Awkward. Awkward awkward awkward.

You take a sip of your drink, some carbonated brown thing the waitress brought you that tastes nothing like the alcohol you wish could take the edge off (but can't because of doctor's orders), and go back to trying to avoid looking at Chloe. There's a distinct absence of conversation that's creating a tense, static atmosphere. It almost feels as if lightning's about to strike down. Like the heaven's are about to break out in a heady downpour of rain. Something's going to snap. Someone's going to break the silence soon. Only, you were never good at making pleasant conversation, and you aren't one to speak first. That someone's not going to be you.

When you add all the little things together that makes this situation so very unnerving, you're at a loss of what to do or think. Being social, in general, isn't your thing. You think briefly on the irony that you want to be someone who produces music yet has absolutely no clue how to act like a human being in a social setting. Sarcasm only goes so far.

It's been a week since you saw the redhead last. Chloe. The one that hit you with her car and left you dizzy (which is a mild way of saying that she gave you a concussion and a broken foot). It's been a week since you spent hours at her house, doing nothing of importance but spending time with an interesting stranger, and she put her number in your phone. It's been a week since you talked to her last. And the text sent six hours earlier? That doesn't count because either A) she gave you the wrong number, B) she changed her number, or C) she doesn't remember who you are. Regardless, each of these add up to one thing: Chloe probably didn't want to talk to you again.

That theory seems strange now that you're sitting here across the table from her at an almost fancy restaurant (named "Elizabeth's") at Chloe's own bequest. You're at a loss of what to think. When added with the other facts, your conclusion doesn't make sense. So what did you get wrong?

You think that maybe life got in the way and you're overreacting to this entire thing. Life always seems to get in the way. It's probably something a lot simpler. Still, you can't find it within you to talk to the woman. You still haven't spoken to her in a week.

Fat Amy's the one to crack first.

"So, first I'd like to thank you twig bitches for helping me and my mates take our rightful seats at this establishment," Amy has a serious face. She gives a solemn look to both Chloe and her blonde friend before continuing, "But I need to make sure you know I can't afford the bill. A lot of you yankees seem to think I have enough money to buy up the entire Aussie coastline. Some even suggest I get it from playing on the dark side." Amy's eyes flash, "I don't know who you might've heard it from, but it's not true. Mermaid dancing is a recreational sport. They love me at Medieval Fairs."

"Amy, you don't go to Medieval Fairs," Cynthia-Rose reminds her.

Amy give CR a strange look, "Then where do I get all my money?"

Chloe interrupts the pair, "You don't have to worry about paying." You can't resist looking up. There's soft light playing over her hair. The atmosphere in the restaurant is comfortable and romantic. Chloe's eyes are looking into your own, her irises reflecting the flames from a candle. You think how strange it is that she accepts your friends as they are, without questioning. Not many people do. You're sure it'll come later. "I still owe Beca for hitting her with my car."

The table nearly erupts at her words, everyone speaking at once.

"She's the one you hit/that hit you with her/your car?"

"I get a free meal from Shawshank's pain?"

"Aw hell-"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah."

"No!"

"Is that why we're eating with these people?" Chloe's blonde friend speaks for a second time in the span of five seconds, and it's her words that are easiest to hear. Everything else was a loud jumble of confusion and words and cheers and confirmations.

You look over at the woman with a glare, "'These people'?"

The blonde's eyes barely look over at you, as if you weren't worth her time. Her voice sounds like your father's did, the night he told your mom and you about his affair. "No offense," she says. She eyes you in disdain.

"Hi, all!" the waitress is a cheery woman who seemingly popped up from nowhere. She holds a pen poised over her notebook. "Are you ready to place your orders?"

Amy reals back in shock at the woman, "When did you get here?"

The waitress' jaw is clenched in her smile, the one that you can see now isn't so cheerful as polite, "I've literally been here the whole time."

"No," you say. "I need a few more minutes to look at the menu if that's okay."

