Stacie smiled when she woke up to the feeling of lips trailing a series of kisses along the back of her shoulder, sliding her hand along the arm around her waist and mused, "Don't start anything you're not going to finish." She warned.

"Oh," Aubrey whispered, and Stacie could feel her Aubrey's lips pull into a smile against her bare shoulder, "you're going to finish."

And let it not be said that Aubrey didn't follow through on her promises.

A little while later, Aubrey gave Stacie a quick kiss, ignoring the way Stacie was still catching her breath and barely kissed her back. "I'm gonna go make breakfast."

Stacie was a beat too slow in grabbing Aubrey to try and keep her in bed, and could only watch as Aubrey left the bedroom to go and prepare their meal, having missed dinner the night before. She rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling of Aubrey's room as she recovered from her wake up call.

Stacie ran her hand through her hair, and once she could string together coherent thought, she took notice of her surroundings.

Oddly – but unsurprisingly – the room was sparsely decorated, as even the windows only had blinds, not curtains, and one wall had a line of built-in closets and a bookshelf; there was a small dresser near the closets, and there was a singular table beside the bed. Much like Aubrey's apartment back when she had been in Philadelphia, there were no pictures on display, and save for the items on top of the dresser, very little indication regarding the person who occupied the room.

The bookshelf had a few books in it, sure, and while Stacie couldn't identify any of them from this distance, she was pretty sure Aubrey read more than the pitiful state of that shelf implied. There was no stereo, or any kind of rack for Stacie to investigate and find any kind of incriminating evidence of Aubrey's cheesy preferences. There was a TV mounted in the far corner of the room, but Stacie had no idea where the remote control was. It was, Stacie realized with a start, not much different from all the other hotel rooms she had met Aubrey in, complete with Aubrey's luggage set just sitting in a corner waiting to be packed and used.

At least the bed was really comfortable. And smelled vaguely like Aubrey, so she knew Aubrey really lived here, despite all appearances to the contrary.

Stacie glanced at the bedside table, where Aubrey's phone, glasses, and an alarm clock – Stacie rolled her eyes, of course Aubrey had an actual alarm clock, even though Stacie knew she mostly used her phone – were all easily visible and within reach, as well as a bedside lamp. It took Stacie a minute to focus, but her gaze fell on something behind the lamp, and it was enough to pique her interest. Stacie squinted, getting up slightly to get a better view, and wished she didn't have to hunt down her eyeglasses so she wouldn't have to move closer to get a better look.

But even though her brain was a little slow on the uptake, she suspected she knew what it was, even before a closer look confirmed what she thought.

A metronome.

Stacie leaned over her pillow as she moved closer to that side of the bed, and reached out to pull the item closer to her.

She'd read from one of her mom's medical journals the soothing effects of metronomes on people with panic and anxiety issues, and she had been out one day trying to come up with a suitable graduation gift for Aubrey – not including the engraved Barden Bellas pitch pipe the Bellas had all gotten for their graduating captain – and had come across a vintage store with a variety of metronomes on display.

It hadn't been the most obvious of gifts to give Aubrey – honestly the Bellas had just decided that Aubrey deserved something to commemorate her time as their captain, and the pitch pipe she'd had had been thrown out after it fell in Aubrey's puddle of vomit; and they figured something Bella-related was the best way to go in terms of what to give Aubrey as a gift – but Stacie had thought about Aubrey's anxiety issues, with the likelihood that she would pursue a job or career in something equally anxiety-inducing, and she figured, considering Aubrey's taste for things both elegant and classic, a well-made metronome with a dark wood finish wouldn't be out of place.

In a room so impersonal to the point of being mistaken for a hotel room, Aubrey kept a metronome out in full display, just slightly out of reach from her bed; the singular point of information on the resident.

Stacie didn't know what that meant, but she had a feeling that the metronome was Aubrey's only marker of when she was in her apartment in New York and not some other random room in hotels across the country. It also raised the question of whether the impersonal space was by choice or coincidence; and if Aubrey chose to leave it that way, the reasons why.

Because honestly, the living and dining area weren't any better, and the whole apartment might as well be advertised and featured on a real estate magazine for its lack of personal touches. "So this place is…"

"Empty?" Aubrey guessed.

Stacie made a face at her. "Pristine."

Aubrey quirked an eyebrow at her, but this time didn't answer, or stop with her jam application onto a slice of toast.

Stacie frowned at the lack of response. "I mean, it's clean, Aubrey." She smiled wryly. "Like, really clean. Like you've-killed-someone-in-here-and-cleaned-up-after clean."

Aubrey shrugged. "Bleach can do that."

Stacie frowned at her.

Aubrey smiled weakly. "I don't know what to tell you, Stacie. I'm not one for interior decorating."

"There's interior design and there's…" Stacie gestured around them. "This is dystopian sci-fi clean, babe."

Aubrey took a sip of her coffee and admitted, "Decorating isn't on my list of things to do."

