"Will you sing for me?"
Chloe knows it's silly. She really does. But the only track that she has in her posession with Beca's voice on it is the mp3 file that Beca stripped from the video of their ICCA performance, and Chloe– she wants to hear Beca's voice so badly, but she can't bear to hear it rasping over the lyrics of that song. She just can't.
Because that song – its lyrics, and the undeniable sadness of it, colored by the hopeful, lighter melody in the background that doesn't actually change what that song means – breaks Chloe's heart, now. Because all it means to her is a 'goodbye' that won't ever, ever be spoken aloud, and a promise that Chloe regularly vows to keep for the rest of her life.
Chloe can't spend much time thinking about it, because it inevitably leads to endless tears, and days submerged in an emotional pit of torment, so she just can't listen to that song, anymore.
Still… Chloe wants to hear Beca sing (she misses it terribly; harmonizing with the small DJ and belting out silly songs with her in the car on a routine basis), and Chloe is evidently not above asking for it.
"What?" Beca demands, amused.
"Sing," Chloe insists with a small, indulgent smile. "Sing for me, Becs."
"Is this another lady jam thing?" Beca asks warily, narrowing her eyes at a camera that is hundreds of painful miles away from Chloe. "I mean, are we about to get it on over Skype? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the middle of campus, right now, and I have to tell you – boundary-less or not – that's pushing it a little, even for you, Beale."
"You make everything so hard," Chloe whines theatrically, though somewhere along the way it sculpts into the sound of laughter, instead, because she really can't even pretend that Beca's humor isn't a little funny, even if it is at Chloe's expense. "I just- miss it," she sighs, her chuckle giving way for a wistful little sigh. "Please, Beca?" She beseeches vulnerably.
Beca doesn't comment right away, but the look she's projecting through the screen is one that Chloe knows (and has been exposed to more times than she would ever have preferred); it's masked grief and hard swallows and teary eyes, and Chloe is sure, in that moment, that the particularly strong feeling of longing that has overcome her today has been echoing within Beca, too.
But Beca blinks, bows her head, and when she looks up again, the heels of her palms are making a thudding sound against the flat of her laptop just beneath the keyboard, and (though the noise emerges on Chloe's end with a little, muffled static) Chloe's heart swells. Because Beca is tapping out a beat.
And, a moment later, Beca sings for her.
I was left to my own devices
Many days fell away with nothing to show
And the walls kept tumbling down
In the city that we love
Great clouds roll over the hills
Bringing darkness from above
But if you close your eyes,
Does it almost feel like
Nothing changed at all?
And if you close your eyes,
Does it almost feel like
You've been here before?
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?
It's a sad song, really, and only marginally better than the one that Chloe mentally vetoed listening to on her own, but it's right. It's- well, it's them. It's Chloe and Beca, separated by several state lines, Skyping and calling and texting every chance they get so that they can hold on to everything that they are together, and hold on to hope. And, sometimes, when she does close her eyes – when she lays in bed late at night, or feels particularly overwhelmed by her workload as she drives herself harder, and harder, and harder still, as often as her Ivy League requires – Chloe sees Beca.
Chloe sees Beca every damn time.
And when she sends the brunette a text immediately after each one of those moments, she has to power off the instinctive urge to ask Beca to bring her a latte and come visit her for a study break, or to come to the apartment for a cuddle.
For a second – just one, content, lovely second – Chloe forgets that they may as well be worlds apart. Chloe forgets that Beca can't just swing by the library to bring her a coffee; Chloe forgets that Beca can't meander the measly distance across campus just to come snuggle with her.
When she remembers again, she aches all over in places that were never meant to feel that kind of hurt. She's tired, and sore, and sad, and lonely. And Chloe calls Beca. Always.
Because, though it's barely anything in comparison to the DJ's body curled around her own – warm, and soft, and always, always affectionate, despite Beca's protests to the contrary – her voice soothes Chloe, and walks her back from a dangerous ledge of depression that Chloe feels entirely too close to, these days.
And this song – this beautifully sad song, carefully chosen by Beca (because all of Beca's songs are carefully chosen, Chloe knows) – is all of that. So despite that her eyes water and a lone tear wets a path down the length of her right cheek, Chloe sings the song with her.
(And Chloe ignores that Beca is crying, too, allowing the music to speak for them all that their own words never voice aloud.)
"This is a beautiful campus," Leina gushes. "Oh, I know I said it when we dropped you off before, but, honestly, it's just lovely here."
