M for language.

Beca led The Bellas around the corner to the elevators, walking swiftly past all of Residual Heat's platinum albums, the other studios, and the stairwell down to the lobby. When they got to the building's main elevators, she gestured for Chloe to follow her through the squared opening towards the producer offices. Still nervous, Chloe stopped with her friends in the second floor lobby (well, second for Residual, but tenth for the building).

Her phone blared Party In The USA for the fourth time in the last hour. With one look at the caller, she rolled her eyes and silenced it.

"Will somebody call Aubrey back? Please?"

"Yeah, red. We got you," CR nodded at Chloe, then gestured to the producer still standing awkwardly in the next room's opening. "You going to be all right?"

Chloe nodded with a confidence she neither felt nor convincingly portrayed.

"Don't worry about it, seriously. Just-" she started, then dropped her voice to a stage whisper.

"-call the police if you haven't heard from me in an hour," she added with a wink.

"I heard that," Beca grumbled from her corner.

"You were meant to!" the redhead called over her shoulder with a sigh. She could've sworn she heard a snicker.

"How about we call you in an hour," Stacie said slowly, a glowing glint in her eye. "and if you haven't relocated to the nearest hotel, we'll come back and get you?"

The other two Bellas laughed, but Chloe just glared. Stacie's eyes softened, shoulders falling, then she shrugged.

"We'll go down the street, get some food," she offered. "We'll meet you in the building lobby later on. If you plan to stay longer, for any reason, we won't judge-"

Fat Amy cleared her throat.

"Lesbihonest, we've all hooked up with a coworker slash boss slash equals-but-with-a-weird-power-dynamic."

"Amy!"

Again, the other half of the group tried to hide their laughs, but thankfully this time they were cut off by a cough from behind Chloe.

"I don't have all day, Beale," the producer sighed, and Chloe felt her eyes roll up to the ceiling again.

"Maybe you shouldn't have been late then!" she snapped back, but she gave her friends hurried goodbyes before following Beca.

Last week, Chloe had been into the large, open offices that made up the producer's wing. Jesse had walked them around the long tables with multiple work stations and the lounge with the foosball table. Consistent with the studio's theme, there was a dark red accent wall on the far side by the conference room, and on the adjacent wall, the finish was painted grey brick. The furnishings were all sleek black, ranging from the work stations to cubicles. There were even some huddle rooms where people could make phone calls without bothering anyone.

But Beca led Chloe away from all that, turning at the printers towards a hallway on the other side of the phone rooms. Past a room stuffed with IT equipment, to the end of the hall.

Chloe hadn't come here during the tour, and, when Beca let her through the door, she understood why. It was a full office - big, with bronze albums on the walls, with names that Chloe hadn't seen in the main hall.

Beca's office, she realized with a start.

The back wall was brick, unpainted, without windows. The rest of the room had white walls, with a shelf tastefully displaying the Grammys and dozens of other framed pieces. Signed albums, glitzy pictures with artists, professionally framed magazine articles. The furnishings were all sharp, black, and expensive-looking. It was a monument to the producer Beca Mitchell's success, but…

Chloe hummed distastefully.

The producer laughed as she fell into an oversized rolling chair behind a sleek, black desk that held a single Macbook. She looked like a little kid at their parent's desk.

"What? Are you upset that there isn't a popcorn machine?"

Chloe sighed.

"No, it's… nice," she said, then sighed. "But, I mean, do you even have speakers in here?"

Beca bristled at the comment, and Chloe felt a wave of embarrassment threaten her complexion.

"We listen in the formal lounge, in the studio wing," Beca replied. "This is, like, an office. My office."

Chloe knew she should let it go, but as she perched on the edge of a too-modern chair, she felt her the questions bubbling out of her.

"But where do you work? On the music, I mean," she heard herself say. "Where do you listen back to your work? I don't even see your music library - and I know you don't get your samples from Spotify. Where's the laboratory where you cook up that genius?"

Beca smirked as she leaned forward to the table - and even that! Chloe thought. The table is too tall for her!

