the DJ Khalid thing. I just feel like if I'm going to move, now's the time, you know? I'm between album cycles, my team is on the West coast just as much as they are the East, so there's nothing stopping me anymore. What about you? Still in LA with the girlfriend and the cat?" She hopes she seems nonchalant as she takes her straw into her mouth, as if she doesn't really care whether or not he has a cat or a girlfriend.
"Okay, I definitely want to circle back to the hostage situation," Jesse says, tilting his head at the girl across from him. "Still in LA, but no girlfriend or cat at the moment." He's smiling a little as he says it.
"Oh," she says, daring to smile back. "Sorry to hear it."
"I'm not." Beca sips the last of her drink, thankful for the distraction as they just sit there smiling at each other, neither of them quite sure what territory they're on as she gets up for a refill.
"Dude," Beca groans-slash-shouts over the music. They'd been dancing for far too long and her stupid pink shoes were still smooshing her toes and yeah, she had been having fun shaking her ass to Taylor Swift (who was literally standing twenty feet away. It's amazing what little dignity the Bellas had left her with), but she was tired and hot and ready to be in sweats. "Can we do something else? You wanna get out of here?"
"Sure," he grins, grabbing her hand and leading her off the dance floor.
Leaving together is weirdly normal. The whole night, really, (besides the part where they're at an afterparty for the Grammys) felt weirdly normal. Probably not how seeing your ex-boyfriend for the first time since you broke up goes for most people. But, Jesse had always been comfortable and safe, and he still was. It was easy to fall back into their old rhythm. They had been friends first, after all.
"We can go to my apartment if you want," he suggests when they walk outside. "For completely platonic reasons." He's grinning again. She smiles and squints back at him, tilting her head, but agrees. Beca had wrangled up her publicist and Theo inside, letting them know that she was leaving and that they should stay and have fun, because they had worked hard, too. At the end of the day, this wasn't just her win, it was theirs, too. And kind of the Bellas, too, who she really needed to text. She had also insisted on not needing security beyond getting them to the car. "It's just Jesse," she had tried to explain, as if that meant anything to them at all.
Outside, they're immediately met with the flashing of cameras and yelling paparazzi. Beca lets them stop and smile for a second, before taking Jesse's hand and dragging him into the car behind a security guard. She knows there's going to be Getty Images of them within a matter of minutes and she knows the girls are going to have an absolute heyday when they find out that they left together. Honestly, she might join them.
She's happy to be leaving with him. She's not going to tell him that, obviously (yeah, she's kind of a softie now, but not enough for that), but she knows he's happy, too. He keeps smiling at her with his crinkly eyes when he thinks she isn't looking.
They make the driver go through the Taco Bell drive-thru on the way back to Jesse's apartment in West Hollywood, so they're quickly situated with tacos and bottles of Corona on his couch once they arrive. He gives her sweatpants and socks without her asking, which she is so thankful for, even though she has to roll the waistband of the pants three times before they'll kind of stay up on her waist.
"Fuck," Beca says, leaning over the coffee table as lettuce shreds fall from her taco. "This might be the best part of my night. This is way better than Vanity Fair's thing." Jesse looks back at her from where he's fiddling with the DVD player on the TV stand.
"This is good. Great, even," he agrees. His face is all glowy, even though she can tell he's tired. She is, too. Drinking does that to them (and so does having an extremely overwhelming day). The Breakfast Club's menu screen pops up on the TV and Beca rolls her eyes.
"You're really predictable, you know," she says, bringing her bottle to her mouth. Her stomach feels all twisted again, which is ridiculous. It's been so many years since they were sitting on her bed in her dorm room at Barden, mumbling to each other about Judd Nelson's diet, and yet her insides feel the same way that they did then. But it's different now, too. Now, she knows what it's like to love him and be loved by him and feel more secure than she does with anyone else. The only real reason things didn't work out before was the distance. Not that she didn't love him, or him, her. And tonight, sharing as much of this experience with him as she could was more than she ever could have asked for. She was so thankful that he was there, that he was able to understand that he was just as significant of a part of her being up there, accepting that award, as the Bellas were.
She doesn't say any of that, though. Not yet.
"It's part of my charm," he says, settling back down on the couch, pulling her legs over his lap. He glances over at her, making sure that she's okay, which she is. She always is with him.
"You're a dork." She looks at him, and he's looking back at her, neither of them actually paying attention to Molly Ringwald on the screen. "Can we just skip the part where we pretend we don't know what happens next?" Beca asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
"In the movie? Bec, we've seen this movie a hundred times," Jesse says, but he's grinning and pulling her properly onto his lap.
"Hm, some nerd told me once that the endings are the best part," she hums, letting her arms drape around his neck, curling her fingers in the back of his hair.
"He must be really smart. And handsome." He's still smiling, always smiling.
"You're such a weirdo," she says, because she has to, because it wouldn't be them if she didn't, and then his mouth is slanting over hers for the first time in too long.
It's a few hours later when she sneaks off to Jesse's kitchen to answer a group FaceTime from the Bellas. He's still awake in the bedroom despite the fact it's nearly four in the morning, but she's not about to gush about him while he's lying next to her. The moment the call connects, she's met with ten smiling faces who are immediately yelling at her all at the same time.
"Beca, oh my god!" Chloe is already crying. "We're so proud of you!"
"I had a bet with these guys I met in the hot tub last night, so I'm really glad you won, Flatbutt. They owe me," Fat Amy winks.
"I can't believe you're a Grammy winner!" Stacie grins. Her daughter, Bella (yeah, maybe Beca did cry when she told them her name via a video call in Europe), wobbles in and out of the frame. Beca gives the girls a minute to get their shit together, listening to their praise and smiling and swerving her head back and forth the same cocky way she did when she back to her dorm after being arrested freshman year. They yell and yell about how happy they are for her and how proud they are and how excited they are and it feels good. She loves them so much.
"I couldn't have done it without you guys," she says in a moment of sincerity that's far less rare for her than it would have been before she met these nerds.
"Mmm, where are you?" Hums Amy, taking in the unfamiliar background. "That's definitely not your hotel room." And suddenly they're all yelling at her all at once again. "Or you shirt."
"Oh my god, you got Trebleboned!"
"I saw those pictures of you leaving with Jesse!"
"Did you do something slutty?"
"Does he still do that thing with his hips?"
"Was he as good as you remember?"
"You guys!" Beca interrupts. She hopes her face isn't as red as it feels. "We are not having this conversation!" She says, then tacks "right now" on to the end of that sentence, because, yeah, she probably will tell them about it, it's impossible to not tell them things, just not when Jesse is standing in the doorway, looking at her with a cocky smile. Why didn't she put her earbuds in?
"Hi Bellas," he greets the ten faces on Beca's phone screen, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge behind her. He sets one on the counter next to her. "Better get started now or we're going to feel like shit in the morning." He's shirtless and wearing sweatpants low on her hips, and that, mixed with the implications that she's going to be waking up there (which, she totally is) Beca knows is going to bring on another onslaught on harassment.
"Okay," she grins at her friends, winking. "Well, I'm going to go. We can talk about the fact that I'm a Grammy winner and everything else tomorrow. Love you, nerds, bye!" She hangs up before they can protest, ending the call with the distinct sound of Legacy yelling "get it!"
She decidedly leaves her phone on the counter, because the girls and her team can't reach her if her phone is in the kitchen and she's in Jesse's bed. So, off she goes, shutting off his light and sliding in next to him under his sheets.
"Happy you're here," he hums, pulling her closer to him in the darkness in a way that's all too familiar. He presses his mouth where her neck meets her shoulder.
"Me, too."