"Yeah, it's really pretty," Chloe remarks absently, with a faint smile and a small nod.
"How are things? We're all a little heartbroken that you couldn't make it back for Thanksgiving, you know," Leina tells her. "Your father misses you – and your siblings, too. Uncle Dave couldn't make it this year, either, but I know he's missing you, as well."
"I miss them, too," Chloe sighs softly. It's true – Chloe misses them all terribly – but Chloe thinks it's probably kinder to her mother's feelings that she doesn't mention how much more she misses Beca; Leina is leaving in the morning (the day before Thanksgiving), but she'd flown to Philadelphia to see Chloe during her daughter's week off, since Chloe has far too many study groups over the break to miss without serious academic repercussions, and Chloe is very happy to see her. "Things are okay. Really busy," Chloe shrugs, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket as a particularly cool breeze wafts over them. "I'm doing well in all of my courses, though. I'm still just hoping that things calm down a little."
Chloe watches her feet shuffle as they trek through the quad on their way back to Chloe's apartment, but after a long moment of silence (silence that is generally always absent within the Beale family) she turns to her mom and blinks bemusedly when she finds a pair of matching blue pools carefully observing her.
"What?" Chloe frowns earnestly. "What is it, Mama?"
"How about you tell me, Chlo-bear," Leina murmurs softly.
"What do you mean?" Chloe confusedly shakes her head a little.
"You may be twenty-two years old, Chloe Beale, but you are still my daughter, and I know you better than you often like to believe," Leina says, linking her arm through Chloe's pocketed one. "You're not yourself, baby. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Chloe tries for a reassuring smile. "I'm just exhausted, that's all. Really, Mama – I'm fine."
"Bullshit," Leina narrows her eyes accusingly.
Chloe's head rears back a little, and she's sure that her expression falls into one of surprise, too, but it's not her fault. It is surprising, because Leina Beale does not swear; in fact, she's vehemently against it, most times, though she makes occasional allowances for it in others for particularly powerful emotions.
Chloe blinks over at her for a stunned moment, before she breathily asks, "What?"
She thinks it emerges sounding a little bit like Beca – incredulous and amused and somehow seriously baffled, as well – and Chloe feels herself warm a little at the thought, despite the chilly November weather.
"You heard me," Leina says, softer. "Chloe, something isn't right with you," she sighs. "I've heard it in your voice for weeks. I'd hoped that perhaps I was calling at inconvenient times, but I've been here with you for three days, now, and it hasn't faded from your tone even once. Talk to me, baby," Leina pleads quietly. "I'm worried for you."
"Don't be," Chloe insists comfortingly, as her apartment building comes into view when they round the corner. "I just- I don't think I've fully adjusted to the move, yet. That's all."
That's really not all, Chloe knows, but the move is mostly the cause of everything else (aside from the stress of schoolwork, which would be present anywhere at all – even in Barden).
The move is the reason that Chloe is apart from Beca.
"I don't believe you," her mom sighs dejectedly. "Not for a second. You've always adjusted well to change; you make friends quickly and easily, and you learn your way around very fast. You've been here for three months," Leina reminds softly, stepping up the building's stairs beside Chloe. "That's usually more than enough time for you, Chloe. Is it- Do you not like it here?" Leina ventures cautiously. "Is that it, sweetheart? Because if that's the case, then there are many other schools that could – "
"It doesn't matter," Chloe says stonily, prodding a key into the lock of her apartment door, but her shoulders deflate and she darts an apologetic look in her mother's direction when Leina startles at the cool tone of her voice. "I'm sorry," she whispers, shaking her head, and tugging an impatient hand through her hair before shoving the door open. When it closes behind her mother, Chloe repentantly repeats, "I'm sorry, Mama."
"You know, of course, that it does matter if you aren't happy here?" Leina asks expectantly, but warmly. "You can go somewhere else, Chloe; probably anywhere else, with grades like yours. I know that the University of Pennsylvania has been your dream for years now, but- if you aren't happy, there are other medical schools, honey. You could transfer, if you wanted. We wouldn't be any less proud of you for that, sweetie."
"I want to be here," Chloe sighs. "I do. And I earned it," she says faintly, remembering Beca's words from so many months ago. "I should be here, and I do want to be. It's an incredible opportunity for me, and I'm really grateful for it. It's just- hard," Chloe's voice cracks and she lowers her head again as tears prickle behind her eyes.