"You think I'm a genius?"

Chloe huffed, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

"I implied that your music was genius," she shot back, but another sigh leaked out of her. "There isn't a single window. I don't know, this place gives me the creeps. It doesn't feel like-"

You, she had been about to say. It doesn't feel like your music.

Yet another piece of the Beca Mitchell puzzle that just doesn't fit.

"It doesn't feel right," she said after a moment.

Beca's face was a cold mask. Her eyes darted to her computer, then to the notebook under Chloe's arm. The one that she hadn't put away, because apparently she was going to share her writings with Beca.

A loud crash sounded in the other room, followed by a raucous bout of applause. Chloe stared at the door longly.

What am I even doing here?

"C'mon," Beca said, breaking Chloe's thoughts as she stood. The brunette rubbed at her cheek woefully. "We'll go to the Broom Closet. At least it's quiet down there."

Another space I didn't see on the tour, Chloe thought to herself. But didn't Beca hate that one?

Beca seemed to read Chloe's expression, and she sighed again as she opened another door Chloe hadn't fully seen before. It opened directly into the building's stairwell.

"It sucks, but only because-" the producer started to say, but then she cut herself off. "Whatever. Let's just go."

Chloe stepped into the stairwell, standing aside so Beca could lead the way. She followed the petite brunette downstairs, coming out another door on the first floor.

Unlike the second floor of their office, where they had the whole top floor of the building, Chloe was pretty sure Residual Heat only had the lobby space on the ninth floor. She did a mental run-through, thinking she had seen the whole space - tables, uncomfortable chairs and booths, bar, stairs, bathrooms, and a big conference room with huge windows that looked out into the city - but Beca led her through a small kitchen space. It made sense, Chloe supposed, that there was a back-of-house setup area for events like last Friday's.

The tile flooring continued past a utility closet, and to the left was the hallway leading past the bathrooms up to the front lobby. Chloe was about to ask Beca where the heck they were going when the young producer stopped. She grabbed a key from the carabiner on her belt loop, unlocking an unmarked door next to the mop closet.

"Oh," Chloe laughed softly. "Broom Closet. Because it's next to the Mop Closet. Funny."

"Well, that," Beca smiled. "And also…"

Pushing the door away from her, Beca revealed what had to be the smallest studio that Chloe had ever seen. It was so small that she thought she and Beca would touch knees when they sat down on the decrepit couch and stool that served as the room's only furniture. It looked even smaller because of the single warm lightbulb, and because every surface was black - walls, ceiling, carpet, even the acoustical panels on the walls. There wasn't a separate booth, just a small keyboard next to an ancient mixing board, with an equally old acoustic guitar next to it.

"Oh," was all Chloe managed to say. She sat on the farthest edge of the couch - as far away from the desk as possible. Beca stared at the wall behind Chloe for a second, and the redhead glanced behind her to see if something was there, but then Beca took the stool to the desk, hunching to fiddle with some knobs.

"Are we recording something?" Chloe asked, nervous again. She had almost forgot what they were going to do - what they were going to review. Most of the writing was chicken scratch, and Chloe only had partial melodies for a couple of them. If Beca wanted her to sing, wanted her to record something…

Chloe felt her heart rate speed up.

"No, I was just-" Beca spun away from the board. "Nothing. Okay. You wrote stuff. I hope it doesn't suck."

Even through her nerves, Chloe couldn't help being annoyed at the producer's condescending tone.

"Well, it's not like I've won seven Grammy's or anything," she barked, but then she realized that she had inadvertently complimented the brunette.

Beca, mercifully, let the comment slide as she reached out for Chloe's notebook.

"Give it."

Chloe took a deep breath and, refusing to let go of the writings, made Beca pry the notebook from her hands. The brunette immediately flipped the notebook to a random page and started reading.

