A/N: Based on Anna Camp's Here Awhile. This story is a collaboration with Meeko, Vee, Holly, and a human who wishes to remain anonymous.

This Is (Not) A Love Story

All I want is nothing more,
To hear you knocking at my door.
'Cause if I could see your face once more,
I could die a happy man, I'm sure.
- Kodaline

"Chloe, it's Aubrey – again. I would really like – I need to talk to you. So, just call me back when you get this, okay? Bye."

You turn off the car engine, and stare at touch screen as the call disconnects. Hands shaking, you unbuckle your seatbelt. 32 calls in two weeks, and not a single one of them answered or returned. You hesitate, pull your legs up to sit crisscross on the seat, and taking a deep, controlled breath, you move on to option two. "Hey, Siri," you say and wait for the tone, "Call Beca." AI or not, by now, Siri shouldn't need you to confirm what you want to do as you complete your routine in vain.

As per the last 31 calls, you're sent straight to voicemail.

You close your eyes, lean your head against the window, and hang up without leaving a message.

The 33rd time's a charm, right?

"Hey, Siri…" Call Chloe. You slam your hand against the dashboard, barely keeping a yell of frustration from escaping your lips, then collapse back against the seat.

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Fuck you, Siri," you say with a wry smile. Fuck you.

Siri beeps once more at the sound of her name again.

You open your mouth to repeat yourself – then stop.

The gravel crackles under the tires of another car as it pulls into the driveway, and you plaster on a smile as you pull the keys from the ignition and drop them into your bag. You're already out by the time Howie starts to unbuckle his belt. "Where were you?" you ask the second his door opens.

Howie slams his door shut with a sigh, and starts his walk up the sidewalk to the front door.

"So, you're just going to ignore me?" You follow him, stopping a few steps behind when he pauses to unlock the door.

He goes directly to the kitchen, and pulls a bottle of vodka down from the shelf.

"That's how your going to handle this?" Unbelievable. "You're going to try to drink it away?"

"It's healthier than how you're 'handling' it." He pours the vodka into a coffee mug.

You shake your head. "You said you were going to be there, and you were going to listen to what the doctors had to say."

"What? And the doctors are telling you suicide is the answer?"

"I can't keep doing this with you."

"You always do this."

"I can't keep trying to talk to you, while you just shut me out!" You rip the mug from his hands before he can take a drink. "Is this how you want things to end? Drinking vodka from a coffee mug while I go through this alone?"

"You always have to control every single thing."

"This is different."

"Is it?"

You slam the mug down on the counter, cracking the ceramic, sending vodka sloshing over the side, going everywhere. You deserve to be in control here. "This is the end of my life!"

Your nostrils flare with rage, and you gasp to catch your breath.

Everyone thinks they're immortal, you know? You're never dying until the moment that you are. …and then what? No one knows. Maybe you get the chance to come back and make everything right the second time around. Or maybe there's nothing. Maybe this is it. You either get it right or fuck it all up, and in a moment of fear and stubbornness, you drive everyone away, just like you've always done. And while you'd like to think that this isn't the end of everything, you're not willing to bet on that. You've never been the risk-taking type of person, and you're sure as hell not about to take your chances now – not when you have nothing more to gain, but everything to lose.

"And I'm leaving you." It's the most impulsive decision you've ever made, and you don't even know where it came from until it leaves your mouth. Only, you kind of do, and the certainty of your words is comforting amidst the storm raging inside of you.

"You sure as hell are."

So this is it, you think when you make that final choice to be the one who is in charge here. "I mean I'm leaving you right now." You shake the alcohol from your hand. This is dying.

xxxxx

On the stairs outside of a small house on the outskirts of New York City, you replay in your mind how you ended up here. You got the address from Amy. She was the easiest to manipulate – and no one is home, so you have a lot of time to think about how guilty you feel about it as you wait.

You wait for awhile.

It's the middle of the day on a Friday, so, they're probably at work.

But it's also quite possible that Amy sent out a warning of your arrival, and you're waiting for someone who won't show up unless you go back home.

You play with your wedding ring, twisting it around your finger until your skin is red and sore, and consider that perhaps that would be the wisest decision.

But you can't bring yourself to leave.

You're still paying for making that mistake the first time.

But you can't say it doesn't cross your mind to do it all again when a car pulls into the driveway, and, at first, no one gets out. Instead, they sit there staring at you like you're a phantasm, until Beca takes initiative to open the driver's side door.

"Aubrey?"

Chloe opens her door and slowly stands – for once, not saying a word.

You keep spinning your ring – wishing you had spent less time worrying about your conversation with Amy and more time worrying what you were going to say to Chloe and Beca. "You didn't answer any of my calls." You push up off the stair and stand.

"So, you think that means you can just show up here after what you did?" Beca slams her door.

"Bec…"

"Dude, no, we haven't heard from her in five years."

"I wanted to say I'm sorry." Usually, it's others faltering under your gaze, but you can't help being the one rocking on your heels this time, not knowing for once what's going to happen next. You glide your fingers up and down the center of your chest and stomach – fighting away a wave of nausea that you're not sure is caused by nerves or something else.