"What's hard, baby?" Leina asks soothingly.
"Being away from her," Chloe chokes out, rapidly blinking away tears that, in spite of Chloe's hard efforts, trip slowly down her face, anyway.
"Oh," Leina murmurs, surprised, like the thought hadn't once occurred to her. "Oh, Chloe, is that what this is? You miss your Beca?" She asks sympathetically, moving to rub softly against Chloe's lower back.
"She isn't mine," Chloe sobs, lifting her palm to cover her heart as though that had the power to somehow keep the ache from swelling, and swelling, and swelling some more, until it overtook her in the same way that Chloe has, by now, become very accustomed to. "Beca isn't mine," Chloe insists tearfully. "She- We just- We have such awful timing, Mama, and I can't- I can't be with her. Not from here. And I just miss her. All the time, I miss her, Mama, and I keep- I keep hoping that it'll get better; that I'll wake up one day and it won't hurt so much, and- and I keep waiting for it, but it never comes. It hurts all the time, and I just- I can't – " Chloe's rambling ends with another sob.
Her breath is coming in hard, painful gasps of air that dry out her throat and sting in her lungs, but she turns into her mother's touch and buries her face against Leina's chest for comfort that Chloe is pretty sure can't be found, here – not in Pennsylvania; not even in her mother's arms.
Chloe's comfort resides in a tiny little girl, far, far away from Philly.
"Oh, baby," Leina coos, folding an arm around Chloe's back and combing her hair away from her face, "you're lovesick," she realizes sadly.
Chloe guesses that's true, despite her abrupt urge to scoff at the connotations of the term; she's in love, and being away from Beca- it actually makes her food churn violently in her tummy, and she's so, so tired – tired in her heart, and in her bones and her mind, too – and Chloe truly does feel sick. And Chloe knows it's the fact that she's in love that's ultimately causing the feeling.
"I don't know what to do," Chloe whooshes on a trembling exhale. "I don't- I don't know what to do, Mama."
"Oh, I just didn't realize- I know you told me that she was your soul mate, but I didn't – " Leina shakes her head and sighs. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. Here," she says, pulling away a bit. "Come here, sweetheart. Let's sit, hm? Let's sit on the sofa."
Chloe lowers herself onto the couch and curls into her mother's side, coaching herself through quivering gulps of breath to ward away the sobs.
"Good girl," Leina murmurs. "Would you- like to tell me about her?" She hesitates. "You've told me a bit, but- we didn't actually get the chance to meet, at your graduation. It seemed- Well, I didn't want to intrude; the two of you were having a very difficult time saying goodbye, and it didn't seem to be a good time for introductions."
"We don't say goodbye," Chloe mumbles reflexively, tugging her phone out of her back pocket and tossing it to the coffee table, where it couldn't prod uncomfortably against her ass. "I won't tell her goodbye."
"They're very final, aren't they? Goodbyes?" Leina encourages warmly.
Chloe nods, and when she feels that she has her breathing under control, she sighs, and says, "Beca's amazing, Mama. She's all hard edges and a gooey, caramel center," she chuckles. "She's super sweet, but it takes a long time to understand it; like, she'll make a comment that- it seems like nothing, and you barely acknowledge it at all, but weeks later, I find out something new about her, and- that stupid, nothing-filled comment from, like, a month before turns out to be the highest compliment anyone's ever given me.
"Like, she told me once that she thinks of her mother, sometimes, when I sing. But I didn't find out until a while after that Beca's mom- she sort of fell apart after her dad left them, and she's pretty much a verbally abusive alcoholic, now; Beca said her mom used to sing to her all the time, when she was younger, but she doesn't anymore, and she likes when I sing jazz music, because it reminds her of when she was a kid.
"It's just that Beca's- very sentimental, but she's been let down a lot, and she tries so hard not to care, Mama," Chloe says, raising her chin enough to lock eyes with her mom's kind ones, smiling down at her. "She tries so hard, and she comes off as rude, sometimes, and- prickly," Chloe giggles a watery little sound, knowing how truly Beca would be offended by the descriptor. "And, oh my God, she's so sarcastic it's almost painful, but, I swear, she's the sweetest person I've ever met in my life. And she's so talented!" Chloe exclaims. "I've never heard anyone sing as beautifully as she does, and the music she makes is just so- there's so much feeling in it. And – "
"Breathe," Leina chuckles softly.