"I'm not, like, a poet," Chloe started to explain. "It's more musings on things that are happening around me. I only wrote Scared of Happy and Squeeze on the EP, and part of Tequila With Lime, and I guess I wrote most of Stupid Things, but that was more about how-"

Beca held up a hand, effectively silencing the rambling redhead. She read to the bottom of the page - one of the long ones, Chloe thought. It's probably not about her, then, unless it's the one with graphic depictions of her taking me against the mixing board.

Her ears began to burn as Beca flipped the page, checking to see if there was anything written on the back. Seeing it was empty, she glanced back up to Chloe.

"Do you play guitar? Or piano?" Beca asked, eyes scanning back over the page. Chloe shook her head, but Beca's eyes were still down, so she verbalized her response.

Beca huffed, clearly in a frustrated mood, and handed the notebook back to Chloe.

"You have a melody for this one?"

Chloe read the first few lines. It was about Beca, but Chloe hadn't written a date in the corner, so Beca didn't know that she wrote it over the weekend.

It was also one that Chloe absolutely had a melody for.

Damnit.

"Yeah," the redhead breathed.

Beca nodded, fidgeting on her stool. She kept her eyes down on the notebook in Chloe's hands, steepling her fingers again as she waited for Chloe to start singing.

But Chloe couldn't do it.

She didn't trust this Beca Mitchell - this young, arrogant producer that was so duplicitous. Everything about her was so out-of-sorts, like a story with too many plot lines, and none of it made any sense. And if Chloe was going to sing to her - sing about her, to her…

She couldn't do it.

Beca met her eye after Chloe didn't start singing, and her face fell into further frustration.

"What?" she snapped. "I'm not going to be a dick."

"Well I don't know that!" Chloe snapped back. "It's not like you've been sunshine and rainbows so far!"

Beca rolled her eyes.

"Unlike you, right?" she laughed. "So positive, so determined. All that naive optimism. Where does it come from, hm? Do you really think your Bellas earned it? Tell me, did you like being a big fish in a small pond?"

Chloe flushed, scoffing harshly.

"Don't talk down to me, Mitchell!" she chastised loudly. "I know my girls are talented. I know what we have, and what we'll become, and I think you do too!"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," Beca replied offhandedly, and Chloe scoffed again. She knew what she saw. She knew Beca saw their skill.

The producer gestured to the notebook in Chloe's hands.

"Sing for me, or don't," she sighed, then checked the time on her phone. "I have other things I could be doing."

And in that simmering indignation, Chloe found her voice.

On her own, the melody was nothing special, but it was something. Chloe couldn't look at Beca as she sang the sultry lyrics - the dark notes that held references to beds and longing, to skin and imaginary tongues and what exactly those imaginary tongues would do on skin in beds and-

When she did look up, she saw Beca reaching for the guitar on the side of the mixing table. She listened for a few more beats, then she started plucking some rough notes - bass, with some interval notes and octaves - along to Chloe's melody.

And oh, Chloe was not expecting that.

She wasn't expecting it to be so good, playing and writing music with Beca. If she could've predicted what it would do to her, to watch Beca's strong hands manipulate the steel strings of a faded guitar…

She probably wouldn't have let herself be in such a small room with her, as a start.

Chloe's body rolled forward out of it's own volition, and she tripped over the words. Beca looked up as she continued to play, and Chloe jumped back into the bridge. Beca fumbled to get the right notes, finding them finally as Chloe moved into the chorus.

And, again, like magic, the notes and the rhythm, the melody and bass - it all fell into place as Chloe sang. Beca nodded along, focusing hard on listening to Chloe while also watching her hands, and as Chloe repeated the chorus the producer dropped off completely to watch Chloe sing.

They locked eyes, and Chloe had to fight to keep a moan from coming out.

Her gaze, it was…

Entranced.

Enticed.

Excited.

And on the very edges, at just the corners, Chloe could see something else, but she couldn't quite see-

Beca's phone buzzed loudly against the body of the guitar, and the producer swore loudly. Chloe stopped singing, dropping the notebook into her lap as she watched Beca fumble into her hoodie pocket for her phone.