The waitress walks away in a second, throwing a "Take your time" over her shoulder as she goes. CR's head cocks to the side as she visibly checks her out.

"Well, I know what I want," Stacie practically purrs to Aubrey.

You ignore them and turn to look back at Chloe, hoping to continue the previous conversation, "Look, I can't ask you to pay for all of us."

"I hit you with my car," she says with a half smile and a small shrug.

"And that was an accident," you say. "You already more than made up for it."

She shakes her head, bemused, "Beca, I drove you to the hospital and I drove you home. How have I made up for it?"

"You also, somehow, got me a second interview at the radio station."

"After I caused you to miss it-"

"That's not your fault because I was running late anyway, I probably would've missed it. As it is, it's my fault I got hit by your car," you cut her off. You're dead set on not budging from your position. Chloe would not be paying for the six of you. "You got us a table. Let's split the tab. That's enough." There's a lull in the conversation at your sharp tone. Maybe it's pride, or maybe it's the knowledge that it really would be cheaper for Chloe in the long run if they paid separately, or maybe it's something else entirely but you can't let Chloe pay for you. Not now. Not after only speaking to her once. Not to make up for something that you already considered in the past.

Maybe it came down to you not wanting to feel like she could buy your trust. Like she could buy her way into your-

That smile on her face that faltered at your words, though, was devastatingly convincing. Everything about Chloe made you want to give in and trust her. It confused you. What do you really want to do here? What is actually the right move?

You're not letting her pay.

"Does that mean no free food then?" Amy asks carefully. When everyone looks at her, she throws her hands up as a white flag, "Just to be clear."

The conversation is unanimously and unspokenly dropped.

It's then that you finally start looking through the menu. Nothing looks particularly appetizing. That sense of adventure, of maybe trying something new and trying to be optimistic if just for this one night and only in regards to this restaurant, has dissipated by now. The only thing that looks remotely interesting is soup and breadsticks, and even that seems abstractly disinteresting in regards to eating tonight. It's generic. It's the default food you order when you go to restaurants. Soup and breadsticks. If there's ever a time where there aren't any of either on the menu, you go with a plain burger. But here it is on the menu, and if soup is what you're going to go with...

You don't place the menu down once you've decided, preferring to use it as a barrier between yourself and the rest of the table. Even though you know that you're exhibiting a strange behaviour, you can't seem to help yourself from trying to keep that wall up.

Chloe's looking at you strangely from across the table with something akin to worry on her face. The blonde is not so secretly glaring.

It's after the waitress takes everyone's orders that the introductions actually occur. You hadn't noticed because you'd been preoccupied with your thoughts, but no one was familiar with one another until Stacie started the introductions. It takes a matter of seconds before everyone is acquainted and friendly chatter starts up.

Chloe keeps glancing at you as she converses with Amy, talking about something you could care less about (hence why you don't care to actually know what it is they're talking about). Aubrey, the blonde, sits straight and with her shoulders back. She replies curtly and with barely veiled irritation at Stacie's provocative remarks that Cynthia-Rose occasionally goes along with. You don't talk much. Your friends recognise the look on your face as one that says you're not in the mood. They understand you don't want to talk. Not around near strangers.

Chloe doesn't seem to get the memo, though. You don't understand why she keeps trying to draw you into the free flowing conversation. Again, you haven't talked to her in a week. When you tried texting her, earlier that day, you had the wrong number. Maybe there was some sort of misunderstanding, but you really can't continue until it's cleared up and you can't find it within you to broach the topic. Everytime you try, it's with a reminder that you're surrounded by your friends and a blonde woman who keeps giving you these patronising stares. Trepidation arises, worrisome and eating at your core. You're definitely overthinking this, you think you must be. Still, how much actually happened in a day to get you to this point where you feel like this? And why is she putting an effort in trying to get you involved?