"You don't even have a picture of me by your bed," Stacie pointed out, stabbing her plate of scrambled eggs with her fork. "Or, you know, on your dresser. Or above your bed. As the person whose face isn't plastered all over your personal space, I won't lie, this borders on offensive."

Aubrey pursed her lips in thought.

Stacie studied her for a moment, narrowing her eyes as something occurred to her. "You don't have pictures of me, do you?"

"Of course I do." Aubrey said defensively.

"No," Stacie shook her head, her epiphany needing to be addressed directly, "your social media feed is locked, but I bet if we checked you won't have pictures of me."

"I'm sure I do." Aubrey said, a little unconvincingly.

Stacie raised an eyebrow.

"I must have," Aubrey said thoughtfully, grabbing her phone and unlocking it. She glanced at Stacie, who looked back at her with an expectant expression, and she turned back to her phone silently praying that she had actually followed through on any of her plans to post something – anything – related to her relationship with Stacie.

The problem with having been advised about locking up her social media accounts was that in the period of time it took for her to stop automatically posting things, she had also become acclimated to not posting things at all. After all, the learning curve regarding things she could and could not post had been steep, so to be safe, she had just avoided posting anything, and now it was no longer second nature for her to post things and upload pictures.

So there was no shortage to the sigh of relief she exhaled when each one of the accounts she checked had at least one picture of her and Stacie, with the vague recollection of her posting those pictures after she had seen Stacie post something similar, and responding in kind.

Of course, when compared to Stacie's own social media feed, Aubrey had a lot to make up for.

Note to self: post more often.

Stacie apparently felt the same, as she scrolled through Aubrey's phone after being handed it for inspection, breakfast all but forgotten, as she declared, "This is like how people get convinced that the guy they're dating just isn't into you."

"I know." Aubrey admitted, when she was given her phone back. "The confidentiality level of what I do kind of gets in the way of the amount of selfies and scenic pictures of landmarks I can share with people."

"Because people can guess where you work?"

"Of company clientele or subsidiaries based on my location, yeah. And given what I do, that's… not a good thing." Aubrey nodded. "Keeping the job's already hard enough as it is, it's hard to risk it for something so stupid."

"Selfies?"

Aubrey shook her head, smiling weakly. "And even without the obvious evidence, I'd have to load things on my computer, remove the data manually, and then upload the pictures, which was just too tedious to deal with."

Stacie frowned. "That sucks."

"It really does," Aubrey agreed.

"And the apartment?"

"I'm barely ever here," Aubrey acknowledged.

"It just feels so…" Stacie once again tried to find a kinder way to say what she thought.

Aubrey glanced at her. "Temporary?"

"A little, yeah," Stacie nodded. "Like you're transient, or something."

Aubrey glanced around, as if to confirm what Stacie might be seeing. She turned back to Stacie. "I don't know, maybe a part of me feels like I am."

Stacie frowned. "But you're not, right?"

Aubrey smiled weakly, and nodded. "I'm not."

"So maybe you can start decorating?" Stacie suggested.

Aubrey rolled her eyes, but nodded. "I'll start decorating."

Stacie grinned, and couldn't help but tease Aubrey a little, "With pictures of me?"

"I'll build a shrine, if that'll make you happy."

Stacie laughed. "Are you kidding? I expect a full wall of just me."

Aubrey smiled. "Serial killer wall, or crazy conspiracy theory wall?"

Stacie stuck her tongue out at Aubrey. "Teenage girl with a hardcore crush."

Aubrey laughed, before her grin softened into a faint smile. "You know I love you, right?"

"I know." Stacie responded, hesitating briefly before leaving her seat and moving towards Aubrey, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and perching herself on the other girl's lap. "I just don't like the idea that you come home to this emptiness."

"It's not empty." Aubrey replied, wrapping her arms around Stacie's waist.

"But it's not yours." Stacie reminded.

"It isn't," Aubrey agreed. She shrugged again, this time more casually. "And honestly I'm just waiting for Wes to man up and propose to his girlfriend, so I might have to move out one day."

"Yeah? How's that-" Stacie stopped suddenly, and the playfulness of their exchange disappeared in her countenance. "Wait, 'girlfriend'?"

Aubrey nodded.

"I thought your roommate's gay."

"He's not gay." Aubrey declared, confused. "Why would you think that?"

"Because Dan willingly went with you to watch collegiate a cappella and someone else checks my Instagram regularly?" Stacie reminded.

"They care about me," Aubrey noted. "That doesn't make them gay."

"Well, who lets their bisexual girlfriend stay with a straight male roommate?" Stacie hissed. She looked around, as if trying to confirm the identity of said straight male roommate.

Aubrey rolled her eyes. "You're fine, he's not interested in me."

"Um," Stacie turned to level an incredulous look at her, "people in Barden still found you hot even after the ICCAs your junior year; you're underestimating your hotness." She paused, and then asked in a whisper, "Is your roommate blind, because that explains—"

"He and Marti have been dating since high school. They grew up together. He's only ever liked one girl his entire life, and everyone else just don't count for him." Aubrey explained.

