AN: Inspired by, mainly, sad-song playlists on 8tracks. Yeah, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore.
Fix Me?
Chapter Two - Do(n't) Stand So Close To Me
She sees him every day. How can she not? What with them both working at the station, having basically the same classes, and not to mention their friends' efforts at a reunion.
Ahh, yes, their friends. Everything had gotten so awkward, after the Big Fallout. That's what everyone was calling it now, that's its name.
The tension between her and Jesse had been so thick that even those not in the aca-universe knew about it. Hell, Beca has even started to notice those who aren't in the aca-universe trying to fix it. There's that word again: fix. She hates that word. It's that stupid word's fault.
No, Beca knows they didn't fall apart due to a word.
But that word has been popping into people's conversations more and more. Or maybe she just wasn't paying attention to it before.
Sitting on the grass in the shade of the huge tree, their tree, she sees him again. Leaves, although it's December now and the weather seems oddly tuned to her mood so they should be soggy and smush, crunch underneath his shoes. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his Treble jacket. He took it back from her just two weeks ago.
Clonk, clonk, clonk!
A knock on the door wakes the sleeping brunette with a jolt. Her head lifts up from the pillow, her neck straining to see over it and to the digital clock on her desk. The blue letters flash; it's 8:17. Beca flops over, squeezing her eyes shut and flexing her muscles before relaxing again and attempting to fall back into her dream. She doesn't remember much, except a fist raised high in the air, popcorn, and a mix CD.
Clonk, clonk, clonk!
With a sigh, Beca throws the comforter off herself and grabs the jacket she sleeps on because it. Is. Freezing outside, and Stacie left the fucking window open when she snuck out through it last night, as not to be seen by the dorm advisor on her way off-campus to see Donald.
Pulling off her shorts, she throws on the sweats she also keeps below her sheets before opening up the door.
Jesse stands there, his hand poised to bang on the wood again. Beca's mouth falls into an 'o' as she lightly gasps.
Jesse clears his throat. "Uhm, hey. . . Beca."
She lifts her hands, which the jacket sleeves pass, and pulls said jacket tighter around herself. "Uh, hey, Jesse. I haven't seen you since. . . I haven't seen you in a while." Both of them know what she was going to say, but what she can't. Her brow scrunches. "What are you doing here?" She doesn't dare hope it's for what she wants it to be.
"I, uhm, came to pick up some stuff I've left here," his gaze averts from hers as his voice rings out into the cold room.
A voice in the back of her mind lingers on that thought. It reminds her of the times that his voice use to radiate warmth throughout a cold room when talking to her, how it could take the chill out of her bones and make her fingertips and cheeks turn pink. That stupid voice that tells her to fight for him, to remember the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at her and the way she could feel her's twinkling back.
Beca doesn't know how long she's been inside her own head before he pulls her back to the bitter present. "I see you still keep your clothes warm by sleeping on them," half of his mouth slightly lifts as he looks at the pile of hoodies and pants discarded into the corner of her bed, hidden under blankets.
She mirrors his almost-smile. "It's too cold in the morning, it makes all my clothes cold unless they're under the comforter."
Beca realizes that he's still standing outside of her door, so she swing back and flourishes her hand half-heartedly while still looking like she means it, as only the half-asleep can achieve. He walks passed her and scans her desk, picking up a couple of CDs before moving on to the underside of her bed.
She doesn't move from her place by the doorjamb. Beca just crosses the two sides of the too-big hoodie over each other and keeps them in place by crossing her arms, then leans against the wall.
A pair of boxers, another CD, and three movies come out before he stands back up.
"So," he starts, turning around. "Uh, thanks, Beca. Sorry to wake you up."
She lets a small smile break through. "No problem."
He walks past her and out the door into the hallway. Beca doesn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the space previously occupied.
"Beca," his voice calls softly from behind her.
A hand reaches up to her face and swipes before she turns around. "Yeah?"
Eyes cast toward the floor, his weight switching from foot to foot, he stutters. "That's, uh, mine." Her brow scrunches, not that he sees. Sensing her confusion in the following silence, he elaborates. "The jacket, I mean. It's my Trebles jacket." His eyes look up now, just catching her hand moving away from Beca's face again.
Breath audibly catches in the petite girl's throat. "Oh," she finally lets out the breath. "Of course." Her shoulders softly roll back as she shrugs the jacket off and hands it to Jesse.
He shifts some things to his other hand and grabs the jacket with his right. "Thanks," the whispered words barely reach her ears. "Goodbye, Beca."
She gently closes the door behind her and lets the tears fall, knowing that his goodbye wasn't just for this visit. The room is now not only cold but hollow; as her back slides down the door and her butt leeches the cold from the wooden floor, Beca can't help but wonder if her life had always been like the room is now, cold and hollow, and she just didn't realize it until the warmth she found was gone.
Looking up from his shoes, Jesse looks around the courtyard. Their eyes catch each other. Beca looks away. She may see him every day, but that doesn't mean anything has gotten better. With close eyes she leans back against the rough tree trunk, wondering whether she'd be more hurt if he didn't come over or if he did.
He doesn't.