You grit your teeth and start to move to grab your crutches. This process means reaching over Amy and, in effect, nearly pushing her out of the booth. Amy makes a comical noise as she nearly loses her balance, and you manage to squeeze your way by. Everyone is watching you now, and you know what the blonde girl thinks when she looks at you. It's probably the same thing that Chloe thinks (the rational part of your mind argues that it's not, that you're letting your insecurities get to you out of nowhere, but it's easy to shut your rational side up).

A brunette punk girl, covered in tattoos and piercings. Sharp features, heavy eyeliner, and a permanent scowl. Uncomely, unsociable, and very alternative. Someone that must do drugs. Or steals. Or sleeps around- with anybody- or money, because she's obviously broke. Just look at her, she doesn't have a job. Surely useless to society. Nothing that amounts to good. A person that polite people, that respectable people, shouldn't be around. Can't you see her tattoos?

You had enough of those type of judgements with your father. You had enough of that with most everyone in high school. You had enough of that from perfect strangers. You're a twenty one year old woman now. You're done being treated like anything less than a human being on account of your appearance or your sexual orientation. Why should it matter to anyone else who you are or what you do with your life? Why should that matter to a stranger?

"Beca, where're you going?" it's Stacie, calling out from deep in the booth. She's trying to wriggle her way out passed Cynthia-Rose, who's also starting to make her way down the seats. Amy's sitting completely on the floor now. You have your crutches under your arms and you're starting to hobble your way towards the front door. There's plenty of time before the food gets served and you need a moment alone to get these overwhelmed feelings under control. Chloe's talking to her friend in quick, hushed tones, but peeks up to look at you apologetically with her blue eyes. You don't pause for a second.

"I need some air."

No one had followed you out. You're still standing in front of Elizabeth's, leaning your back against the brick building while holding your crutches with your eyes closed. It's not like you were planning on leaving. You really did need a breath of air.

Whether or not you were overreacting, all you need is a moment to calm down before you head back inside to face the battlefield.

You wonder what it might be like to stand out here and smoke, as people often do, in order to have something to do with your hands so you don't look as awkward standing out here as feel. But you've never actually smoked a cigarette.

"I'm sorry about that," damn it. You'd spoken too soon. You open your eyes to see Chloe standing unsurely in front of you. "I didn't think paying would be such a big deal, and Aubrey's really a sweetheart. Her parent's just never took her out of the shrink wrap."

"I don't even know what that means," you say, aggravatedly. Your eyes flit away from Chloe to look at the traffic, the onrush of cars, so she doesn't see how bothered you are. Sure, Aubrey was a little uptight and you doubt that the both of you would ever get along, but that wasn't the problem. You know that Chloe wasn't trying to be showy or anything by attempting to pay for everyone. "It's just..." you sigh, trying to find the words. "I appreciate you trying to be nice and buy us all dinner, but I don't need your help."

"I know you don't need my help," Chloe replies amiably. "You got that job at the radio station, didn't you?"

You give her a sharp glance, "Yeah, I did."

Chloe shrugs with a coy smile, "Then why would you need my help? I was only trying to be nice, like you said."

Shaking your head you say, "I think I've blown this all out of proportion."

Her smile's a little warmer now, reminiscent to the last time you'd seen her, and it sends birds fluttering about in your stomach. "Maybe a little, but it's cute," her hand trails along your arm absentmindedly. Your face feels a little hot at her words, and you try to ignore it.

"I'm badass," you say. "Not cute."

She grins, "Tomato, tomato."

You raise an eyebrow, "Don't you mean to-mah-to?"

She shrugs, "I've never actually heard anyone say tomato that way, but that's exactly the point of the phrase." She waves one hand around abstractly, "They mean the same thing."

You give a sigh of acceptance and take one more breath before shifting your crutches and beginning to make your way back inside.

