I'm trash and thought this idea was like the best thing ever. My good friend is an RA who gave me the idea, so I thank her for my inability not to relate everything back to Beca and Chloe :) College AU one shot, Bellas are mentioned, but not too much. Super fun to write and I hope y'all enjoy. ALSO, Stacie's sister is mentioned and if you wanna visual, think of Halston Sage (BABE). Follow me on Tumblr for updates on all my other stories, also if you guys just want to talk (I'm super cool).

(I DO NOT OWN PITCH PERFECT)

Chloe's POV

College.

Also known as freedom away from your parents after being locked up since you were delivered from the womb-which results in many bad life choices with regarding alcohol- and an illegal amount of homework that borderlines threatens to put you in a crazy asylum, or at the very least cause students to break out uncomfortably from the high amount of stress.

Not only is college the most expensive thing on this planet (which makes zero to none sense since everyone preaches that getting a degree is so damn important. If it's so important to succeed in the future, make it more goddamn affordable!) but also, it's incredibly hard to stay focused and be desired to push through all the F's when all you do is try your absolute best, but even then you feel like you're failing.

You learned this the hard way and one thing you have to say is a big screw you to all your high school teachers for not preparing you for the bitch of a life you entered the day your mom and dad dropped you off as a tiny, clueless, but nonetheless ecstatic freshman roaming Barden's campus without any preparation for the ridiculously hard duties your entire life got smacked by with the one giant word known as college.

More times than you would like to admit, dropping out of school and becoming a stripper sounded like a way better option than staying in school, getting lectured and failing all the tests (stupid dumb Russian Lit.) You already knew how to dance and dance pretty darn well, you must admit. Barden had an acapella group called the Bellas and you better bet that you were the first in line to try out once you heard about this opportunity, knowing your voice, not to brag, was something special.

There were many other things in life that you could've done, stripping as one of them, and though it seemed like a pretty set deal, you buckled up and stuck through college for the next three years and somehow was able to get a grip on your chaotic life and find a steady road to cruise on.

As of now, you're a senior enrolled at Barden and also RA of the dorms; Baker Hall. At first, you weren't all that thrilled that your mom pushed you into becoming an RA; they're basically the worst human beings on this earth if you ever watch any college movie known to man, or at least that's how Terry Cruz, your freshman RA resembled and created a sour disliking for you towards all RAs.

They rat on students for having fun, barely go out-nor even get invited to go out- and are practically the fun suckers of college. They take your booze (no doubt go back to their rooms and drink it all) they bust parties, they lecture you about how unclean your dorm is. Basically, they're monsters disguised as college students.

There's duties on top of duties to tackle; the checking freshman in at the beginning of the year, the constant health inspections to make sure your residents are keeping the area nice and clean, and also making sure they don't have candles, alcohol, drugs, alcohol, drugs, and more drugs stashed somewhere in their rooms. The mandatory crafts you must take part in to create dorm name tags, or your personal favorite, being on duty all night to let freshman into the room who have "forgotten" their keys at midnight and are locked out.

You know the truth and can smell a lie when you hear one, though, and the dirty little lie is that they were out all night, getting drunk with their buddies at one of the fraternity's parties and lost their key as they continued to get shit faced. We've all been a freshman sometime in our lives, or at least will become one someday, and everyone knows how insanely wild freshman tend to be.

All on their own with no restrictions, or parents telling them what to do.

Not some of your proudest moments, but you've been there; all the parties, the drinking, the boys (and girls, but that's a story for later) the pushing off homework and studying to have fun with friends. Walking into college the first year screams freedom. Freedom away from parents and their strict rules. Freedom to basically do whatever the Hell you want without really thinking of the consequences later on.

It's a lot to handle and even more to control.

But as you said before, you learned this the hard way, which then pushed you into the right direction of becoming an RA, who has too much on their plate to even think about getting drunk, getting arrested and sleeping in all day.

Because on top of all the RA's duties, you still have to fight to keep a high enough GPA to have grad schools even consider accepting you, on top of all the novels and thousand papers you need to write within days of them being given out to you.

Welcome to the suicidal life of an English major, folks.

#schoolgrind

Anyways after giving a little background information, today is orientation for freshmen, who are actually the first to be situated at Barden to prevent complete kaos when the sophomore and junior class arrive to unpack all their crap in the on campus apartments. Well, freshmen and the RAs correlating to their designated dorm hall are the first to be situated and unpacked at Barden, which includes you, who is patiently and cheerfully checking in freshman, directing the ones who are lost little puppies, and helping the ones who need a lending hand.

For the most part it's easy; the parents are absolutely hilarious as they send off their children with the never ending hugs, letting them free into the wild with a collection of buckets full of tears while their kids try to push them away, embarrassed by the crying, mostly all done by the mothers.

You'd know; your mom cried for weeks after you left and even now, a senior, years later, she still gets misty eyed when you start packing your boxes for college.

You want to cut in and say their children will forsure call them within a couple weeks with a handful of problems they're experiencing as they officially take their first step in the adult world, not knowing how to go about them.

And there's a possibility that these kids won't run into any problems and were just raised independent, problem solvers, but everyone, regardless of how much they claim to want to be parent free and live as far away as possible, homesickness is inevitable.

Especially if they have pets back at home, just waiting for their next visit at Thanksgiving break.

Nothing is harder than those goodbyes; you still can picture the kicked puppy dog look on Billie's face and soft whines you heard when you left not too long ago.

"Thank you again, Chloe, for all the help." Mrs. and Mr. Roger, parents of Joey Rogers give you an appreciative smile, shaking your hand eagerly after you set down the box you had in your arms inside Joey's room.

You take a deep breath, trying not to show just how winded you are from walking up three flights of stairs, struggling tremendously to carry Joey's box to his room when the elevator was previously overflowing with other residents trying to unload their vehicles. "Of course!" You chirp once you regained enough energy to speak-and before there's any assumptions revolving around how embarrassingly 'out of shape you are,' lock them up right now, because you, active daily member of Barden's gym is not out of shape.

Joey's box that you picked just happened to be the heaviest out of the other options to choose from and that's why you're heavy breathing like you just got done running a marathon.

So zip it.

"Please keep this man in check." Mr. Rogers jokes, nudging his son in the shoulder, who looks as if he's about to strangle his parents if they don't leave soon.

You giggle at the heavy eye roll and the desperate pleas for them to leave so Joey can get a head start at unpacking his stuff, probably so he can meet his buddies since he seems like the total, jockey type of popular kid who already has a line of friends waiting for him at Barden.

You think he's even on the baseball roster, but aren't one hundred percent sure.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to check up quite frequently on this one." You immediately regret the wink you sent off with this as it was meant to be playful, not in any way shape or form flirty exchange, which was the vibe Joey got out of it and he responds with one of his own, perfectly okay with you making religious room checks, especially at night, according to him.

And it's after hearing this comment that you make a mental note to never, not even if his room was on fire, check up on the boy.

Totally just kidding, by the way.

You wish it was that avoidable. Sadly, you have mandatory health inspections whether you like them or not, unless you were perfectly fine with getting fired and your free housing scholarship taken away, which you most definitely are not that wealthy, living risky on a college student's budget and was able to afford the outrageous housing fee.

But until these scheduled room inspections, you'll make it a daily goal to avoid Joey at all costs.

You wave off his parents after their one sided, emotional goodbyes directed towards their son, stranded as of now in a room alone with Joey and his wandering and very unsubtle eyes as they scan your body head to toe when you bend down to pick up the clipboard from the ground.

Forever wishing you could just leave (stupid freshmen boys and their stupid hormones and stupid cockiness) you hand him the clipboard regarding everything about his room to avoid fines and damages, as well as getting personal information and a list of emergency contacts for future use. There's also a good chunk of dorm terms, such as rules he needs to follow, but you skim him through it, knowing you'll have a dorm hall meeting where you'd go over them all again, this time with far more people and less of a chance for him to flirt with you.

"So," he dangles the word off a mischievous smirk when giving back the clipboard, leaning his back against the desk table and crossing his arms above his bro tank.

He isn't an unattractive guy in any form; he has shaggy dirty blonde hair, nice green eyes and an average looking smile. What the main issue here is, however, what's covering all his average looking body physique.

You make a sour face at his appearance; the turquoise pastel colored shorts, the weed, huf calf socks and the bleached white vans. Talk about a prime definitions of a 'fuck boy.' If it wasn't for the fact he is a freshman and you'd never even consider going out on a date with a freshman, it was definitely his high school wardrobe he brought to college.

"Wanna go out sometime?" He finally asks with a wiggle to his brows, smug smirk radiating with cockiness and just...how pathetic.

"No."

And you leave faster than you've ever left a room before, not even allowing Joey the chance to breathe his protests on being rejected.

He has guts, you must admit. First day of college and he's already trying to hit on senior girls.

Kudos for him.

Knowing Joey is just the first of many encounters with freshmen trying to hit on you, a senior, you release a heavy sigh, dragging your feet against Baker hall's tile and running a tensed hand through your hair. As much as you love being an RA, today is going to be a rough one and students like Joey are only going to be a small chunk of the struggles you'll have to deal with.

On to the next freshman to check in, you first take a pit stop in your dorm to get a quick drink of water when it's felt that your throat is getting dry. Better get hydrated now in between the few breaks you have before you're stuck climbing up and down stairs for hours, carrying boxes ranging from light as a feather, to heavy as a ton of bricks. Inside, you're fortunate enough to get a single room that is still the same size as all the doubles, and even then it's a tad bit bigger with a connected kitchen. The bed is even bigger than the childlike ones in the freshman dorms, which hallelujah. The pluses of being an RA, you guess.

As far as personal necessities and decorations to give your room a taste of Chloe Beale to it, your room is mostly set up after having to be required at Barden a night earlier than freshmen to make sure check in goes smoothly.

Mid way through your drink, there's a knock on your open door, welcoming anyone inside who has trouble finding their rooms, or simply has a question you're more than willing to answer, you're greeted by a small brunette, who awkwardly waves at you, unamused expression hitting you full blast.

Goodness, this girl does not look thrilled to be here.

But on the bright side, she's at least a polite grump who didn't just walk into your room, demanding instructions on what to do next like some of your freshman.

She even stood outside patiently, unsure if it was okay to come in until you gestured for her that she could. Talk about sweetheart.

You ignore the unapproachable appearance given off by the girl, however, and throw her your signature, ear to ear grin and meet her face to face at the opening on your room.

"Hi!" Your megawatt smile reflects just how enthusiastic you made this greeting seem, like you're the happiest person to roam the Earth.

There was an obvious reason why you were chosen to become an RA, and that reason was how friendly and upbeat you are majority of the time. Also, how you are able to talk to strangers like you're best friends with them, making them feel completely comfortable and able to ask whatever they want with no judgment whatsoever.

The girl seems taken back by the extreme happiness you hold yourself so high to, and even takes a step back out of your room, like having a smile is somehow contagious and if she were to get to close, she'd end up catching the infection.

"Hi," she says slowly, the same blank expression still present on her face and you start to believe that it's a permanent look this girl presents herself with, like a smile-even the smallest-is as rare as a pig flying. "I'm looking for the RA. Do you know where I could find him?"