When she finally got it out, Chloe could see the screen, and she felt herself start to shake with rage.

She'd recognize the face anywhere, but just in case she didn't, the banner above bore the actress's name.

Kalina Val.

The same Kalina Val that Beca was rumored to be dating months ago.

Beca saw that Chloe saw the screen and quickly declined the call.

"'Other things to do', hm?" Chloe laughed roughly. "Sure looks like it."

Beca glared over the edge of her phone as she typed out a message. They sat in silence as the brunette finished the message, then she set it on the table behind her. Immediately, it buzzed with a response, but Beca didn't so much as glance at it as she continued to stare at Chloe.

When the redhead didn't break, Beca did, scoffing as she leaning the guitar against the table at her back.

"You don't know the first thing about this- about me," the producer sneered. Chloe was about to retort but Beca stopped her.

"Just… stick to singing, okay?" she huffed.

"I plan to!"

"I wasn't-"

"No, I get it!" Chloe jumped in, shoving her notebook into her bag and standing. "That's all I am. A good singer - or, good enough, right?"

She choked out a gasp of a laugh as she tried not to cry.

"I'm just some dumb transplant from the south. Good enough for Atlanta, but this is LA, and I'd be lucky to have someone like you take pity on me? What did you say earlier - that I'm a big fish, from a small pond? A naive optimist?"

"Wait-"

Chloe paused, hand on the knob of the small studio space. Even it was a deep, dark color - perfectly blending to the black walls around it. If Chloe didn't know where it was, she probably wouldn't have seen it at all.

Hidden, or hiding, like so many parts of Beca.

"What?" she huffed, turning back to look at the producer.

She had her head in her hands, fully folded in half on top of the stool.

For the second time that day, Chloe thought that she looked her age.

Young, Chloe thought suddenly, immediately repentant for her outburst. She's so young. She's basically a kid.

"I really wasn't- I didn't mean-" she started, then stopped. She let out a rough moan as she pulled her skin down her face. "I just meant that this industry is more than what happens in rooms like this, okay?"

Chloe was about to demand an explanation, or an apology, but Beca's gaze dropped to her bag.

"Your notebook - can I keep it?" she asked quickly. Pleaded, really, as an hint of desperation entered her tone. "Just until tomorrow."

"No," Chloe responded, aghast. "Not now, or ever. I- no. I don't let people read this. I shouldn't have let you see it at all."

Beca deflated, and just as Chloe was about to relent, her phone buzzed again. They both glanced at it as it continued to ring, but it was Chloe who spoke up first.

"Sounds like you've got places to be," she seethed, finally turning the knob she'd been holding and walking out of the Broom Closet.

She paced through Residual's lobby and out into the main hall, wiping frustrating, hot tears away from her cheeks. She felt so embarrassed and raw. Singing those words, and Beca adding to it, in such a small space, it was so intimate. Like they were creating something real - and not just the song, either.

And those looks, the way it almost seemed like Beca felt the same…

No, she thought. Beca's just a player.

She probably did that to all of her artists, looked at them that way. Ripped their souls open so she could make her money or have sex or whatever. She probably made them all feel special so they'd give her what she wanted. It sure seemed to work for her so far.

But she's so young.

Chloe jammed the elevator button.

Age has nothing to do with it, she told herself.

It's not like Beca was a child. She'd been in LA for three years, and she'd spent two of those making more than a just a name for herself. She had a reputation, and she was proving it. Chloe was just a sucker for falling for it.

The cab arrived, and she stepped in, falling against the elevator wall.

She was right - Chloe knew that. She knew Beca was probably playing her.

That she should hate her.

But she thought of that young woman, in a huge chair at a too-tall table, in that cold, proud office that didn't look anything like who she said she was, who she felt like.

She thought of that girl in a hoodie, hunched on her stool and head in her hands, silhouetted against a black wall in a tiny studio, with a worn guitar leaning against an ancient mixing board.

If I'm so right… Chloe thought savagely.

…then why does it all feel so wrong?