The first time she opened up to him was the night he lost the ICCA's. He didn't feel like he'd lost; he felt like he was on top of the world. They had spent the entire night sitting on the floor in the hallway, discussing their hopes and dreams, their fears of the unknown, their lives growing up, his favorite movies, her favorite songs. They talked until the sun rose. He would remind her of that night whenever they hit a bump in the road.

Everyone had just arrived at the hotel after leaving Lincoln Center. The hotel had blocked off an entire hall (or two or three) for the various a cappella groups. He wandered down the hallway with a grin on his face. People were running around, singing and laughing. There wasn't any sense of competition as the different schools mingled and partied. Some of them may have lost, but tonight was about having fun. He hoped all of this would convince her to stay at Barden, with her friends (mostly him), instead of moving out to L.A. Maybe he could become a part of her dream.

Donald ran down the hall, accidentally knocking into him and he backed up against the wall. Donald was chasing Stacie (surprise surprise), who was giggling hysterically, spilling the drink in her hand. He shook his head. Wasn't there some stupid rule about the Bellas and the Treblemakers? He paused.

Well. Shit. There was a rule against Treblemakers.

Before he had time to fully process that thought, he felt a light shove against his elbow. He looked over and caught the sight of brunette hair in his peripheral vision.

His heart skipped a beat.

He pretended to look over her head (it wasn't difficult, really) and shrugged. "That's weird. Could've sworn someone nudged me."

She stood up on her tiptoes and flicked him on the forehead.

"Ow! Leprechauns are mean!"

"Call me a leprechaun again, and it won't be your forehead that I flick." She smiled sweetly at him (and his heart melted into a pathetic puddle of goop).

"Noted." He had an irresistible urge to kiss her. (Why the hell not? She had kissed him, why couldn't he kiss her?)

So he kissed her (and that would be the first time that he kissed her), and he stopped breathing. The second his lips touched hers, it felt like time stood still around them. His entire system was focused on just her; he didn't notice that Stacie and Donald were near them; he didn't notice that Fat Amy was coming down the hall with Chloe and Aubrey in tow; he didn't notice the strangers carrying a keg. All he knew was that she kissed him back, and he was drowning in a sea of emotions (and maybe hormones).

Of course, that was until Fat Amy said (none too quietly, might he add), "Oh good. Are you guys doing something about the eye-sex? Because we're all pretty tired of experiencing it."

He felt Beca push away from him. "Ohmygod, Amy, seriously?" He saw Beca's face flush. He didn't even have time to react. He looked towards them and only saw Aubrey staring at him (Panic. Panic. Panic.). Should he say something? Should he run? Would she throw something at him? She seemed like someone who would throw something at him (or maybe vomit. He'd heard of the vomiting).

Aubrey held his gaze and quirked an eyebrow. There was an awkward silence as Chloe and Fat Amy looked between Aubrey and Jesse. Beca was rolling her eyes and rubbing her face in irritation.

"Amy's right. We've been feeling the sexual tension for months now."

Beca choked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Chloe was beaming. "What Aubrey means to say is that the Treblemakers ban has been lifted!"

"You can feel his toner if you want, youknowhatimsayin'?" Fat Amy winked at Beca.

He was mortified. Completely. Utterly. Mortified. (Could the ground please swallow him now? Please?)

The girls started walking away and he could've sworn he heard Fat Amy mutter something about Bumper. He truthfully didn't care to find out what it was. He just knew he wanted to hide. He leaned his back against the wall and slid down to the floor. He felt her sit down next to him as her right shoulder brushed against his left. The entire left side of his body tingled.

"Holy shit, where the hell did that keg come from?" she muttered.

"What? There's a keg?" (Where the hell did someone get a keg?!).


The first time he took her out on a proper date was at the start of their sophomore year at Barden. Their freshman year ended in a whirl of finals and goodbyes with barely any time to spend with each other. There was a myriad of phone calls, texts, and skype calls throughout the summer. They were kind of, sort of dating (if you could call it that), but it was overall difficult given the distance. He took the time to break down more of those damn walls she had built up. It was working, for the most part. Sometimes he would push too far, and she'd shut down. He always changed the subject and babbled until she started responding again. He had endless patience when it came to her.

When he arrived on campus, he didn't waste any time running to find her. He tossed his belongings into his room, gave Benji a hug (was that a rabbit on his shoulder?), and raced out the door. He found her out on the grass, already at their (it wasn't just hers anymore) spot. He took a second to really look at her before she noticed him. It had been what felt like three years (okay, so it was only three months) since he'd last seen her. And wasn't she a sight for sore eyes.

"Hey, nerd," he nudged her with his foot. Her eyes actually lit up when she finally saw him (mental self-five!). He felt her in his arms before he saw her move, and he felt like he was whole again.

"Hey, weirdo," she whispered into his neck. It sent shivers down his spine. He stood there holding her, enjoying how her small frame fit against his. He didn't want to move or speak for fear of ruining the moment (another one of those moments he liked to remind her of).