"She is right here!" You emphasize the gender mistake with an even wider smile and you think you hear the brunette mutter a 'oh boy' under her breath. Ouch, by the way. Shaking off the sarcasm, a trait that this girl seemed filled with, you infer, "what can I help you with?"

"I uh, just need to check in, or whatever."

Duh. Why else would she be at your room, Chloe? To play a game of bingo? "Oh sweet! Did you find your room okay?" You mentally smack your forehead at the dumb question from before, turning around to grab the clipboard off your desk.

"I mean, you go in the same direction of where that crazy blonde lady who gave me this rape whistle pointed to, go to the designated floor and read the large numbers above the doors," the brunette retorts, scanning your already decorated room intensively with that same whistle twirling around her index finger; an object that should only be blown if it's actually happening. "It's not rocket science."

Jesus Christ, this girl forgot to take her happy pills this morning. You can only blink at the response; the girl had an impressive mouth on her that was full of sarcastic, bitchy comments. For once, you're speechless and speechless towards a freshman. What do you even say to this?

"Like my room?" You finally find something to talk about rather than sitting under all the awkward silence that has suddenly flooded your room while you fish through the stacks of paper for the right one to check this girl in. It seems like the more plausible way to start a conversation since her attention has be focused on all your pictures, posters, twinkling lights and pointless knick knacks scattered around.

"It's very…" she pauses in thought, thinking of the most fitting word. "Bright." It's not the response you expected, but the description isn't false.

There's a lot of light blue, you're here to admit, but the color is your favorite. Plus, the rooms are already boring enough with the fluorescent white walls, which probably only increases the brightness when mixing with the light blue, but oh well. It's not like you need to impress anybody since you rarely throng people back to your room."It's my favorite color."

"I see that." Again with the sarcasm, really?

"Name?" You're biting your tongue not to break character and instead break this tiny girl who looks as if she weighs a pound like a twig. She also is very...edgy...if that is even a thing. There's a lot of black nail polish, tattoos, spikes, piercings and eyeliner, so whatever describes that.

Punk?

Goth?

Hot?

Wait what?

"Beca Mitchell," she answers, tearing her focus off your room and to the clipboard where you scan down the list for her name.

"Rebecca?" Is the only name you see on your list of residents.

"Beca," she corrects with bold punctuation and a bark to her tone. "But yes." You highlight her name to cross it off and make a mental note not to ever call her by her full name again, unless you had a death wish.

Similar to Joey's process, you hand her all the papers she needs to sign and what not and thankfully, she takes them without dropping any smart ass comments. When she's finished, you take all the papers back and quickly scan through them, making sure she filled out everything important you needed and didn't accidentally skip a box.

"You're from Maine?" You ask when looking over her personal information and home address. "And you're also almost twenty since your birthday is November 4?"

"Now those are very nosy questions," Her words make you feel like you've crossed way over the line and that you should be scrambling up your next set of apologies, but she is finally showing at least some kind of emotion in her features with a small half smile, and by far, it's a more pleasant sight to see. "Portland, to be exact."

"Guess Atlanta Georgia is a little different, huh?" Your smile is back before you know it, feeling a lot more at ease with Beca's less moody front she came in with. Maybe now you guys could at least be civil acquaintances. "Weather wise, that is."

You find nothing wrong in specific with the papers Beca signed, except for the blank area under 'emergency contacts' where there is only one name and number listed when there's supposed to be two. Assuming that you've hit your limit with personal, nosey questions for the afternoon, you place the papers aside, searching your collection for the correct dorm key.

"I guess," Beca answers unamused to the weather question, not really too interested with going in depth to compare Maine and Georgia's climate differences. Taking the offered key to her dorm room, her small dainty hands filled with silver rings and wrist covered in spiky bracelets just barely slim your fingers."Thanks."

"Of course!" You chirp and this time there's only a small flinch from Beca by the enthusiastic raise in volume to your voice. "Do you need any help unpacking?"

Beca shakes her head, politely declining the offer for help. "I'm pretty sure I got it. If not, I know where to find you. Dorm number…" she pauses, stretching her head out of the door's entryway, craning her head to look up at the top. "33," she says, now with a smirk on her face when she returns back to normal position and it's a smirk powerful enough to slap you across the face with how attractive it makes the freshman look.

Unlike Joey, Beca had something about her; something intriguing that he didn't. Minus the Magcon hairdo, the frat boy wardrobe and the weed socks, Beca has an image and a way she holds herself that is alluring. She's rude, extremely sarcastic, unfriendly and all around a person you'd usually stay a hundred feet away from at all costs.

But yet, she's compelling, mousetrapping you in to get to know her better.

Oh no.

What is happening with you, Chloe Beale?

"I never caught my RA's name?" Beca brings up all of a sudden, reeling you out of deep thought and you think she catches your minor dozing off, but thankfully, she doesn't mention it.

Shaking your head, desperately trying to get a grip of yourself because acting this way towards anyone, let alone a freshman is extremely uncharacteristic of you, "uh, Chloe. Chloe Beale," you clarify, holding out a hand in front of Beca to shake.

"Hm," Beca hums softly, shaking your outstretched hand with the smirk still bright as day on her face. She eyes your outfit; the tan colored khakis and a Barden, forest green polo tucked into your pants that reads Resident Assistant above the right part of your chest and it's weird how a look suddenly makes you feel self conscious about your image.

No words follow up after this like you expected. Instead, she shoves that whistle back into the side of her mouth, biting the tip with her teeth, leaving the whistle to dangle delicately off her chin and back peddles out of your room.

You exhale a large puff of air; a breath similar to one you'd release after holding your breath underwater for quite some time, allowing your lungs to relax and recover. Now that you're alone, away from the girl who just gave your head major whiplash, you have the much needed time to figure out what just happened.

What the Hell was that?

Yes, Beca is super attractive in a dark, mysterious way, but that doesn't make up for how you acted back there. You don't whether to be intrigued by the freshman, or fear her, but either way, you better get your shit together and saddle up because now that she's your resident, you'll be seeing her a lot over the year and succumbing to that already intoxicating smirk of hers isn't going to end in your favor.

Orientation Barbecue

"How was checking in for you, Chlo?" Aubrey, RA for Miller Hall and also your dearest best friend of the three years you've attended Barden University, asks, taking a small bite out of the hot dog you guys got during the freshmen orientation BBQ being held in the courtyard greens.

"Exhausting, as usual," you mutter, eyeing the class of freshmen who are getting acquainted with each other, bonding, making new friends and ploying to destroy campus, like evil minions.

Obligated to attend the BBQ and insisted to interact with all the newbies joining the Knights army, even play the ice breaker games with them that everyone absolutely despised, you and Aubrey took a trip down to campus together once checking in all the residents, only looking forward to eat the free food while being held against your will while supervising the event.

Did you also mention being an RA is basically like babysitting a lot of hormonal, horny, up to no good freshmen? Because if not, there it is.

"How many times did you get hit on today?" You ask curiously, wanting to see if your multiple experiences with freshman boys outbeats Aubrey's numbers.

For the most part your number and Aubrey's are around the same, taking that Aubrey is a smart, super hot blonde and you are an optimistic, carefree redhead, which brings in a lot of attention from the male species.

"Sadly, and I hate to say this, but the amount of times lands in the double digits," Aubrey confesses; a cringe to her face appearing at the not so pleasant memories. "It's like they get worse and worse each year, however, one of them happened to be a girl."

"Girl?" This sparks some major interest to you as the only ones she usually get hit on are the boys. Never before has there been a girl in the mix.

Aubrey nods her head to your unconvinced response, backing up her experience with this so-called female that you have a hard time wrapping your head around. "A very tall, very attractive, and very busty girl."

Now that is just bizarre. It's a no brainer that Aubrey's hot; she's bossy, controlling, terrifying when she's both of these qualities and she's a perfect student. Super smart, extremely dedicated to school and her studies. With all this under her belt, it's not a surprise that a lot of people find her irresistible in a controlling, bossy type of way. Most often than not, they don't act on these impressions towards Aubrey, probably because she again, terrifying, but every so often there's a brave soul, willing to get his heart crushed by the harsh, self esteem shattering rejection Aubrey has planned for him.

But never was it a girl to act upon these urges and is openly willing to get her heart crushed by Aubrey when she lets her down lightly, claiming to the girl that she isn't "gay."

And you're also not the Queen of England, but whatever.

"Stacie Conrad," Aubrey says, staring off into the distance, to which you follow, landing on a tall brunette girl standing in front of a group of other students while they conversate, wearing the shortest pair of jean shorts, a Barden Knight's tank top and a baseball hat, just above a head of perfect, loosely curled hair and snakey green eyes. With this random girl's image matching Aubrey's description, it's not hard to put two and two together and realize who you are looking at is Stacie Conrad.

Also known as the girl who had the lady balls to hit on Aubrey without batting an eyelash in shame to the the world.

"Holy boobs!" You gasp out loud once the freshman turns around, her cleavage out for you to gawk at with the lack of clothes covering her chest. She also had legs that went on for days but...boobs...wow. "She's really hot!

"Which means she's trouble." Aubrey doesn't agree or disagree with your point of view in regards to Stacie's physical profile, which isn't anything out of the ordinary. Aubrey and you are notorious for agreeing to disagree and she has a habit of being stubborn about what she believes in, whether if she knows her opinion is false. "And she's my resident, even worse, my neighbor."

"Even then, no way will her rebellious ways last for long with the strict rules you made for you hall," you remind, taking a sip out of your diet Pepsi while still eyeing the taller girl in the distance as she interacts with all the other freshmen, more specifically the boys, who she seems drawn to and is no doubt flirting up a storm with them by the profuse blushing that could be seen even from where you're standing. "Honestly, and I mean this with all the love I have for you, having you as an RA would be an absolute nightmare."

Aubrey doesn't take much offence to this and only shrugs proudly.

"For the most part, my residents seem tolerable, hopefully," you say with a nervous chuckle, not wanting to jinx anything just yet. "There is this one girl who is...different, for lack of a better word, " you struggle to find the perfect way to fully describe the freshman, Beca, you were introduced to earlier.

Ever since the little encounter between the two of you, the girl has been running marathons in your head and you don't exactly know why. She's hot for sure; you've come to realization the first moment you laid eyes on her and couldn't really deny the facts and memories of how you reacted when you were thrown one of those crooked smiles. Maybe there's attraction there because of how she carries herself; so bold and head strong, not giving a rat's ass what anyone else thinks.

Although she is moody-scratch that, the grumpiness person you have ever met that also happens to be filled with endless one liners of annoying sarcasm, there's something about her; something that you can't put a finger on exactly, but hopefully will grow out of it soon...whatever it may be causing you to feel this way.

Just as you are about to go off in detail about Beca, giving Aubrey a good visualization to put together and let her in on what exactly happened between the encounter, another person joins the group where Stacie is involved in, and turns out, it's that same girl who's been stuck in your head for the rest of the afternoon once she left.

You quickly grab Aubrey's elbow, pointing in the general direction of where Beca is now standing next to Stacie eating some food with your eyes, and shaking her awake in case she somehow misses it. "There she is!" you gasp out, the image of the freshman from afar still able to twist your stomach uncontrollably.