Chloe's other hand stays firm upon your shoulder, warm and comforting. You barely have time to look at her when she envelopes you in a hug. It's almost unnatural how naturally you react to this. Her cheek presses against the top of your head as you bury your face in the space between her shoulder and neck. You drop your crutches as your arms immediately respond by wrapping around Chloe. She holds you in her strong embrace, while your arms are loose and uncertain. You're not often hugged and less often hugged like this. "I missed you," she murmurs quietly. You do your best not to reply that you missed her too.

When she pulls away from the hug, she leans down to pick up the crutches you dropped as you lean against the building for support. She hands them to you and your fingers gently touch.

"Why didn't you call?" she asks pensively. It strikes you then that you really have been overreacting, that this all has actually been some sort of misunderstanding, and your cheeks flush lightly in embarrassment.

"I sent you a text..." you say timidly. "Earlier, but I'm not sure that I had the right number." Chloe immediately goes to pull out her phone, flipping through her texts with a furrowed brow. It shouldn't matter as much as it does to the both of you that you stay in contact this time.

She smiles when she sees your text, and it lights up her entire face. That blush comes back, furiously reddening your cheeks more than before. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, leaning on the opposite crutch to give your left armpit a break. Chloe quickly texts something back as she explains, "Aubrey had my phone earlier while I was in the shower. She used it to call her dad, so she must've answered it when you texted. She wouldn't have known who you were."

The explanation is simple. It's easy.

There's a buzz in your pocket when your phone receives her text. You're itching to look at it now, but something in Chloe's expression convinces you to wait until later.

God, you're such a fool.

The both of you start to make your way back inside. The mood is lighter now and the food is sitting on the table. Aubrey's face itself seems to be slightly apologetic for her brisk personality, but she says nothing on the matter. Instead, she's engaging herself in a conversation with Stacie about E-network. The soup you'd ordered was actually pretty good.

"You're late," is the first thing that Luke tells Jesse the next afternoon. It's followed closely by a huff of resignation, and then Luke saying, "This is Becky. You'll be working with her from now on."

"It's Beca-" you try to correct Luke.

Jesse, however, must deem himself a funny guy as he gives a charming grin as he interrupts you, "No, it's Becky."

You roll your eyes. The dude is mildly annoying.

Jesse peers at you closely before recognition strikes his face, "Hey! I know you!"

Luke's eyebrow quirks in a question.

"No you don't," you say in answer to Luke's silent question.

"Yeah I do," he says vehemently.

You look back at look Luke, "He doesn't."

"Totally know her."

Luke looks unimpressed, "Ok, cool. You guys can figure it out while you're stacking CDs." He waves Jesse off to the side table where you're standing next to boxes of records and CDs. He then turns to take refuge in the booth while you and Jesse get to work at your new job. You decide to forgo the crutches, leaning them up against the wall, and shuffle around awkwardly with a box in your hands and your foot in a cast as you place the items within it on their designated shelves. Jesse follows behind you, sorting his own box.

"I do know you," he says. "You're the girl who got hit by a car around a week ago. I was one of the guys who went to check up on you. I remember because you were riding a pink bicycle. Wait, was that your bicycle?"

You give him a blank look, "No."

"Oh. Okay," he says, and you proceed to ignore him. There's a pause before he jumps back into attempting conversation, "Luke's attractive, huh? Excellent bone structure, fancy British accent, really cool tattoos..." He's fishing for something, and so you reply in the hopes that maybe he'll shut up.

"He's not really my type," you say nonchalantly. "You can go for it, though."

Jesse blinks.

It clearly wasn't what he expected you to say, and he blushes. "No, I'm not- I mean, I'm clearly- But I don't-" he sputters. You take that moment to put another record on the shelf, right next to the Beetle's section. Jesse doesn't talk for a while after that. You don't get why he'd gotten so flustered. He has nothing to be embarrassed about. Still, you're greatful for the silence your given.