Chloe obeys, and smiles a little sheepishly when she realizes that she's been ranting for a good few minutes. About Beca.
Her Beca.
And Chloe realizes that, maybe, Beca is hers. Not in the way that she would prefer, but Beca is Chloe's; she's Chloe's sun. Chloe feels so adrift, here in Philly, because her sun is so far away, and Chloe has nothing to orbit, and no promise for when she can make her way back.
Chloe's sun is in Barden. And Chloe needs the warmth of it; she needs its light to grow, and to thrive, and she can't find happiness when her world is black and bleak.
It doesn't help. It doesn't fix the situation, or give Chloe much peace, but this- it's something that she needs to voice to Beca. Though much of their communication is silent, Chloe wants, more than anything, to hear that she is Beca's sun, too, even though she knows how deeply Beca feels for her. She needs to hear the words they've shied so desperately away from speaking.
But, Chloe sighs upon realizing, that's a conversation they need to have in person. And Chloe doesn't know when that will be.
"Beca sounds like a wonderful girl, Chloe," Leina murmurs, smiling softly. "I'm happy that you've found her. Look," she grins, swiping a tear from Chloe's cheek before cradling it in her palm. "Even speaking of her makes you smile."
But Chloe's smile wavers. "Yeah," she nods sullenly, "but it doesn't change anything."
"No," Leina agrees softly. "No, it doesn't. But it's a beautiful gift – this kind of love. It's very rare," her mom goes on gently. "It's a little humbling to witness, at your age," she laughs disbelievingly, "but it's rare. And it's so special, Chloe," she insists earnestly. "I know it's hard – I really do, baby, and you're doing so well, despite it – but it's a special love that you have in your heart," she whispers, trailing her hand to flatten her palm over the hammering organ in Chloe's chest. "It can survive the distance. I know it can. It'll take some work," she cautions, "but it can survive."
"I know," Chloe sighs honestly. "I know it can. It's just so hard," she swallows as the tears well once more, but she blinks them away, refusing to cry again.
"You're a very strong girl," Leina replies, dropping a kiss against Chloe's forehead that lasts long enough for Chloe to tell that her mother is feeling pretty emotional, too. "You're a Beale, after all," Leina teases gently. "We're made of pretty thick skin."
Thick, maybe, Chloe concedes – but also translucent.
Beca Mitchell does not have a piece of Chloe's heart; she doesn't even have the whole of it. Beca Mitchell is Chloe's heart, and Chloe's thick skin will protect it with all that she has; but her translucent skin will, apparently, leave it very easy to discern that Chloe simply cannot function properly without her.
"Go wash up," Leina encourages. "I'll cook something up for dinner. Take your time; we have nowhere to be until morning."
Chloe nods, hesitates in the doorway, and says sincerely, "Thank you, Mama. I- just, thank you."
"You'll always be my little girl, Chloe Beale," Leina smiles tenderly. "And I'll always be your mother. You can talk to me any time you'd like."
Chloe smiles her appreciation again, but – on impulse – rushes forward to wrap her arms around her mother. Leina laughs softly and kisses her head, stroking her hair for a moment before she shoos an exhausted, but slightly more relaxed Chloe to the shower.
The next few weeks are hard for Chloe. Preparation for finals dragged her out of bed in the morning before sunrise, and hauled Chloe back to it in the evenings for a couple hours of sleep before setting it all on repeat.
Chloe texted Beca, and they maintained their weekly Skype calls with regular ones mingled between, when they could – but they were all shorter than they had come to expect, with Beca's finals approaching, too – and Chloe misses her more than she feels any human has a right to miss another being.
But, she thinks, wheeling her suitcase through the terminal at Dulles International (pointedly ignoring how wonderfully delicious the Cinnabons smell as she passes) and peeking up on her tiptoes to try and find her family, she and Beca can talk all they want for the next month, which is more than a little comforting, too.
Chloe grins a bit when she catches sight of a small wall of red outside in the Southwestern Airlines arrivals area, and she waves excitedly when her dad moves forward to take her suitcase.
And then Chloe freezes.
Stops dead, smack in the middle of hurdles of bustling people, aggravated from their flights and itching to reach their destinations.
"Beca," she breathes.
She's there. Her tiny DJ is there, newly revealed by the relocation of her dad's large, bulky frame, with her hands tucked into her back pockets and a shy little smile on her face. Her beautiful face.