"Oh...wow." You don't have a good word to sum up how unimpressed Aubrey seems to be when discovering the tiny brunette. "Very alternative, I must say," she adds to her overall first impression towards Beca. "Definitely not your type, however."

"Pardon?" You ask incredulously, almost choking on your Pepsi when you swallow it down the wrong pipe. In your defense, you were more than a little taken back when hearing this come out of your friend's mouth. Did she think you had a crush or something?

"Your crushes are usually more...put together, outfit wise and not looking like the lead singer of a punk rock band-also, what's with the heavy make up?" Okay, she definitely thought you had a crush, which is false on so many levels.

"Similar to Stacie for you, Beca is trouble for me," you clear up and try to eliminate any theories Aubrey has mustering up inside her head on your so-called crush on the freshman. "Not yet, but soon, I can smell it."

Meanwhile at the group, Beca gets enveloped by a tight hug from Stacie; she is visibly hating her life as her arms hang limp at either sides of her hips and her face is smushed up against Stacie protruding chest while she gets swung around like a ragdoll. When she detaches from Stacie long frame, however, she's smiling-by far the largest smile you've seen-and fixing her hair from where it got messed up, rolling her eyes at something that Stacie squealed to her. Being caught red handed, they both briefly catch yours and Aubrey's eyes before you can abruptly look anywhere else, just proving to back up that the two of you have been staring for quite sometime now.

"Shit...they're coming over," you mutter under your breath, panic surprisingly being kept at a bare minimum while you try to think of something quick to avoid the next conversation.

Aubrey seems to be doing the same thing; she almost chokes on her hotdog when seeing Stacie, with all her glorified, long tan legs strutting her way up to the scene, a large toothy grin plastered on her face.

Maybe you guys could make a run for it; some kid is trying to sneak beer on campus and even though it's not a dry one, alcohol is prohibited during specialized events like these. You also could bring up the excuse that you have somewhere to be, and can't talk for long with Beca and Stacie, or you guys could so totally-

"Hi."

Shit.

Too late.

Curving up you best attempt at a fake smile, you greet the two brunettes, transforming into positive, upbeat and always friendly RA mode. "Hey guys. You meeting some new friends?" Gross. You totally sound like your mother.

"Uh, sure," is Beca's uninterested reply and it makes you feel ten times more stupid for even asking than it already did. Thanks a lot, Beca. "I mean, it forced me to hang out with giraffe legs over here," she snorts, gesturing over to Stacie, who up close and personal is even more hot and physically flawless than from a far.

"Don't listen to her," Stacie assures, her grin still smack center on her face as she hooks an arm up over Beca's shoulders. "We are so going to be best friends." Beca actually has the audacity to fake gag at the announcement, and you stifle in a laugh when Stacie mocks offence, pushing the smaller brunette away with a scoff. Finding a familiar pair of green eyes watching her warily, "sup Aubrey?"

You think you feel your best friend gulp nervously at the shift in direction the conversation has gone, now under the spotlight of Stacie's snakey eyes and flirty aroma. "Hello," she greets through gritted teeth, a complete one eighty turn in character. "How are you?" It seems forced, and you are half worried that Aubrey is seconds away from blowing chunks, which doesn't make any sense whatsoever.

They were just talking; nothing else complicated or whatever. What was it about Stacie that twisted Aubrey's panties in a wad?

"You know, I'd be much, much better if my new friend, Beca, and I had some...adult beverages," she implies with a wink; you and Aubrey only stare dumbly at her request, brows furrowed and eyes open through a slit. "Know where we can get some?"

You look over to Beca to see how she felt about this and she only shrugs her shoulders, going along with Stacie and her brave set of words.

Out of anyone they could've asked here at the BBQ, Stacie and Beca decide that their best choice of people to point them in the right direction of the alcohol is you and Aubrey, two RAs whose jobs are required to bust the freshmen that are underage drinking. In reality, Stacie just asked two police officers where the alcohol was since that's basically what RAs are considered here at Barden; the narcs on campus, especially Aubrey.

Scratch that; Aubrey is the chief, your mistake.

"You understand that you're underage, correct?" Especially Aubrey as she looks seconds away from arresting the tall brunette and would definitely be in the process of doing so if she had a pair of handcuffs. But you can't help but wonder with the vibe you're getting if it would be for punishment, or punishment and pleasure wise.

"Yeah?" Stacie says this like a question, unfazed by Aubrey sharp glare. "So? What's the crime with starting a year or so early?"

"Oh I can think of a few," Aubrey counters back strictly, a look in her eyes that nobody in their right mind should mess with.

It's then you conclude, along with the ballsy flirting from earlier, that Stacie has a major pair of lady balls when she shows not even the slimmest bit intimidation towards Aubrey and even had the courage to ask her, of all RAs on campus (you don't care that much; students regardless of their age in college are going to drink, so why try to stop the inevitable from happening? Plus, Bumper, senior RA for Grant Hall, is the most laid-back, immature of you all and would so totally give them alcohol if asked).

But no, she asked Aubrey.

And that takes some major courage to do.

"So, you got or know where we can get any booze?" It's Beca's turn to step up and voice her requests, receiving an eager head nod from Stacie and a look that can kill from Aubrey. Seriously, they both would be six feet under if at all possible.

She switches her focus to you; the smirk from earlier back on her face and you don't know if you want to kiss or slap it right off.

Hold up.

What the Hell did you just think, Beale?

"Just kidding," Stacie speaks up, looking in the direction of where their group from before are ushering them back like they had just stolen something important and classified. "I think Amy found us some, B." And she ends her sentence with a flirty wink, only designated for Aubrey who is seconds away from exploding in rage.

Or puking.

Both are very possible.

"Thanks for the help." Beca's voice hints sarcasm under that dirty little smirk. Oh shocker. "Don't rat on us, kay?" And they're gone before you could even muster up a response, walking back to the group where a bigger set blonde girl offers them both two water bottles, yet water is the last thing filled inside.

"Ugh, as if!" Aubrey, on the other hand is already making moves over the group to put an end to their little drinking games. See? You love her, but she's the real reason why RAs are given a bad rep.

You grab her wrist, prevent her from making any father moves to surprise the group by her appearance.

At the sudden grip keeping her back, she snaps a weaponizing glare your way, but you're immune to it, having seen the look many times before. "Let it go, Bree," you say softly, not wanting to push any buttons. "They're going to drink regardless. Let them have fun."

Aubrey's glare softens, but the tension can still be felt radiating through her body and pulsing from her wrist where your hand is still clung to. Defeated, she returns to her position beside you with a grunt and cross to her arms above her chest. "Do you believe me now with how much trouble those two are going to be?"

And you follow Beca's steps back to the other group of freshman, and how she begins gulping down the "water" while Stacie chants "chug, chug, chug!" and you know exactly what Aubrey is talking about.

And honestly, are you even cut out for this?

Guess you'll find out sooner than later.

About a Month From Orientation

School is school, for the most part.

It's more boring than usual, no thanks to syllabus week, which is all around the most boring time of the school year, but also is hands down everyone's favorite.

Syllabus week means ten minute classes and zero assigned homework, unless your name happens to be Aubrey Posen and are currently enrolled in all the suicidal hard, advanced science classes in preparatory for becoming a doctor, where she'll take even more harder classes beforehand at grad, saying a good farewell to her social life and everything that came with it.

If that's the case, well be prepare to be drowned in homework and assignments the very first step you take in the classroom because science majors professors do not mess around here.

Luckily for you, majoring in English and minoring in music to become a middle school choir teacher, the first week or so is not nearly as intense as Aubrey's. About three weeks in, students get back in the hang of things and a daily schedule starts building up. Residents are finalizing any touches to their rooms and mandatory halls meetings are scheduled.

For the most part, the meeting goes smoothly; you say everything you need to say, do everything you need to do. You warn them about fire hazards and in case of an emergency, where all the nearest exits are placed in the building. You preach about safe drinking and how drugs are prohibited all throughout campus. If they want to smoke a cigarette, however, they can do it only outside and never inside any of the buildings here at Barden.

Joey gives you kissy eyes the entire time, and it's very distracting to get out everything you need to say in a limited amount of time without him in the background, distracting you with his lame attempts of 'flirting" as he high fives his friends and you can take a rough guess that you're the highlighted topic being brought about in their conversations.

Another distraction happens to be Beca, who isn't doing a damn thing except sitting there respectively in the lobby's chairs where the meeting happens to be at, looking so innocent and smug and all, but you know she's brainstorming trouble. Probably already thinking of skipping class tomorrow morning to drink with her friends instead. Maybe graffiti the school's wall, or start a pointless fight in the courtyard.

Okay, maybe not that extreme, but still, she's way too quiet and giving you her full attention to not be plotting something, obviously up to no good.

Such a troublemaker, but nonetheless still attractive as Hell- stop that, Beale!

Unfortunately, Aubrey's problem with Stacie went from the girl being her resident, to her dorm room neighbor, to her being in a few of her classes, to her being her lab partner in Physics. Why Stacie was even enrolled in a class that hard, where normally only seniors and the occasional few juniors take the course, and definitely not any freshman where to be seen that high up in the science building is a reveal that doesn't make any sense to you.

The next day of classes goes by rather quickly, due to the fact that it's Friday and the professors are just as eager for the weekend as the students, thus letting their classes out earlier than normal. You're walking by yourself through the campus greens, heading back to the dorms to relax for a while until Tom Smith, first string quarterback for the Knights and alpha male of the Sigma Beta fraternity jogs up next to you, backpack sliding off his one shoulder and hollister type cologne instantly hitting your senses.

Tom is a good looking boy; you are one to gladly admit to have fallen for his charm and killer smile once upon a time. With his shaggy brown hair, chocolate brown eyes, nice set of teeth to go along with a soothing, deep voice, his tall height and built physique, Tom is all around an attractive guy and was nice to mess around with for a brief period.

Definitely easy on the eyes, that's for sure, especially when he dresses so nice and classy all the time, in his khaki tan shorts, a black and white baseball t-shirt and some ray bans to match. Totally giving off the frat guy illusion.

"Hey, Chloe! Wait up!" You stop in your tracks to let him catch up, turning around to greet the brown haired boy with a friendly smile.

"What's up?" You ask and continue to walk in the direction of the dorms when he makes it there.

"You hear about the back to school bash we are throwing tonight?"

"Oh totes!" You gloat excitedly, having been attending this party for three, going on four years now. This party was a tradition for Barden and you, along with a loads of other people are eagerly waiting for the night of complete kaos to begin. "Aubrey and I are already planning our outfits." Which is the truth. Just before Tom came running up you were midway through a text to send to Aubrey, scheduling a rough brainstorm plan of when to do each other's hair and makeup.

"Sick, the boys and I are getting a ton of kegs," Tom adds to your excitement, his personal joining the mix. The addition of kegs only means that the party this year around is going to be absolutely insane. It's the last year, baby. You seniors better go out with a bang. "And I can't wait to kick your ass at beer pong, again."

Your jaw drops and hangs above your chest, offence oozing out and only increases by Tom's obnoxious laughs. "You wish! Remember the last time you said that? Not only did you and Eddie lose, but also you 'trolled' and had to sit under the table the whole next game where once again Aubrey and I dominated." Not to brag or anything, but you and Aubrey have a natural gift for the the game of pong, and surprise most people who dare to challenge the two of you when you prove this right.