Beca breathes an incredulous laugh. "Are you serious?" she asks, and Chloe cautiously closes her car door.

You clench your jaw, wishing Chloe would be the one to talk. Yet, you can't bring yourself to even look at her face. You've wanted to say you were sorry for five years. "I drove all the way here, didn't I?"

"Oh my god." Beca runs her fingers through her hair as she leaves her space from beside the car and approaches her front door, storming past you up the steps.

It takes a little longer for Chloe to move.

You turn to watch Beca march out of sight, then face the railing on the opposite side of the stairs. At least the door doesn't slam, but, then again, Chloe is still outside too – still just looking at you. She stares right through you like she's looking through a sheet of glass that's blocking her way inside. "Chloe…"

"Don't."

You deserve that. You open your mouth to say something else, then act with prudence and close it again before any words come out.

She steps away from the car, and you can see how on guard she is as she walks to the house. She stops beside you, and doesn't say a thing.

You find yourself waiting for something – a familiar bone crushing hug, a simple hand on your arm, anything that tells you this isn't broken beyond repair. But nothing like that comes. Chloe just stands there for a fraction of a second, then walks right past and through the door. The lump that's been forming in the back of your throat since yesterday when you left your house seems to grow tenfold, and you look up at her back as she walks away – leaving the door wide open behind her.

You're not sure what that means.

So, you stand frozen to that bottom step, kind of like you've stood frozen in life, waiting for her to turn around.

Instead, she disappears, and leaves you with a choice of what to do.

Stay or go. Follow or walk away. Be brave or…well…

You turn and grip the railing, using it more as an emotional crutch than a figurative one to pull yourself up to the porch. Dully, you realize in the back of your mind, it probably would have been more comfortable to sit on the swing than the stairs.

"You, um, you have a nice house!" you call after Chloe as you turn and shut the door. The hallway is nice anyway. It's kind of all you can see from the door. The walls are lined with framed pictures that don't really capture your attention as you walk toward the end, where you can see Chloe's back to you in the kitchen. That's nice too when you get there: hardwood floors, marble countertops, state of the art appliances. "It looks like you're doing well."

"You think you can just show up out of nowhere?" Beca leans back against the counter, crossing her arms and squaring her shoulders, as Chloe turns acknowledge your presence. "Why are you here?"

"I tried to call."

"Fifty times, and you couldn't take the hint when no one answered?"

You lick your lips, then bite the bottom one before forming a watery smile.

"Are you thirsty?" Chloe asks.

"No." You shake your head. "I'm okay."

"Of course, you're just going to let her in!" Beca is fuming. "Into our house, into your head…"

"You know what, maybe I should just-"

"Again?!" Beca interrupts, her hands falling at her sides as her expression morphs into an unbelieving scowl, and you take a step back, "Jesus Christ, Aubrey!"

Chloe grabs you before you can get a single step farther – embracing you in a full body hug, face against your shoulder, one hand entangled in your hair.

You try to swallow the tightness in your throat, but it doesn't work this time around. Not when you thought you would never see her again. "I'm sorry," you claim again in earnest, wrapping yourself around her and locking eyes with Beca. You don't know what else to say right now. For a second, from the expression on her face, you think Beca is going to believe you, but then she just scoffs and walks out. There is a heaviness in your chest, not caused by Beca, as you turn your head so your face is buried in Chloe's hair. "I'm sorry."

Chloe takes a moment before she's pulling back, and you pull yourself together before you can start to crumble. She holds onto your shirt with one hand, like you might make a break for your car if she doesn't, and wipes her face with the other. For a moment, she seems to be in a battle for words, until finally she just settles on, "What the fuck, Aubrey?"

You clear your throat and wipe your eyes, choosing to regain your composure before trying to answer.

"Where did you disappear to?" she presses.

"I moved in with Howie." You try to smile and show her your ring. The second her hand releases your shirt, you want it back. Lips trembling, you look down at your finger and twist your wedding band some more.

Chloe wipes her face, then wraps her arms around herself, her gaze not leaving you. "You look…"

"Like shit?" you supply.

"Tired."

"It was a long drive." You look back up. "You look really good."

"I am." Chloe nods.

You try to smile again then look back down at your feet.

"Why are you here?" Chloe asks.

"I, um, I just…wanted to see you. I missed you." You pull your sleeves down over your hands and wipe your eyes.

Chloe walks over to the counter and grabs you a tissue.

You use it to wipe your nose as opposed to using your sleeve for that too. "I can go. I just…"

"No." Chloe reaches for your arm, while her eyes study your face in search of what you're not telling her yet. She doesn't seem to find it, but she looks at you as if the last five years never happened. "Stay."

You motion back toward the hall. "Beca…"

"Give her some time. She'll come around."

You're not sure you have as much time to give as Beca needs, but you nod in agreement anyway. "Thank you."

Chloe stares at you a second longer before she's wrapping you in a hug again, pressing her lips hard against your damp cheek. "How long are you planning on being here?"

"I don't know," you answer, "As long as I can."