"Beca!" Chloe screams, dropping her suitcase precisely where it is (and decidedly not caring at all), before she launches forward and folds her arms around Beca's waist, burying her nose in the brunette's impossibly soft hair as Beca's palms rise to curl around Chloe's neck.
"Hi," Beca whispers against Chloe's throat.
It cracks, but Chloe doesn't care; it's a miracle that hers hadn't done the same. And she knows Beca's as thrilled to be there as Chloe is to have her.
"Hi," Chloe laughs breathily in reply. "How – ?" She tries to ask, pulling back a little to see Beca's face, and shaking her head confusedly with a semi-permanent beam etched across her features.
Beca shrugs, and says, "Uh- your mom called me?"
"What?" Chloe grins.
"Dude, I dunno, ask her!" Beca huffs defensively, averting her eyes.
Chloe knows she must be feeling a little insecure about being here (Beca doesn't really do family, and her own isn't exactly the greatest – and certainly not any kind of model to work off of), but Chloe can't pause her elation long enough to address it, and this probably isn't the time, anyway.
"No," Chloe refuses petulantly, tugging Beca against her again.
"Mmf," Beca grunts into her jacket. "Jesus, Chloe, I do still need to breathe, you know."
"Breathing is for pansies," Chloe giggles, defiantly pulling Beca even closer and squeezing her particularly hard around the middle. "And you're totally badass."
"Breathing," Beca struggles out, "is for the living. Badass as I may be, I have yet to encroach upon undead status. I will, though," Beca promises with faux-contemplativeness. "Vampires are so far beyond badass, they don't even have a word for it. I'm gonna be one of those, eventually. And not the stupid, twinkly ones, either," she adds with a scowl that Chloe knows is there, even if she can't see it from her current position.
"I missed you. God, I missed you so much," Chloe laughs airlessly, separating enough to stroke Beca's hair behind her ear with gentle, reverent fingers. She tips her neck forward to lean her forehead into Beca's, and sighs contentedly. "I missed you," she repeats, whispering.
Beca closes her eyes and swallows, but when she opens them again, they're a little glassy and a lopsided grin has crept into Beca's cheeks. "One more time," she instructs softly.
"I missed you," Chloe grins, humming delightedly.
"I love you," Beca murmurs back.
Chloe releases a jokingly offended little cry and pulls away with a scoff. "Do you have to upstage everything, Beca Rae?"
"Best me I can be, or whatever," Beca smirks.
God, that smirk. It does things to Chloe, and she forgets – with time and separation – how it turns her stomach aflutter in person in ways that it could never manage through Skype.
"How long do I have you?" Chloe asks.
"The whole month?" Beca says, scrunching her face up like she isn't sure how that news will be received. "I didn't- want to intrude, or anything, and I know you didn't get to go home for Thanksgiving, so I wanted to give you and your family some time, but – " Beca struggles, rubbing awkwardly behind her ear.
Chloe grins and bounces on the balls of her feet.
God, this girl is adorable.
"I told her that we'd be happy to have her with us until the break was over," Leina chuckles softly.
Chloe (shamefully) realizes that she has yet to greet her mother or her father, or her older sister, Kylar – who Chloe actually hadn't even realized was there at all.
"Mama, how did you – ?"
"After we talked in Philadelphia, I perhaps- borrowed your phone, for a minute or two. I didn't search through it," Leina promises earnestly. "I just had the idea that, maybe, I could bring Beca to you for Christmas. Her flight got in half an hour ago. She's been- very anxious to see you," she smiles warmly at Beca.
Beca flushes and shuffles her feet. Then she shrugs, and says, "Whatever. I missed you, too, Beale."
Chloe laughs delightedly, and throws herself at Beca again, so hard that the DJ ends up with her back pressed against the side of their family's Subaru.
"Oh my God, stop. Hug them," Beca insists. "I smell like a plane," she grumbles self-consciously, a moment later.
Despite all of it, though, her arms hug Chloe back. Tightly. Like Beca doesn't want Chloe any further away than this; like Beca needs Chloe just as much as Chloe needs her; like Beca's missed her and loves her just as much.
Chloe knows that's all true, so she presses a sweet kiss into Beca's hair, and holds on a moment longer – just long enough to fill her nose with the scent of summer that somehow always seems to radiate from Beca, even though she should, by all rights – as Beca mentioned – smell like an airplane. Then she separates, and launches herself at her mother, instead.
"Thank you," Chloe whispers meaningfully. "Thank you, Mama. Thank you so much."