"Yeah yeah, we will see," Tom brushes it off, remaining unaffected by the unwanted memory of losing while your competitive nature only amplifies when hearing how sure he seems to be about winning. Back peddling the opposite way of where you're headed to, "you and Aubrey wear something tight!" he hollers through a smirk; a comment you can only roll your eyes to as you flip him off.

Boys.

What can you do with them?

11:32 PM

You've decided to be the mother of the pair, also known as the designated everything, allowing Aubrey to get her drink on since you know how stressed she already is with school and homework and you, being a great friend who is willing to stay sober on one of the biggest nights of the school year, is perfectly fine with taking care of the blonde.

And apparently, Stacie, who seems to be a hot topic on Aubrey's daily conversations you have with her while she rants off about the next thing the girl happened to have done to earn Aubrey's annoyance, is also a great factor to all the built up stress.

At the party once you guys finally arrive, you greet people left and right with sloppy hugs, take an abundance amount of selfies and snapchat stories with friends who are already plastered and it's not even midnight yet. Popularity never was an issue for you; people seemed drawn to your friendliest and bubbly personality, and because of these winning qualities, finding friends was always an easy task to accomplish.

By midnight, the frat's house is filled to maximum capacity of inebriated hooligans, Kendrick Lamar is blaring against the walls and the bass is shaking the entire house. Red solo cups cover the wooden tile of the house and you and Aubrey already have a few wins under your belt, one of them being against Tom and Eddie, which is your most important win of the night as you rub it in both of their faces, yelling an overly smug, "I told you so."

Aubrey, at this point is fairly intoxicated, but is still able to hold her weight and isn't sloppy drunk, like majority of the girls are in the house as of right now. You know this by the clear indicators of glassy, red eyes and the absence of personal space when talking to the blonde and how she insists on being directly pressed up to your face when talking to her, nose to nose.

Also, how she has managed to let her hair down without a single care to the world; she's dancing with random people, hugging random people and over all is being a great time. It's a refreshing sight to see; Aubrey actually enjoying her time instead of dwelling about the little things in life she can't control.

Wow, they grow up so fast.

Expecting another pair of foolish guys who are about to get another thing coming to them as they take on the challenge of battling you and Aubrey at the table, you're greatly shocked to see a pair of familiar cloudy blues and those long tan legs walk up to the table, confidence practically oozing from their pores as they pick up one of the ping pong balls, wearing a look on their face that is daring you to challenge them.

"Look, Becs! It's our RAs!" Stacie yells over the music, loud enough so everyone in the general area can hear. It's not a secret to people that you and Aubrey are RAs, so announcing it doesn't make a difference. "What the fuck are you guys doing here?!" Stacie truly seems excited about seeing the two of you at a party, but she also doesn't notice how rude her last comment happened to be.

Jesus, you and Aubrey are RAs, not grandmas, for crying out loud. Even with this label, the two of you get invited to more parties than not, have more Instagram followers and friends to even keep track. Being an RA isn't an immediate entrance into loserville, and it's annoying that people assume this.

"Do you see this?! Am I hallucinating?! Are you looking at what I am?!" Stacie, clearly experiencing the effects from the alcohol present in her blood rambles incoherently, almost, to Beca, pointing at you and Aubrey from across the table with a shaky finger.

"Damn, you two clean up nicely," is Beca's only response, her eyes taking their time in the most unsubtle way to scan your outfit head to toe. Her smirk is back before you can even brace yourself for it, and all of a sudden, you feel like you just got done chugging the full bottle of Tequila with how hot your body feels.

You may be catching eyes tonight with your tight, pair of white skinny jeans above of black wedges, a nice sleeveless, button up black blouse and your hair curled to perfection, but Beca, as well, is making quite the impression on everyone.

And by everyone, it totally means you and you only as you admire the reverse, black snapback on her head while her hair curls diligently over her shoulders, the loose, black, cut off tank top and a pair of high waisted, daisy dukes is seriously taking a heavy toll on your sanity.

She looks incredibly hot; a startling type of hot and there's really no way around the observation that longer you stare and the deeper in admiration you find yourself getting. It's gotten to the point where you don't know if it's lust you're experiencing with Beca, or something entirely different, and that terrifies you on a whole other level.

And Stacie is well, Stacie is Stacie in all her hotness, looking absolutely jaw dropping without even trying; her dark blue, high waisted skinny jeans and a black tank top neatly tucked in. Her hair is straight and the alcohol only seems to make her glow.

Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Aubrey can happily agree with this observation since her eyes haven't left the taller brunette from the moment her and Beca stepped up to the table.

"The better question to ask is what you two are doing here," Aubrey battles back with defensively. Not that the party was strictly only upperclassmen, but usually freshmen, especially at the beginning of the year play hermit and don't often get invited to parties; nothing against them, but they aren't the most popular beans in the pod.

"That's for me to know and you to prepare yourself for the ass whoopin' Becs and I are about to put on you in this game of pong," Stacie says with maximum confidence, bouncing the ping pong ball on the table, eyeing Aubrey as if she dares her to say something to disagree with her words.

Beca gives you the exact same look and it lights a fire inside your stomach to prove them wrong, making them eat their own words.

Picking up the ball on your side of the table, "eye to eye, lets go," you order to Stacie, preparing to shoot to see who goes first in the game.

12:30 AM

You and Aubrey end up losing.

The game doesn't even last longer than fifteen minutes, which is like… a record, possibly.

You know, it's a disgrace that you've been dethroned by a pair of freshmen and now have to endure the obnoxious and highly annoying teases from the both of them as you endure the walk of shame away defeated, a cloud of humiliation following like a shadow.

"At least you both are still smokin' hot!" You don't have to turn around, or raise your head from where it is plummeted into your chest and staring into the ground while you face the walk of shame to literally anywhere else but here to be able to tell this comes from Stacie.

You lead Aubrey into the kitchen, already in the process of preparing her a (strong) mixed drink to drown away the sorrows and filthy stench of being a complete sore loser about this lost that holds heavy in both your hearts and self esteem.

This sucks.

It sucks because you and Aubrey would've won by a landslide if it wasn't for Beca's ridiculously distracting face and stupid attractive smirk, and Aubrey's inability to focus straight when Stacie purposely tugs down the neckline of her shirt and squeezes her already visible cleavage together right before she shoots, thus making her miss the cup by miles.

You and Aubrey are usually on your A-game, but tonight, you were not. Tonight, you were embarrassed and turned on, all at the same time and it was equally confusing as it was frustrating.

With your pride shot to pieces, it's moments like these that you wish you could take a few shots of the strongest alcohol on the shelf to wash away how ashamed you feel.

Ugh!

Stupid, stupid freshmen.

How did they even get so good at beer pong anyways?

2:14 AM

The party starts to wind down by this time; everyone is either too shitfaced to walk, or are hitting their crash. Aubrey happens to be one of them, who is passed out on the couch, leaning her head over your shoulder while you play Kings cup with Tom and a couple of his friends. It's when Tom pulls a jack and mid way through 'never have I ever' Aubrey's snores echo under the lightly played music over the speakers that catches your attention.

Figuring that you should get sleeping beauty back to her bed when you confirm she is out for the count, you tell Tom you're calling it a night, chuckle at the puddle of drool sitting on the front on your shirt when you remove Aubrey's face to stand up and shake her until she lazily cracks open her eyes, both bloodshot, both glassy and both filled with exhaustion.

"Wait, one more!" Tom pleas as you stand up, wanting to continue the game for a little bit longer. Giving in since you had only one finger left to hold up, you give him the green light to ask away, indicating his turn. "Never have I ever succeeded in...missionary work."

You switch your one index finger you have up to your middle, flipping off Tom with a sarcastic laugh against his cackles and give heavy roll to your eyes at the question literally only directed towards you and no one else playing. Basically, missionary work is an attempt by a gay or lesbian to seduce a straight person of the same sex. Long story short, Cassidy Weber during your junior year of college at this exact party is the only reason why you just lost the game of 'never have I ever.'

And screw Tom for using that against you.

When you help Aubrey off the couch (all done with minimal struggle) and set forth to the front door after giving goodbye hugs to Tom and the others, there's a pull you feel in your stomach that tells you you should at least check up on your resident, never wanting something bad to happen the girl of you chose not to. All you have to do is make sure she is okay and not passed out somewhere, like the bathroom, or the backyard, only imagining the amount of alcohol she could've consumed tonight.

It's the humane thing to do in this scenario, you convince yourself after deep contemplation.

"Where you goin'?" Aubrey mumbles when you set her in the passenger side of your car and buckle her in, eyes failing the stay open.

"To check on Beca," you answer, but Aubrey is already fast asleep, surprising you at how long she managed to last before passing out cold. Making sure the blonde is safely inside the car, you lock it and head back into the house, hoping to get in and out quick without having to scavenge the entire house for the tiny brunette who has suddenly worked her way up high the ladder on your priority list.

As you are walking inside, you run into Stacie being held by James, a young, junior baseball player who is a nice guy that can be trusted, which isn't all that unsettling when you see her clinging to him like a koala on a tree.

Needing to make sure, however, you grab Stacie by the elbow, pulling the girl off of James and making sure you have her full attention to what you're about to ask. "Are you okay? Do you need a ride?"

Stacie erratically shakes her head, declining the offer, but it earns a disbelieving squint to your eyes, unsure if you really want to believe that she is okay. "We are walking to his apartment since James here says it's super close," she slurs drunkenly.

The hesitant squint in your eyes that is iffy on allowing this to happen gets shifted to James. "Just walking, correct?" you warn protectively, not knowing why you truly even care all of a sudden where Stacie can and cannot be and who it is she's leaving with. The last thing you want though is a 'sober' guy driving when he isn't all that sober and ends up in an accident.

He nods his head and even explains how at max, he had two beers tonight and that was way earlier, so being drunk isn't even a possible option and you believe him, but pinky swear to put in stone that he isn't lying since nobody breaks pinky promises, unless they're a heartless monster. If anything happens to Stacie, you at least will know whose ass to kick into next week.

"Beca is the one you want to check on. Last time I saw her she was realllllyyy drunk, no thanks to Amy who showed up with the evil Mr. Ron himself," Stacie slurs, clinging back onto James before he walks her out the door by groping her rear, leaving you to curse at what a bad influence this Amy girl seems to be and also wonder how in the world she's able to get her hands on so much alcohol, unlike when you were a freshman and getting alcohol was like trying to find Waldo in a forest full of candy canes.

If you were to guess, this Ron guy is no other than Ronrico, the alcoholic drink and if your guess is correct, you might be too late to the scene and Beca might already by passed out cold somewhere inside this house.

Or outside.

Anything, really, is possible if Ron is consumed.

You ask around to anyone remotely coherent, asking if they've seen a tiny brunette girl with tattoos, piercings and a permanent resting bitch face and they surprisingly know exactly who you are talking about and where they last saw her.

"Yeah! She went upstairs with some chick on the volleyball team and hasn't came back down, as I know of!" Howie, other head brother at Sigma Beta informs you, pointing up the stairs he's leaning against and you are praying this girl isn't unconscious, or puking her brains out before you make it upstairs to find her.