Stacie groaned. "You're making me feel bad about hating him now."

"Don't hate him." Aubrey advised her, chuckling.

Stacie pouted.

"Free rent." Aubrey reminded.

"Fine, but if he tries anything, I reserve the right to say I told you so." Stacie warned. "Repeatedly. Like, with a song and dance number."

Aubrey grinned. "You're gonna dance?"

Stacie nodded, until she noticed the glazed look on Aubrey's face. She rolled her eyes, and shook her head. "You're ridiculous."

"Will you be in costume?"

"Seriously?"

"Can I get this song and dance if he proposes to Marti?"

Stacie rolled her eyes. "You just want me to dance in costume."

"Or without it."

"You're insane."

"With sequins and tails."

Stacie frowned but drew out slowly, "Sequins would eat up our entire costume allowance."

"Tails, then."

"Like animal costumes?" Stacie asked, confused. She wasn't one to judge, and while she was undeniably kinky, she wasn't that kinky.

"Coat and tails." Aubrey corrected, before she paused and noted, "That's not really a thing, right, because I know you said you have kinks, but is—"

Stacie tugged on a lock of Aubrey's hair. "No."

Aubrey laughed.

Stacie regarded Aubrey, and how buoyant and vibrant she seemed, completely belying how bleak the impersonal apartment space made her seem, and when they fell back into a comfortable silence, she blurted out, "I saw the metronome."

Aubrey arched an eyebrow, not sure where Stacie wanted to take the conversation topic.

"You keep it at your bedside?"

Aubrey nodded slowly.

"Because of your stress levels?"

Aubrey gave her a wary look, but conceded, "Partly."

Stacie's lips quirked into a teasing smile, "Because you miss me?"

Aubrey huffed, but again admitted, "Partly."

This innate stubbornness, this refusal to give in: this was equal parts what Stacie loved most and found most exasperating about Aubrey Posen. She did not yet know entirely the reasons for Aubrey's bullish personality, or why getting her to confess to certain things could be likened to pulling teeth, but Stacie knew there was a reason why Aubrey's friendship with Chloe meant to her as much as it did, why it was the most important relationship Aubrey had for a long time, and why Aubrey loved Chloe as much as she did.

Because Chloe did not let Aubrey off the hook. Stacie wasn't privy to a lot of their interactions when they had all been Bellas together, but Chloe could only take so much of being bulldozed over before she snapped and called people out on their bad behavior. But Chloe also worked in more subtle ways, waiting people out and being the one person in the world who didn't judge them, until people trusted her so fully that they could tell her everything.

Because here's what Stacie did know about Aubrey: the girl was so used to disappointing people, whether she meant to or not, whether the disappointment was warranted or not, that her natural inclination was to expect to be dismissed. And maybe Stacie had already stepped up back in California, refusing to let Aubrey off the hook from their relationship, but she knew there was a part of Aubrey that still expected the other shoe to drop.

Stacie bit her lip briefly, and admitted, "I kept the bill and receipt from the hotel."

Aubrey's brow knit, "What?"

"From that night." Stacie continued. She looked down, suddenly fixated by the collar of Aubrey's sleep shirt, and the way it frayed a little near the seam. "I took it, and at first it was just… It made it real. What did you say, that it was proof that the night really happened? That was mine. And then you stopped calling, and you kind of disappeared, and it felt like, that was proof. That for one night, I'd meant something to you. I wasn't just..." She took a deep breath, and hated how shaky it felt, the way it sounded, even to her. She could feel the way Aubrey's arms tightened around her, but still she kept her gaze on the fraying edges of Aubrey's shirt. "You weren't just a crush I needed to get out of my system. But I didn't know what that meant."

Aubrey had suspected as much, having felt much of the same, and wanted to comfort and reassure Stacie, but she didn't know how. Words seemed empty, actions felt drastic, and in the wake of such a heartfelt confession, it would be easy to make a mistake.

Since Stacie's gaze remained down, Aubrey returned the gesture, keeping her own gaze lowered, while reaching up to idly tangle her fingers through some of Stacie's dark hair that had escaped the bun she kept it in. "Remember that day in your room?"

Stacie frowned, wondering at the seeming non-sequitur, but nodded.

"I told you that your room is just part of the story of who you are." Aubrey continued. Their gazes met briefly, but then Stacie cast her gaze back down. "I said that I wanted to know all the stories about the things in it."

Stacie nodded again, slowly figuring out where Aubrey was going with this.

"For over a year, I haven't been the best friend. Or a good daughter. Or even a decent girlfriend. I've been a good employee, but that hasn't always been a very good version of me." Aubrey looked up, and this time, when her eyes met Stacie's, neither of them looked away. "For that entire time, I've had one story."

Stacie nodded mutely.

"And it involves that metronome."