A little while later, Luke has Jesse go out for a burger run. You decide to take a five minute brake (or maybe it's a half hour long brake, whatever) while Jesse's gone and Luke's preoccupied. You take your phone out of your pocket and scroll to the text Chloe sent you the evening before. You're not sure why your phone practically burned a hole in your pocket.

hey :)

That's all she'd sent. Hey. You've had all of twenty-one hours or so now, and you still aren't sure how to reply. You feel so awkward. How are you supposed to reply to "hey"?Grumbling to yourself, and feeling completely lame, you decide to text back.

Hi.

That doesn't seem completely right though. After deliberating for a moment, you decide to add more on.

Hi. How was your day?

That's not too weird, right? They're sort of friends now. You and the redhead. Chloe. You're not the type to initiate conversation, though, so you backtrack a little. You erase the whole meager little text, then rewrite your original text.

Hi.

This is what you're back to. Kinda lame. Embarrassed, you erase it as well.

Thanks for dinner last night-

No, that sounds like you went on a date. Everything that happened yesterday was extremely platonic. You were both surrounded by your friends. But, if you weren't surrounded by your friends, then maybe it would've been a date- except, no, because everything that happened yesterday was platonic. You attempt to reiterate that idea in your mind, repetitively, but all that comes across is the searing image of her sitting across from you, skin glowing from the candlelight, and a smile directed only at you... Platonic.

So you erased that text as well.

How's the road rage?

No-

What are you up to?

No-

Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

No, no- God, where did that even come from?

Stumped, you just sit there at the table in the studio where you were supposed to be working glaring at your phone. Jesse would be back soon with food. If he or Luke sees that the boxes are just the way you'd left them from half an hour (okay, so maybe it's been a little more than half an hour now) ago, there going to start asking questions and you just got this job. You can't afford to lose it. Sighing, you're about to tuck your phone away in the back pocket of your jeans when inspiration strikes.

Hey, you start with, did I ever thank you for getting me that second interview?

Before you overthink it, you hit send. Before you have the chance to take your phone and throw it at the wall for being an idiot, you tuck it in your back pocket and get back to work. It's barely two minutes later when you feel it buzz.

lol no

You blink. You would've thought Chloe was the conversationalist. Still, you know how you get with texts. You try to keep it to a minimum, but you always seem to have a lot more to say when text.

Well thanks, I got the job :)

Awkward, but that's good right? A couple minutes later and your phone rings again.

r u thr now?

Yeah

cool :)

And that's about as far as your conversation goes. Part of you hates yourself because it's obvious how much she doesn't want to talk to you. You're not even sure why you care so much. You sigh, put your phone away, and go back to stacking CDs. Jesse walks in not long after with the burgers, blaming how long he took on traffic. Neither he nor Luke notices how many boxes were still left on the table. The rest of the work day goes by pretty easily, with Jesse making occasional comments about various things that happened with some of his past coworkers and Luke walking out of the booth every now and again to grab some other songs to play.

The studio is small. The station doesn't get a lot of listeners. It's quaint, and homey, and barely a dot on anyone's music radar... but the music's good, and it pays well, and it's a place to start.

AN

Sorry it took me so long to get this posted. I lost a little bit of interest, not gonna lie, despite having more than half of this chapter written. I've decided that rather than worry about limiting myself, I'm just going to let myself write what I want to write and we'll see where it takes me. After that decision, it got a little easier to loosen up. The story's definitely going to be a little easy going. I'm not gonna jump out with the "L" word right away. No guarantees about when the next chapter will be posted. Hope y'all stay tuned.

Thanks for following, favoriting, and or reviewing- but most of all, thanks for reading. Hope you've enjoyed it so far. We'll see where it goes.

TO MY THREE REVIEWERS: Normally, I respond to each reviewer individually, and I'm sorry that I'm not today, but you all pretty much asked for the same thing... In that turn, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update! I hope you all are enjoying it so far, still, and thank you all so much for your reviews. You guys have no idea actually how much your words and your support means to me. So thank you so much! Please forgive me.

That said, once again, thanks for reading! I hope you all have a warm, not frozen with snow and stuck in your house because of it, day. Or not. Whatever you want to do. Psh.