You give Ryan an appreciative "thanks" and start your journey up the stairs to search for Beca. At the top, there are tons of closed doors to choose from, all of which you're a little hesitant about opening, not knowing what to expect when you do. This is, of course, a fraternity's house full of horny boys and that alone has beware written all over it.

Bravely, you take your first guess and reach for the doorknob, slowly creeping open the door to find an empty bedroom that belongs to one of the frat guy's who lives here; the sweaty stench a clear identifier. Closing the door back to normal, you spot another door down the hallway; a door that looks more like one belonging to a bathroom and decide to check this one next.

Holding your breath as you grasp the handle, you repeat the same steps to peek through the opening, this time, however, you find the one person who you've been looking for, but she's not alone, nor is she puking or passed out, which is refreshing. In fact, Haley Morgan, starting junior setter on the volleyball team, total beach blonde babe with a gorgeous pair of hazel eyes is also present in the bathroom with Beca.

But like those annoying, commercial break advertisements for the stupidest things, that's not all.

The two of them are-well, were engaging in a very, very heavy make out session, like next level Haley sitting on the sink, both hands full of hair with Beca squeezed up between her legs, hands fisting the bottom of her sundress kind of making out until the sounds of the door opening abruptly break them apart, frazzled and out of breath.

When witnessing what just happened, your first move should've been to book it out of there, giving them the privacy and attempt to erase your mind of the strangely hot, porno movie make out involving an acquaintance from school you see every now and then, had a few classes with, and one of your freshman residents. Although this is the right and most polite thing to do, you just stand there, dumbfounded, jaw hanging slack, eyes the size of saucers and just flabbergasted.

You are paralyzed. That's what's happening. That's why you can't move any part of your body, let alone blink properly.

It's not the first time you've walked in on someone at a party; you get curious sometimes, or you simply lose Aubrey and your drunk ass, without any form of thought process before you open any doors gets an eyeful of a lot intense, scarring scenes which all involve a ton of nudity. So experiencing this before, one would've thought that you'd know exactly what to do.

But you don't.

And you just stand there awkwardly, frozen in place like a stunned, frozen, zombie, statue mannequin.

"Oh hey, Chloe," Haley musters up her best attempt to smile, her hair all over the place, lips visibly swollen and she tries to fix her dress that has been pushed up to the very tops of her thighs, giving you one Hell of a show to walk in on, Jesus. "W-what...what are you….like...hi!"

Oh my God this girl is insane.

Frozen in place is still your main problem, even when Haley squeezes pass you and the doorway when her embarrassment has become unbearable to handle. First of all, you didn't even know Haley was gay, or even thought about swinging that way. The girl screams uptown girl, prep; she's hot, has a nice set of legs on her-which made sense since she played volleyball and has hooked up with the hottest guys. All of these qualities-not to stereotype or whatever- does not seem like a person who would taste test the same sex.

But neither does your sunshine profile, however, and it's been safe to say ever since that one seven minutes in heaven game you participated in with Rachel Myers during a seventh grade birthday party, you love going neck down in the ladies pool- or should you say face first.

Too crass?

Shoot, your gaydar is usually so on point.

"Look...who it is," Pulling you out of your little thought process while you try to file a time where it was an obvious sign that Haley had any interest in girls, Beca slurs through a toothy grin, eyelids cement heavy and body swaying back and forth on her feet. "My...RA," she hiccups violently and wow, Stacie wasn't lying about how drunk Beca was, though you wouldn't be able to tell because she still looks incredible, with her slightly pushed up hat, dark makeup and legs and stuff.

Your limbs finally find the ability move and you walk over to Beca, who smiles the entire way until you throw one of her arms over your shoulders, the strong stench of alcohol (and Ronrico, that son of a bitch) hitting your senses full blast. Yep, this girl definitely needs a ride home and is in for a massive hangover once it all wears off.

Good thing you went back and checked, geesh.

"I have a name, you know." Despite a whole mixing pot of emotions you're battling with; one of them being proof that Beca likes girls, the other being that you just walked in on her making out with a girl, you chuckle at the obvious label she has given you and help her through the door.

"But you RA cutie," she whines, her pout borderlining a child's and you feel your heart skip a beat. "Do you get it?" she asks while you maneuver her down the hallway, smile back in action as it's glued to the side of your head. "RA? Instead of 'you are,' since you are my RA?"

You don't know if you would've reacted differently if this compliment wasn't in the form of a pun, and you, being a complete sucker for a good pun is the best thing like, ever, but since it was, you have to stop yourself from swooning over down the staircase as Beca explains herself, so adorably, and so intoxicated, your body taking most of the 'punny' damage.

Walking has also became an impossible task to do when one of Beca's hands searches for the nearest thing to gain stability and it just so happens to be the area just above your left breast, her hand gripping tightly at the material of your shirt, so tight and close to touching skin that developing a simple thought is out of the question.

Eventually, you make it outside to you car with a non stable, inebriated tiny brunette; Aubrey has somehow moved to the backseat of you car and is stretched out while also, passed out. You set Beca up in the passenger seat, similar to how you did with Aubrey before walking back over to the driver's side.

"Nice whip," Beca compliments, using her hand to graze the black, leather interior, still looking as good as the day you bought it.

You chirp a "thank you," buckling your seatbelt before pressing the keys into the ignition. Your car; a cherry red Audi A7 is basically your precious child, and you wouldn't hesitate smacking both of the two drunken baboons trapped in your car senseless if either one of them decides to trash your baby.

"Fuck...is she dead?" Beca comments worriedly when taking a look in the backseat and finds Aubrey's lifeless form spread out over the entire surface.

You laugh out loud, turning on the car and looking through the rear view mirror for any stumbling pedestrians. "No, silly," you confirm shaking your head. The only thing stopping you from pulling over and checking the blonde's pulse is the loud snoring you can hear from the front seat.

"Good, even though she's a bitch, Stacie wouldn't be happy about that," Beca mumbles, her head looking as if it weighs a thousand pounds as it rocks back in forth in sequence with the bumps in the road. "My soon to be best friendddd," she sing songs through closed eyes.

Rolling down the passenger window and ignoring the complaints from Beca when doing so as the wind from outside violently blow against her face, "if you feel sick, let me know and I'll pullover. I do not want you puking in my car," you sternly warn, having been there before and made a pact never to experience the clean up ever again.

Thank you Halloween night and Tom Smith for that, by the way.

Beca assures you multiple times that she is fine; you're hesitant to believe it by the way her head is swinging side to side, probably only making the spins ten times worse, but you believe her, for now, leaving the window cracked for some fresh air to hit the girl's face just incase.

Back on track of the previous conversation, "why wouldn't Stacie be happy about Aubrey being dead? Not that anyone would, but why her specifically?"

"Are you going to tell my dad I'm shitfaced?" Beca completely ignores your question to ask one for herself; a question that brings a layer of worry to cover her droopy eyes.

"I don't know your dad, dork," you laugh, taking your eyes off the road to glance every so often at Beca. You use to hate babysitting drunks-actually, you still do, but Beca is an exception to this, her and all her adorable mumbles and groans whenever you take a turn to sharp, or hit a bump the wrong way.

"Yes you do; he's a professor here."

Suddenly a lightbulb flashes in your head and you almost, as a reflex, slam on the breaks when you connect the dots. "Warren Mitchell is your father?" Duh, he's her father, unless they randomly just share the same last name. How you didn't put the pieces together sooner is something beyond you. "He teaches Comparative Literature right?" You remember this little detail because the class was a requirement to take for your major and wanting to get it out of the way, you happened to be in his class sophomore year.

"Yup," Beca pops the 'p,' her head falling back into the headrest, her eyes closing tightly and you pray this isn't a warning sign, or symptom of sickness before Beca transforms into the exorcist. "He's the reason why I'm here instead of LA. He says making music is 'a hobby, unless your Rock Dees, or someone awesome like that,'' she mumbles mockingly, her voice dropping into a fatherly tone that pulls a giggle out of you.

Maybe you didn't know this little detail about Beca's father because she didn't list him as an emergency contact when you scanned over her paperwork. The only person she had down was Sarah Adams, who could be literally anyone at this point.

"Who's Sarah? Mother?" So, why not just ask, sneaking that this would be the easiest thing to do, especially with Beca being so drunk, it limits her amount of sarcasm.

Or so you hope.

"And did you say that you made music? What kind?"

She doesn't confirm, nor deny both of these questions, and again, for the second time tonight ignores you, like it was her damn duty. You didn't know finding a little personal information about the freshman would be as hard as pulling teeth from a child. "You realize you totally cock blocked me tonight, right?"

You mock offence with a sharp gasp, a hand clutching your chest for extra dramatics. You did no such thing! Yes, you interrupted a very intense make out session involving Beca and Haley, a girl who you'd never imagine in a thousand years would experiment with the same sex gender and is still having a hard time getting over it, especially if Haley just got it of a relationship with Tony, a total hunk on the basketball team not too long ago, but you never meant to walk in on it. Purposely, that is.

All you wanted to do was make sure your resident was okay and didn't need a ride home, not walk in on two eye openers about ready to take part and head down into scissorville.

"I mean twat...blocked?" Beca corrects herself and it comes out like a question. "Whatever, doesn't matter. What does matter is that I've been in a real dry spell since my last girlfriend and I was hoping to you know, break that," Beca mutters unamused, and she even flashes a hint of anger in her tone, but it doesn't stay for long before it's being swallowed up by the girliest of giggles, shocking you and probably Aubrey if she were conscious and awake to hear such an uncharacteristic sound emit from the brunette.

"Just out of, you know, curiosity," you dangle, clearing your throat awkwardly while your thumbs perform an entire drum solo over the rubber covering the steering wheel. "Are you actually...gay, or is this some sort of fling you have going on? A college experiment thing you're testing the waters with? Confused maybe?" you trail off, words spilling uncontrollably from your mouth. You have to bite your tongue not to squeak out with anything else and Beca looks like she is enjoying all your word vomit.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Beca is quick to retort back with, again, not answering your question and instead, just sits there in the passenger seat with a shit eating grin. "Your eyes weren't so subtle earlier during our game of beer pong."

"What!?" You feel like you just got slapped by Beca with all force and again, the temptation to slam on the breaks is there. "I'm your RA," Which really doesn't mean jack squat, and Beca knows it, you know it, everyone literally knows it. "I'm a senior!" Now this is just irrelevant and you realize that you're just stating facts here that are far from being used as actual defenses. You can't help it, though. Beca has had turned your brain into mush, all within a nanosecond of it happening. Excuses, let alone words are a lot to ask for as of now.

"You're super hot when you get all flustered," the compliment shouldn't make your insides feel the the center of a freshly baked, chocolate chip cookie, but it sure as Hell does.

You bark out a dry laugh, shaking your head, carefully choosing when and when not to look at Beca, who's is looking at you like a piece of meat. "And you're super drunk."

