Chloe's curiosity wins out at around three in the afternoon. She rips open the CD cover and pops the first disc into her computer. Her finger trembles a little in anticipation as she hits the play button. Her heart begins thumping to the rhythm of the first verse, the song slowly creeping its way through the earphones and into her soul.

Chloe doesn't know how long she sits there, the lump in her throat growing larger and larger as the music plays on, each song blending into the next like a siren song as endless and bottomless as the sea. In every song, every melody, and every note, Beca's voice shines through in all its raw and vulnerable honesty.

It doesn't take long for the walls she's built around her heart to crumble.

Suddenly there's a tap on her shoulder and Jules Anderson is asking her if she's okay. Startled, Chloe nearly jumps out of her seat and it's only then that she realizes that there are tears running down her cheeks. She shakes her head and swipes at the tears. "I'm fine," She insists, flashing him a shaky smile. "Sorry," She adds, because this is unprofessional as hell and she knows it. Why the heck did she think listening to Beca's CDs would be an appropriate working-hour activity?

Jules pats her on the back. "Go home, Chloe." He laughs at the shock on her face. "I'm not firing you; I just think you need some rest, that's all. And besides," He rolls his eyes skyward at this – "You can't answer the phone while crying."

Chloe blushes and eventually concedes, because her boss is – unfortunately – right. She packs up, scoops the CDs up and stumbles out of the office. She gives Beca a call once she's out on the streets.

...

Beca checks her phone during the 11 p.m. break and realizes that there are four missed calls from Chloe and a text that says: holy shit Beca – call me. Beca's heart rate spikes.

This thing about putting herself out there – it's so new and fucking nerve-wrecking that she's sure that one of these days she's going to get a heart attack and it'll be all Chloe's fault.

Making music has always been an intensely private process for her. It's something that's done alone, in the dead of the night, plugged into a pair of headphones, lost to the world with only the bright alien glow of a laptop screen for company. Beca had always made music solely for herself, and the idea of sharing anything with other people was utterly bewildering. The only place she'd ever felt comfortable singing in was her shower – until that day Chloe Beale had barged into that space and showed her how beautiful music could sound when it was shared. And, in a way, how beautiful life could be when it was shared with the people she loved.

Chloe had taken that notion of independence and privacy and aloneness and tossed it right out of the window. She'd wriggled her way into Beca's life – and her heart – and slowly, surely, surreptitiously, she'd claimed it as her own. And that's sort of why Beca's showing Chloe her untitled playlist today; because she wants Chloe in her life. She wants her in her head and in her soul, too.

It takes Beca a while to find her voice. "Uh – hey dude, what's up?" Beca asks, trying and failing to hide the nervous tremor in her voice.

Chloe breathes out softly. "I don't know what to say, Beca. The songs are incredible. How did you – I mean, wow. They're absolutely mind-blowing. I love them. Especially the original ones." There is a long pause. Chloe sniffs and hiccups a little. "Thank you for showing me. I feel... I feel honored."

Beca gulps and blushes furiously. John shoots her a funny look from across the bar. "I used to think it was really scary – you know, how well you knew me and how much you wanted to know me. Everyone else just kinda takes one look at me and flees the hell away. But then one day I kinda realized that... Well, that I like having you around. And that I'm lonely and grumpy when you're not."

Chloe lets out another hiccup. "Don't you dare make me cry again, Beca Mitchell," She says sternly. "I've had quite enough of that for one day - my boss thinks I'm mentally unstable."

Beca's lips slowly curve upwards into a smirk. "You're welcome to drown your sorrows at Pulse," She says. "I'll make sure to play lots of Taylor Swift."

Chloe squawks indignantly. "Beca! You promised you wouldn't tell anyone!"

Beca guffaws. There's a brief silence, dense as the centre of a black hole, thick with unspoken emotion. Beca desperately wants so much more than Chloe's voice over the phone. She wants the curve of her smile, she wants her laugh and the way her eyes crinkle and shine in the darkness, she wants the touch of her skin and the warmth of her breath ghosting down her neck. She wants her, and it's getting to be too much, too fast, too strong.

Chloe reads the silence perfectly, because she's a musician who has kind of, somewhat, figured out the tune of Beca's heart. It scares her a little, because they're back in the shower stall again, vulnerable and raw, transported back to the moment in which Beca lifts her eyes to meet Chloe's, deciding whether to sing or to shove the redhead out of the shower stall and scream bloody murder. Except now Chloe's the one who has to decide, and the silence rushes deafeningly around her ears like wind in a tunnel.

The silence is broken by Beca's manager; Chloe can hear him yell, "Break's over!" from the other end of the line. Beca whines a bit but eventually gives in and says goodbye. Chloe sinks back into the armchair, and pulls on her headphones.

Something changes that night; it's not ground-breaking or earth-shattering, but it's a shift nonetheless, and Chloe begins to wonder if she should trust her heart and let herself fall into Beca again; if it'll end differently this time around.

She falls asleep on the couch listening to Beca's playlist, thoughts running in circles in her too-crowded brain.

...

She wakes up underneath a blanket, head propped up by a pillow. Beca must've seen her on the couch when she'd come home and tried to make her more comfortable.

Chloe still doesn't have any answers, but she does feel 'mentally stable' enough to go back to work. Jules' second assistant, the colleague who sits right next to her, watches her sit down and start up her laptop. She leans over and whispers, "What happened yesterday? Someone broke your heart?"

Chloe shrugs. "Not really," She says. "I think someone fixed it. A bit."