He kissed the top of her head "So—" he cleared his throat. It sounded raspier than he had meant it to. Something about not seeing her in so long did things to his… everything. "So I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight. We could go out for a real dinner instead of grabbing food at the dining hall. I managed to bring my car this year." He dangled his car keys in front of her.

"You mean shitty pizza and shitty fried chicken isn't romantic enough for you?" she asked. God, he'd missed her sarcasm (he would regret that thought later. …Okay, not really. But damn, this girl was snarky sometimes).

"I'll do you one better. I'll take you to McDonald's!"

"Really?! Would you really do that? All for me?! You're the sweetest ever!" She was staring at him with the fakest smile she could manage. He was seriously starting to fall in love with this girl (wait, what?).

"I missed you," he said seriously.

She looked away then back at him (he could drown in those eyes). "Sure, weirdo." He could hear the sincerity in her voice behind the words. She missed him, too.

"So, dinner?" He offered his arm to her after she finished gathering her stuff, and they headed towards his car.


The first time with her wasn't the first time he was with someone, but it was definitely the first time it really meant something. He knew he loved her (he was just too terrified to say it).

It was a month after school had started. There wasn't even anything special about that day (to begin with). It was a Friday and Benji was going on another trip with some other magicians (at least that's what Benji said) to visit a magic school (Hogwarts? He wanted to go if it was Hogwarts). She had come over after practice with the Bellas to continue movi-cation (which was going well considering she willingly watched Rocky, Animal House, E.T., and a bunch of others on her own).

"What are we in the mood for tonight, short stuff?" He was met in response with a pillow to his face. "I'm sorry, would leprechaun be better?" (he was totally going to get it).

"What did I tell you about leprechaun?" She tackled him ("tackled"… he purposely fell backwards as she launched herself at him. C'mon, did you really think she'd be capable of really tackling him?) to the bed (he really wasn't complaining. Not even a little bit.) and sat on his stomach, tickling him mercilessly. He squealed (what?! He does not squeal) in surprise, grabbed her arms, and flipped them over so that he was on top of her, holding her arms above her head (now this was interesting).

They had their fair share of makeout sessions (interrupted occasionally by Fat Amy proclaiming, "Don't stop on my account. I'll just grab some popcorn," which usually caused him to scramble out of the room. Benji usually knocked on the door if he thought Beca might be over), but it must have been the way he looked at her because the laughter melted from her face as she stared back. There was a different look in her eyes than he was used to seeing (did she feel it, too? Did she feel the same way?).

His breath caught in his throat and he let go of her arms, moving his to either side of her head. Her arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer to her. "You know I…" he wanted to say it, but he couldn't. He didn't think she was ready to hear it. He was almost certain she understood, anyway, because she kissed him. Even that was different. There was meaning behind it.

They had messed around a little. They even talked about it in jest. He thought he would make a grand gesture one night; take her out to dinner, give her flowers, bust out the candles – but that wasn't her. That wasn't really him, either. Why couldn't a normal movi-cation night be just as meaningful? (Well, of course, it would have whatever meaning he put in it.. and he sure as hell had meaning behind this.)

The kiss set his senses on fire. She was kissing him like he was her only reason for breathing. He'd had dreams of this (he was a teenager, so sue him), but nothing could prepare him for the sensation of her. Her hands were in his hair, on his arms, on his back. He kissed her with an ache he didn't know he had. His heart was pounding in his chest, rhythmically beating her name (Be-ca. Be-ca. Be-ca.). His entire being was centered on her, and he couldn't dream of ever being apart.

Her hands bunched on his shirt, and her fingernails met his skin. He breathed out against her cheek, and he felt her grin. "You okay, there?" Her voice was breathy, and his entire body screamed to never let her go (he wouldn't ever dare).

"Yeah. Great. Dandy. Nothing to see here." He wasn't sure how he was forming coherent thoughts (okay, they weren't that coherent).

"Good." And she yanked his shirt over his head.

It didn't take very long before a collection of clothes piled at the foot of his bed. They had long ago stopped talking. Her eyes said everything they needed to say. His toes curled at her every touch, every sigh, every moan. Her breath was on his skin and he felt her everywhere. How was he missing this his entire life? How did he survive without her? Her skin was against his and everywhere she touched, it felt like he was on fire. Her hands were touching him and tickling him, and he was sure he would die from the sensory overload. He had never felt more alive than this moment. He kissed her over and over again, a mantra of "never leave me" going through his mind. She answered each kiss fervently ("be with me always", he thought they said). He ran his hand through her hair, letting it slip through his fingers (how was it so soft? Was it always like this?). He brushed his hand down her arm, feeling the goosebumps run down as he intertwined his fingers with hers.

She said his name just once, and his entire body felt like it was floating in the clouds. He'd died. He was sure of it. (And what a way to go). It took a couple seconds before he had control of his breathing. He felt her kiss his forehead, his cheek, his jaw, his lips.

He smiled as he touched his forehead against hers.

"Nerd," he said breathily ("I love you", he meant).

"Weirdo." She smiled back at him. ("I love you, too.")