Valid excuse to think these things, even though you'd rather them be true. You don't know why, which has been a word and feeling you've been asking yourself a lot lately, Beca being attracted to you, able to spill compliments-pick up lines, as a hype kid would say- so comfortable without a hitch in her voice does things to you that no other person has been able to do. You don't know why you feel your heart pulsing in your eardrums, feel the heat from your cheeks that are so hot, you could easily cook eggs on them.

You don't know why all of a sudden, this new girl has such a heavy effect on you, but what you do know is that Beca Mitchell is trouble.

And you're entirely to sober to be having this filterless conversation with a girl who you may or may not find the tiniest (largest) bit attractive.

"I'm also not blind, and able to tell when I see something beautiful." Beca is being rather impressive with her way of words, and it's getting harder and harder to come up with a response. "And what I'm looking at uses beauty as an understatement."

Don't blush.

Goddammit, Beale, don't you dare blush.

"You're really, really hot."

And you blush; a mortifying amount.

Dammit.

Thankfully, you pull up to Barden and find a parking space closest to the dorms, terminating the conversation before you can further embarrass yourself. "Wake up, Bree!" You clap loudly, exiting the car like it's on fire to get away from that….that stare Beca had molded on you. Of course, Aubrey is dead to the world and any outside noises, so you open the back seat door, shaking the blonde back to life. "Bree, let's get you to bed," you whisper in a far more gentle tone.

Nothing.

You don't even get a little bit of acknowledgment.

Faint chuckles can be heard from the front seat and it's a pleasant noise to listen to. A noise too pleasant and too enjoyable and you really need to get out of here-actually, you only really need to get away from Beca and the carousel ride she has transformed you brain into.

Trying one last time, adding a little more bass, a little more chest power to amplify your voice, until worst comes to worst and you have to throw this girl over your shoulder and carry her up three flights of stairs (you will if it ones down to it) "BREE, LET'S GO."

Aubrey jolts back to life; a strangled, incomprehensible series of noises, looking rather alarmed, but nonetheless still extremely drunk. Victorious, you move to pull Aubrey out your car, her entire body weight crashing into you right hip as you struggle to keep her upright.

"Beca," you groan out for the freshman, every last muscle in your body fighting to keep your best friend from falling face first into the sidewalk.

Limping your way to the front of your car with a lifeless body hanging on one side of your body, you find Beca, who luckily looks like she is sobering up by the second. Not by a lot, but it's an improvement since her previous liplock you caught her in not too long ago. You don't know if you'd be able to make it up some stairs, let alone a couple feet without collapsing if you had to carry Beca, as well.

"I need to get her to bed, are you okay to walk?"

"For sure," Beca assures. To prove it, she moves to the other side of Aubrey that isn't being tangled all over your face and hikes the blonde's arm over her shoulders, already distributing the weight between the two of you that was seconds away from crushing you like a bug. She smiles warmly at you while she finds a good grip, your heart inflating at the gesture and how you didn't even need to ask for her assistance.

Appreciating the much needed help, the two of you drag Aubrey up to your dorm room where you have decided that here is where she is going to sleep when the key to her room is MIA and you don't have the time, nor patience to look for it. Eventually after struggling to get your own key out, you open the door, set Aubrey down in your bed and rejoin Beca back outside of the room.

"Thanks," you repeat for the fiftieth time in the duration span of five minutes, out of breath while your lungs search for some much needed air. Getting Aubrey to your room without falling was a repeat of helping Joey and his abnormally heavy box the day of orientation. Running a shaky hand up through your hair, pushing it out and away from your face, "are you sure you're okay? Do you need me to walk you to your room?"

Beca chuckles lowly and you try to match it, curving up a lazy smile, but your sudden exhaustion hits you like a bag of bricks straight to the stomach. "Goodnight, Chloe." Show and telling her key, letting you know that she has it to get in safely, she walks away before you have the chance to protest, giving you a clear image of her back half.

To anyone else, they'd assume this was a normal departure, but for you, you have to grip at your chest in effort to keep your heart set in place, preventing it from leaping out of your body because Beca just so happened to use your actual name, instead of your job title.

And boy did it sound heavenly coming out from her mouth.

The Following Morning

"Ugh."

"Are you okay?"

"Ughh."

"Do you need some more Advil?"

"Ughhh."

You stifle in a laugh, tucking in your lips not to smile at Aubrey's only strangled grunt responses to your many concerning questions. Hangovers are never fun for anyone, but Aubrey's, by far, after a rough night of drinking are the most painful to watch. You think you even experience second hand headaches and nausea because they affect your friend so brutally.

It's also not everyday you see Aubrey this hungover, and no matter how bad you feel for her, flash memories of the previous night is so worth it.

"You going to get some food? We have freshly baked cinnamon rolls or banana bread." You regret the words instantly when you see Aubrey gag, cupping a hand to cover her mouth at the mention of food, but you know she needs to get at least something in her stomach to help the remedy process. "Coffee?" It's not the best alternative, especially with all the alcohol she consumed and how there is no doubt about it that she's dehydrated, but a little caffeine should help ease the headache.

After, of course, a gallon of water.

The two of you are at Barden's on campus coffee shop, Beantree coffee, where you also work at and had a shift rather early in the morning. The shop is far from a fancy, overrated Starbucks, but it's a cute, relaxing environment where students come here on their off time to work on homework, or hang out with friends, especially in the fall and winter time when Beantree hits their busiest.

Plus, the coffee is way more affordable than Starbucks and it even taste better, in your opinion.

And you aren't just saying that because you work here and it's your job.

As a surprise, Aubrey woke up in a frazzle while you were getting ready due to a minor scare that left her ghostly pale in the face, a clear warning that she was about to puke, to which you could only panic, searching for the closest trash can, but thankfully she choked it down.

And since she was up already, joining you to get a cup of coffee and not spend her day sleeping it away felt like a better alternative.

"I'm never drinking again," Aubrey mutters, rubbing her fingers in circles directly over her temple bones on either side of her head.

"You say that every time you drink," you remind with a wink, unable to fully catch Aubrey's change in expression with the sunglasses she has covering her eyes.

You scramble around back, searching for all the ingredients needed to make Aubrey's usual coffee order; a caramel latte with almond milk, no whip. Perfecting the drink and pouring it out into a one of the cute little coffee mugs the shop has, you place it in front of your friend's face, smiling when you hear her sigh contently at the delicious smell.

As always, Aubrey moans with pure satisfaction after a taste test; you know her eyes are rolling to the back of her head by the taste even with the sunglasses on. "My favorite barista." She ends with slamming her forehead into the tabletop where her arms are crossed, messy high bun bouncing in place.

"Better be," you warn, an accusing finger being held up for no apparent reason when the top of Aubrey's head is the only thing greeting you as her face stays glued to the table. "Last night was something else, huh?"

"As for what I can remember, yes. Yes it was," Aubrey mumbles this into her arms, every word comes out muffled, but you can pick up most of it. "And I have a raging headache where my brain is brimming an explosion to back this up."

Another customer comes up to the register, scanning the menu of all the possible option to choose from and you pause your conversation with Aubrey. Taking her order, placing the money into the register and making it quickly, you wipe your hands on your forest green apron when she gets situated at an open desk with her laptop and repositions yourself back in place in front of your friend.

"So I have to talk to you," you start, the uneasy feeling coming up like bile in your throat. There's a lot to talk about regarding the last….eight hours or so, all of these under the topic of a certain freshman who is ringing in your head like church bells on a Sunday morning.

"You like Beca, don't you?" Except, while you're busy mazing your way through your words and phrases on how to go about this talk, Aubrey stops you short, stealing the words right from your mouth, even if they were far from how you were desperately trying to explain them.

"I-I...what? Who? Um, n-no?" you stammer, tongue feeling entirely too big for your mouth, beads of sweat forming at your hairline and Aubrey just sits there, sips her coffee, looking a lot like the Kermit sipping tea meme you'd see on Twitter. "I would never, how dare you! Beca is...well, Beca is Beca and...she's a prickly grump!" Defensive is your next tactic and Aubrey is surely getting a kick out of it as she continues to sip without saying a word, nodding in understanding every so often.

"And...and… so what if she's the hottest freshman on campus?! I sure don't!" Aubrey nods her head, disbelief coming just from the motion. "I don't care about all her tattoos, and her charming sarcasm that's highly annoying, yet super attractive all at the same time, and don't even get me started on her godly features, her salacious arch in her brows, that killer crooked smile and her cute little butt…" you trail off before you can slap a hand over your mouth, lost in some black hole fantasy.

Aubrey is alarmed, you're alarmed, everyone in this coffee shop should be alarmed. Slouching defeated with the obvious, "how'd you know?"

"Please," Aubrey scoffs dryly. "I'm your best friend, and though this is the first time I've experienced a babbling Chloe Beale, I always know when you have a total toner for someone."

Crumbling into the table top with a loud 'thud,' huffing even more defeated the entire way there, "I don't know what it is about her! She's trouble and someone I should stay away from, but the thought of her being off limits only makes me crave her more and...ugh!"

Aubrey snickers at your series of words that come out muffled by where your head is submerged in your arms. "Never pegged you as a cougar."

"Neither did I!" You agree through a wine, lifting your head up from the counter, hair draping over your face until you take the rubber band off your wrist and place it into a high pony. "Maybe if I just avoid her until I graduate, the feelings well...disappear or something."

"Good luck with that one, Chlo. You're her RA, so seeing the girl is bound to happen regardless." Maybe Aubrey is right, and you hate her for it. Everything is just too much to cope with and you really just need to stop thinking about it so hard before your brain malfunctions from short circuiting.

Needing a change in direction for the conversation before you ended up saying something you'd regret, "you were giving Stacie quite the attention last night Bree," you drop casually, fingers playing around with a lone coffee bean over the able, twisting and flicking it into your other hand.

This pulls Aubrey's head up from the table, a deep narrow to her brows and probably a tight squint to both her covered eyes under the glasses. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says, feigning innocence.

"Oh you don't?" Aubrey holds her ground, shaking her head as if she doesn't know, but you so totally do and are more than willing to bring them all back up, jogging Aubrey's memory. "You don't remember the googly eyes, the middle school flirting when she'd smoothly come up behind you and start grinding, but you'd push her off, only to reel her back in with the look in your eyes. The staring at her boobs during pong, the constant observations of how big Stacie's lips are and what you'd whisper to me any chance you got?"

Aubrey doesn't say anything, only stares dumbly at you and your teasingly bite to your bottom lip. It's an evil, devilish thing to do, especially when your friend preaches she isn't gay, but like most best friends, you can read her like a well known children's book. Sometimes, you even think you can read Aubrey better than she can read herself-exhibit A, as she continues to loop herself in the heterosexual group when so most definitely isn't all the way straight.

Bent, not straight.

Bisexual, debatable, but totally not straight.

Suddenly, she stands up, finishing the last gulp of her coffee and grabs her purse from the table. "You're delusional and I'm too hungover for this." It's watching her scramble away flustered that cracks your shield, causing you to roll your head back with a laugh, just so it can be ignored until Aubrey is long gone out the front entrance, walking the painful amount of distance back to the dorms.

You aren't alone for long, however, when the front doors to the coffee shop open up not even a second later, revealing a worn out, tired of the world and everything it has to bring aroma radiating from a similar, hungover brunette, who also seems to be affected by the lights in the shop when she chooses to keep her sunglasses on, earphones hanging delicately around her neck and the sight alone slams your heart into your throat.