"We couldn't have our baby girl moping around at Christmastime, could we?" Chloe's dad, Harper, booms with laughter from behind her, and Chloe whirls to face him.
"Thanks, Daddy," Chloe breathes, tucking her face against his sweater-covered chest. "You're the best."
"You know, I'm really starting to get a pretty clear picture about the hierarchy of your affections, Chloe, and I have to say – I'm not totally happy with falling on the bottom rung," Kylar huffs good-naturedly.
Chloe laughs, and lets go of her father to embrace her sister, too.
"Hey, Kylar. It's good to see you," Chloe murmurs against her cheek.
"Oh, sure, sure," Kylar nods agreeably. "But not as good as it is to see her, huh?" She teases softly, tipping her head in Beca's direction.
Beca flushes again (Chloe will only internally admit that she might have, too), but they're saved from producing a response when a police officer in a reflective yellow vest interrupts to tell them that they need to move the car.
It's a tight fit, with her dad and mom in the front seats, and Chloe, Beca, and Kylar squished in the back, but Chloe – tucked in the middle – barely notices.
Actually, she sort of crawls into Beca's lap the moment that Kylar grouses about the lack of space, and offers a cheeky grin to her parents when they gripe about some seatbelt issue that is terribly, terribly irrelevant to Chloe.
Because she's settled in Beca's lap, and Beca is in the car with them on their way to Chloe's house, and she'll be there for a whole entire month, and Chloe just can't contain the excitement that's buzzing through her veins like coke, or meth, or some other kind of drug that Chloe's never even tried. And Beca's arms are hugged around her waist, her cheek tucked against Chloe's shoulder like she doesn't even care that Chloe's being grossly affectionate with her in front of her family.
Not yet, anyway, but Chloe knows that she'll get an earful about it later. Still, she just doesn't care.
And when they pull up Chloe's driveway, Chloe takes Beca's fingers in her own and refuses to release them, despite the handicap of dragging their bags from the trunk with only one arm each, instead of two.
Chloe's dad takes both of the bags from there, though, and her mom implores Kylar to give the two a moment alone, so Kylar rolls her eyes and follows Leina inside.
Beca squeezes Chloe's fingers and pulls her in until Chloe's hip rests against Beca's, and Beca removes her hand from Chloe's to tuck it around her waist, instead.
"Are you- Is it okay that I'm here? I mean, if you want me to go, or leave early, then it's not a problem. I can – "
Chloe turns and presses her mouth against Beca's, a familiar (but not familiar enough; never familiar enough) heat forged of love and distance and passion and desire flooding Chloe's veins until Chloe is certain that there can't possibly be any blood left within them.
Then she pulls away, barely a centimeter, and swallows as she shakes her head. "Don't go. I want- I want you here as long as I can have you," Chloe insists. "I'm totally okay with being selfish and taking you away from your stupid dad and evil step-mom for the holidays, because I really- God, I've missed you so much, Becs."
Beca cradles her opposite hand over Chloe's ribs, leaning in to steal a soft, and tender kiss that she holds several moments longer than the closed-mouth interaction really requires. Chloe's heart thumps radically against her chest (she's really beginning to think that they might have drugged that Sprite she ordered on the plane, because this sort of bodily reaction should definitely not be possible without the aid of some supplementary chemicals); Beca is often so heartwarmingly gentle with Chloe that it makes her eyes tear, and this moment- it's definitely no exception.
They share a long minute of silence – trading contentment, and joy, and simply enjoying the feel of one another after yet another separation – before Beca asks softly, "Are you happy to be home?"
Chloe folds her lips around Beca's gently, and, staring into to Beca's eyes, Chloe whispers, "Yeah. It's good to be home."
But Chloe doesn't go inside for a very long time.
Author's Note: Mostly filler, but it's also an important chapter. I know that the mopey-and-sad-and-depressed-and-heartbroken is getting a bit old, but a) I showed how Beca was dealing with the distance, and I thought I should show things from Chloe side, too, and b) there's a whole month – in story-time, obviously :P – of holiday happenings to brighten the mood! I promise that the whole thing won't be so down all the time, okay? Please review for me! Also, let me know if there's anything particular you'd like to see with Chloe's family! I have a few things planned, but I might be able to work something else in! Oh, and I meant to say that we'll see more about Chloe's college-life in later chapters, too, though I'm not sure when, just yet. Thanks, guys! Sorry for the lengthy note!