Guess your plan to stay away from the freshman lasted about a good five minutes. God, no matter what you do, you can't seem to get away from this girl. How unfortunate, but also fortunate of this to happen.

"If I hadn't know any better, I'd think you are stalking me." At first, your presence isn't noticed by the freshman when it's shown her main attention is focused on the ground, her body sulking in pain to the register. Your voice catches her attention moments later, and you think you can feel the eyeroll underneath her glasses.

"RA and also part time barista. What else? Stripper? Gambler?" Beca pulls up her glasses from the bridge of her nose to the top of her head, eyes stretching so wide they are threatening to bulge. It's gives you a good look at her eyes; the dark, cloudy blue color that seems more vibrant this morning than all your other previous encounters with them. "Are you Hannah Montana?"

"Har har," It's your turn to roll your eyes, an action that use to be foreign to you, but lately, it's become a second nature with no one else to blame here except Beca. "How'd you sleep, sunshine? Also, how's Stacie?" you tease jokingly, already knowing Beca must've slept like a rock with how much alcohol she had in her system. Also, you already know what Stacie was doing-who she was doing.

Beca faces cringes at the nickname and extra cheeriness to your tone. She climbs herself up on the same stool Aubrey was hunched over in, scanning the menu to find what sounds the best. Going with her gut, she orders a large espresso coffee; a bold and rather strong choice of coffee options that shocks you. You could've sworn that most nineteen year old freshmen girls are into the complicated, extra sugary drinks, not basically roasted black coffee.

As if Beca couldn't get any more mysterious, she pulls this card. Was she a sixty year old man who plays golf on his free time?

"I slept good, by the way. Only woke up twice in the middle of the night thinking I was going to yack. Stacie, on the other hand, is currently puking up her organs in my room. I don't know how and I don't know when, but she walked back to the dorms somehow and banged on my door, demanding for me to make her food and touch her hair while she slept," Beca finally answers with a snicker as you make her coffee through the machine. "So I'm going to need a to-go coffee, as well, to bring back."

She removes her sunglasses from her head, sticking one end into the neckline of her grey crew neck sweatshirt, takes off her backwards cap, then flips her hair to the other side of her head, placing the hat next to her on the table.

Only adding to the scene you luckily witnessed last night, written in a maroon font over this nicely worn, very suitable sweatshirt is the word "girls," and the hat she is wearing happens to match the color perfectly, giving her skin a more vibrant glow.

If it wasn't obvious that Beca was gay before last night, it sure as Hell is now.

You almost overflow the cup of coffee to pour all over your hands, no doubt giving you third degree burns, and you try to come up with a better excuse to gasping an "oh shit!" when the scorching liquid brims the very top of the cup, but your only excuse towards not paying attention is sitting right in front of you, looking so adorable in a sleepy kind of way, with her hair now pushed back all sexy and such.

The only thing that'd be beyond the pale would be the American Eagle, or Calvin Klein underwear she had on underneath; you'd be in a coma if that were the case and you had some x-ray vision or something.

"You good?" Beca asks and you feel your cheeks rising to the same temperature of the coffee, giving off a sheepish smile to the concerned freshman while you try to cover up your mess, but fail miserably.

By this point, Beca has heard your harsh curses under your breath, heard the obvious rampaging of pouring some of the coffee into the sink, burning your hand in the process and also the drips of coffee hitting the floor. You're also not the only one working this morning shift; Sebastian, a junior, Italian art major is working with you, and is doing absolutely nothing to help you out, ending your misery now when Beca is seen chuckling to herself, amusement ringing through your ears.

Attempt number two goes way smoother, allowing yourself zero distractions this time; the culprit to your mistakes sitting at an arm's reach of you, so hungover yet so unbelievably attractive. You slide her over the freshly made cup of coffee above the table, muttering a "sorry it took so long," and she replies back with a smug, "little distracted on something, weren't cha?"

Inside your head, you mockingly repeat her words; this girl is too much too handle. Trouble. The girl is trouble, and there's no way around it.

"How much do I owe you?" Beca ask after a small sip of her coffee and her eyes give you enough assurance that you made the drink up to her standards.

You don't know why impressing Beca has become a mandatory task to do, or when exactly you felt the need to knock this girl's socks off her feet by just making a simple, cup of coffee. You don't impress people-people impress you. This whole trying aspect is foreign and completely bizarre, but the thought of Beca being unimpressed and nonchalant ringing in the back of your mind is poisonous.

You decline Beca's ten dollar by shaking your hands, ignoring the puzzled glance and furrowed brows she gives you above her sunglasses. "On the house," you clarify, beaming at her, but within the smile comes a plethora of unsteady nervous butterflies, and the queasy urge to puke all them up.

Beca doesn't have it for one second and shoves the money in your direction once again. Like before, you don't take the money, lightly giggle and repeat the same words you said to her before. Figuring that you taking the money is a lost cause, she has a backup plan and shoves the money into the plastic container labeled "tips" and plops back down into her stool, victorious written all over her smile.

"Okay, that was ten dollars. How am I supposed to give you back your change?" The coffee Beca ordered was only four bucks, not ten dollars-and really, if you're openly willing to pay for a coffee worth ten dollars, then there's something wrong with you, especially if you're a college freshman on a tight budget.

"Think of it as a tip for taking me home last night," Beca replies casually, shrugging her shoulders and taking another sip of her drink. "Plus, you have to deal with me being your resident which deserves like...a briefcase of money."

You push away the flutters at the gesture; this girl just continues to surprise you every day, even in the smallest ways. "You see, I don't think you're that bad. Joey, on the other hand, is hard to handle," you say this at the memory of him and his friends blasting music and playing beer bong (in the dorms!) at eleven o'clock, on a school night.

That boy is the prime example why you RAs set in stone a quiet hour time that all residents must follow by.

"It's only been a month," Beca reminds, raising one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows to her hairline. "Wait a couple more and your answer might change."

You highly doubt this; Beca may have trouble written all over her, but it's hard to believe she'd be a certain kind of trouble to create a strong disliking for her within you. So, you shrug it off, responding back with a, "I guess we just have to wait and see," and do some simple tasks around the shop while you have the time.

Early Saturday morning shifts like these ones are your favorite, hands down, because the next day up until noon leaves the shop ghostly empty due to majority of the campus college kids being hungover and sleeping like the dead from the previous night of partying like animals. Only certain people like you, Aubrey, random chick sitting with a laptop, Sebastian and apparently Beca (the anomaly of the group) go against this little theory you've created.

Which is why you always ask for the early morning weekend shifts, not only because you can get it out of the way, leaving the rest of the day open for errands or homework, but also because it's extremely easy taking a few people's order and then watch paint dry the rest of the time until you get to clock out.

Grabbing the mop for the supply closet and wetting it, you start cleaning the area from earlier where you embarrassingly spilled Beca's first cup of coffee. Most of it got on your apron, jeans, shoes and hands, but some of it still got on the tiles.

"How's classes?" You ask as you mop, moving the stick back and forth until the dark spot is removed.

"Well, for the ones I go to, they're alright." Okay, whoa. Not that you condone ditching class in any shape or form and really have no idea why it makes your stomach coil with heat, but that's incredibly hot.

"Now how on earth are you ever going to graduate if you never show up to class? I don't know what you heard but C's don't get degrees," you joke, smiling down at the wet streaks on the ground from the mop when Beca's rolls her eyes, clearly embarrassed by your little saying.

"Well then it's a good thing I'm moving to LA after this year," Beca drops nonchalantly, pulling out her MacBook and suddenly the task to mop is quickly forgotten, repeating the same words she casually brought about last night in her drunken phase.

"LA?" You set the mop to lean against the sink and move to lean your elbows on the table in front of Beca, intrigued by the destination and why she's so set on going. Especially without finishing college beforehand. "What for?"

"This," Beca rotates her laptop to show you, but when you are shown a screen with a bunch of high tech twists and dials and two rotating turntables, you have no idea what she is talking about. Sensing your confusion, "I wanna become a music producer. I like… make music and stuff," she explains in a timid way, turning her laptop back to face her; you finding it impossible not to think the uncharacteristic shyness isn't adorable.

She removes the headphones hanging on her neck to place on one side of her ears, plugging the other end of the cord into the earphone jack. You take the time to admire the image of Beca working intently on whatever she is doing on her computer, music related, as she previously showed you. From the tight knit to her brows in concentration, and the soft tug she gives to her bottom lip as she moves her fingers so delicately over the mousepad, you conclude that maybe your tiny crush on the girl might not be so tiny after all, and denying your feelings towards her would just be a waste of time and effort.

Beca swipes off the headphones from her ears, snapping you out of your daze when she hands them over to you. "Here," she then orders you to put them on, missing how out of it you are while being too busy soaking in how humanly unreal the girl sitting in front of you is.

Obeying these orders, you place one side over one ear, listening to whatever it was exactly that Beca is showing you and once you do, the familiar melody of Asher Roth's "I Love College" rings a bell. "Very ironic of you," you tease, knowing the once popular song's lyrics by heart and also how it's a song describing freshman year in a nutshell.

But then another song is joined into all the rapping and low bass notes; "Electric feel" by MGMT and-excuse your language-but you honestly think your senses have an eargasm at how well these two songs blend together.

And you're not just saying this because of the fancy, studio beats you have blaring over your ears that sound crisp and all around auhmazing.

To get the full experience of the magic, you slide the headphones over both sides of your ears, eliminating any background noise to intervene and move your hips to the beat. "You made this?!" you shout amazed, unaware of how high in volume your voice just reached, jumping way over the inside voice limit. "Holy crap, Beca, that is amazing!"

Beca tries hushing you when trying to talk above the music has become a personal goal, but she's smiling, flustered by the attention you're drawing to them, as well as all the compliments. "No more," she mumbles sternly, like an owner training their dog.

It's hard not to admire how easily Beca is loosening up to you in comparison to the very first day the two of you met. Getting a little personal information about the girl was hard then, but seeing her act so comfortable around you after the little bit of time you've spent together so far at Barden, the harder it is to push away the obvious attraction you have for the girl.

"Is this impressive talent behind the tattoo on your wrist?" You ask, pointing to the area on Beca's wrist where the top of her headphones are poking out beneath her sweatshirt; one of the many things you're dying to find out.

Beca takes a look at her wrist and casually shrugs. "For sure. Music is my everything and without it, I'm kind of a nobody." Her eyes lower, the direction of where the conversation is heading has a more serious tone to it. "Plus, I just wanted some ink to piss my dad off," she eases the conversation back up into where it was before and you know better not to ask about her father, especially when this time she's sober.

Beca is just now starting to get personal with you; you don't want to ruin it by being nosey.

There's always another time to slip some questions about the family topic; today, however, not the right time.

"Do you sing?"

Beca bounces her head back and forth, "eh, so so." she pronates and supinates her hand in a wavy motion and the imagination of Beca singing sends a chill down your spine.

It also brings an explicit amount of excitement to you when taking that being a four time acapella participant automatically classifies you as a singer, as well. "You should so join the Bellas!"

Beca scrunches her nose, displeased. "The acapella thing?"

"Yes, the acapella thing," you mock in a tone similar to Beca's, but also way off, sounding nothing like her. "We are totally the tits."

"Yeah, no," Beca doesn't even take the invitation to think about it and quickly shoots you down. "I have a fairly high social rank here at Barden and I'd like to keep I that way."

Wow. Didn't know that you were engaging in a conversation with a Negative Nancy.

Whatever.

You knew that you were jumping the guns when asking Beca to join an all female acapella group where all you guys do is sing covers of hit 80's songs. The actual chance of her agreeing to it was slim to none, but you at least hoped that the small chance present would be enough, taking that it's an all female group of hot girls dressed as sexy flight attendants and Beca was Ellen Degeneres gay.

"You must really sweep your girlfriend off her feet." You fan yourself for extra dramatics and you take it by Beca's puzzled look that she doesn't remember much about last night and how you, by coincidence, walked in on her and Haley, settling the argument you battled within whether or not she liked girls. "I might of, by chance and completely out of the blue walked in onyouandHaleymakingout," you profess, the end of your confession blending together timidly as you pray it doesn't come off as level five creeper status.

Beca thinks hard about it, trying to remember what exactly you're talking about. "Oh shit that's right," and it eventually comes to her, a petrified look washing over her face. "Guess the secret is out then." She nervously rubs at the back of her neck and it's such a different Beca than the one you were with last night that it's hard to believe.

"Unfortunately," you mumble; it wasn't how you expected the night to turn out, but it is what it is. "But at least we have something in common now."

"No." Beca's body perks back up, her words coming off as unconvinced. "Are you telling me my RA is a swinger? Gillette Blade?"

"I don't really know what those mean, or if I should take offence to them," you say deadpanned; all these young, freshman slang words are like a foreign language. "But yes. Summer of my sophomore year of high school I openly came out as bisexual."

"No shit," Beca screams to be elated about this little information while you don't see it as that big of deal and definitely shouldn't be deserving the amount of hype it currently is. "Aren't you dating Tom?"

"No I'm not," you clear up exasperated; this was a frequent mistake you got daily. "I get that all the time, but no, we are just good friends. Yeah, we had a fling my freshman and sophomore year, but we never went steady."

Beca grimaces at the term. "Goddamn you're old. People still use that saying?"

You throw the lone coffee bean on the table that you were playing with earlier at Beca, the jab at your age officially hitting you home. "Shut up! Yes people still use that saying, for your information!" Beca continues to cackle, pleased by her little joke while you just roll your eyes an unhealthy amount of times until you toilet bowl spin into a deep awe when Beca's neck muscles are flexed from laughing so hard.

Refocusing, "Anyways, do you have a girlfriend? Are you talking to anybody? Do you have a girlfriend back at home? Where are you from, by the way-wait no, I know that. Maine, right? Portland to be exact."

Beca raises her hands up defensively at your rapid list of questions that tumbled out of your mouth. "Whoa, I didn't know I signed up for a speed dating round of, 'let's ask Beca a hundred different personal questions' this morning."

"Oh hush! It's not like I'm asking you what your favorite sexual position is, you big baby." Once the example leaves your mouth, an idea evilly sparks up inside your head and Beca suspiciously glares at your gradually curving smirk. Leaning in closer as if you need to whisper a secret to Beca, "what is your favorite sexual position?"

"Oh my God." Beca is fire engine red and the color across her cheeks is only becoming deeper and deeper shade under the sounds of your laughs. "You're insane and I'm way too hungover for this shit."

"How are we supposed to become fast friends, like I expect, if you're unable to open up to me?"

"There's a difference between asking someone what's their favorite color and what's their favorite sex position," Beca scowls at you, still flustered and still looking just as adorable. Maybe it's time to start over, because you for one actually want to get to know the girl on a personal level.

"Fine, what's your favorite color?"

Beca narrows her brows at you, squinting suspiciously, but goes ahead and answers anyway. "Red."

You nod your head at her answer before chipping in yours. "Mine is blue."

"Already knew that, Beale. If I remember correctly, your whole dorm room was layered in all different shades of blue." Honestly, you forgot about this little moment you had with Beca at orientation. Also, the new nickname (but also not really considered a nickname and instead just your last name) is way more refreshing to be indicated as instead of being called her RA. Nobody wants to be referred to as someone's RA."But the color suits you. It matches your eyes."

Beca smiles and you try not to swoon into a puddle of goo where Sebastian would have to mop up all your smitten, nastiness that seems to only make an appearance whenever you're around the freshman.

"What's your favorite food?" You decide to get greedy with the questions, wanting to know every little thing, big or small about Beca.

"I go back and forth between Mexican and Italian."

"Oh yum! Same! What's your favorite movie?"

"Don't like em'."

Okay, not what you expected as a response, but you choose not to dwell over it. There has to be a valid reason why she doesn't like movies, even though not liking them is quite peculiar. "Understandable. Favorite music genre?"

"Everything; rock, pop, hip hop, house, dubstep, even a little country. What about you?"

"Anything I can dance to."

"Shocker." You roll your eyes for the hundredth time already and it hasn't even hit noon yet. "I feel like you're a total N'sync, Backstreet Boys and New Kids on the Block type of girl."

"You're not...wrong," you shrug your shoulders agreeing. Half your the music in your library originate around boy bands, because duh, they're totes the best."What's your favorite band?"

"That's cruel, Beale. I'm an inspired music producer and you ask me to choose just one?" You nod your head, eagerly awaiting a response and unfazed by Beca's defensiveness. Rolling her eyes, "Right now, I'd have to say Pvris, not because the lead singer is extremely attractive, but their music is amazing."

"Never heard of them," you respond causally, but apparently it's a pretty big deal for Beca as it looks like you just slapped her across the face with this response.

She sends you home with homework to educate yourself with some music and stop living like a hermit, and you happily agree to it because it's kind of super freaking cute seeing Beca going off on tangents about who you should and shouldn't listen to.

It's shows how incredibly smart she is about the music world and why moving all the way up to Los Angeles and becoming a producer suits her so well.

Which is exactly why you ask to hear some more of her mixes, hearing one just wasn't enough knowing how talented she is on just a plain old MacBook, a dreamy glint to your eyes.

"I don't have any finished ones done at the moment; I'm working on a mashup of Bulletproof and Titanium-"

"David Guetta's Titanium?" You interrupt, wide in the eyes and you even move your hand to rest over Beca's wrist.

"You know him?" You hum in answer, nodding your head. David Guetta was a popular artist and his songs always played on every radio station known to man. Does Beca think you live under a rock or something? You might be a couple years older but not prehistoric.

"Titanium is my jam.." There's a pregnant pause and you take the time to curve up a wolfish grin that goes unnoticed by Beca. "My lady jam."

"Ohkayyy," Beca sounds mortified, averting her attention and eliminating any form of eye contact between you two and you're caught guilty for getting a pretty good kick out of it.

"What?" You tease in question form, innocent and bashing your lashes. "Don't you masturbate? Flick the bean?" Beca's facial expression twists uncomfortably and you have to bite your lip not to crack up laughing with the extra motions you gave to the already crass question.

"Jesus, you're just like Stacie," Beca hides her face with her hands, the blushing spilling from the cracks between her fingers.

Sebastian stares at you blankly from the cash register when he finishes taking another person's order, the sounds of your laughs apparently alerting everyone in the shop. You mostly ignore it, sending your fair share of dirty looks back his way. Obviously he doesn't understand two people having a moment when he sees one.

"Wow, I think I've hit my limit of personal questions for the morning," Beca announces as she takes the last gulp of coffee, closes her laptop and shoves it back into her backpack.

Before she leaves, there's just one more question that is bugging you to find out about. "Wait! I have one more." You wait until she gives you the green light to ask away, unprepared for the "but seriously, what's your favorite sexual position?" to come falling smugly out of your mouth, transforming her back into a breathing, cherry tomato.

"Doggy? Scissoring? Oh! I bet you're a top-you look like a top, secret dominant type of freak!" You continue, amusement at the slow torture you're granting upon Beca hitting an all time high.

Abruptly, she stands up to leave, not even acknowledging your obnoxious laughs and all the begging you participate in to find out the answer to you overly stepped boundary question and she books it out the door without even saying goodbye.

Goodness, this girl is going to be the death of you.

Wednesday Night, a Couple Days Later

You knew that school was going to start picking up around a month in, especially all your hard, major classes that are in the four hundred level, but you at least thought the papers, the books, the lesson plans, the tests and the presentations would gradually make an appearance into your low-key schedule, not hit you full force all at once.

Thanks to this happening, your stress levels are already through the roof, you've consumed more coffee than anyone should consume in a day's sitting, your sleep schedule is...non existent, basically, and you're positive that Russian Lit is purposely trying to ruin your life.

It's around eleven, almost midnight when you're found swamped at your desk, papers on top of papers scattered endlessly around the area while you annotate the important details in one book assigned, writing them all down on another piece of paper, then moving this information to your laptop so you could start typing the paper that goes along with everything else.

Multitasking.

That's a big thing in college, you hate to admit and if you aren't good at it now, you sure as Hell will learn to be, probably even master it.

Homework isn't the only thing keeping you up this late on a Wednesday night. Yes, it's the one of the main factors as to why you're playing owl (because Mr. Helley, your critical theories class professor hates his life and hates his students even more, so he gives you all a book to read, write about it and present all in a week's notice) but you also happen to be the RA on call, just in case someone needs a key to get into their room, or busting down any noise complaints.

As on cue, the brick of a phone you are forced to carry around rings; a girl named Liz, another one of your residents, informs you that the people in room 38 are being obnoxiously loud, preventing her from getting any beauty sleep and she'd really appreciate it if you went down there to shut it down. Having no other choice, you close your book, saving the spot you last read with a sticky note and assure Liz that some peace and quiet for her beauty rest is soon to come.

Room 38.

That's a new one, you think to yourself.

By now, Joey's room, 36, is burnt into your memory, so it isn't his dorm that Liz is complaining about. Curious now, you dig through your RA junk and grab that clipboard from orientation to scan down the list and see who it is living in room 38.

Kimmy Jin is the first one listed; you aren't too familiar with her, probably because that most she said to you was her last name so you would be able to give her the right room key. The encounter was very brief, but even the five minutes of time you two spent together, you could already tell that she was a raging bitch. So yay, you'll have to deal with that.

But the other person listed, Kimmy Jin's roommate is a shocker.

Rebecca Mitchell.

You can't deny that seeing Beca gives your actions a sort of spark to them as you walk down the hallway. Since the coffee shop encounter and definitely the back to school party at Sigma Beta's house, the freshman is all you could think about lately, plus discovering the way to critique and change society as a whole, but besides school, she's been planted in your mind and you don't know whether that's a good thing, or disaster waiting to happen.

Jesus, you've even spent all day after your talk with her at work downloading the whole PVRIS album and had Asther Roth on repeat.

If that doesn't scream disaster, you don't know what will.

Elated at first when making it to room 38, trying hard to transform into your best 'RA stern mode' alter ego and smiling at the cute little animal door tags you made with Aubrey for the residents, everything soon deflates when expecting Beca to answer the door and instead, you're greeted by a tall, insanely beautiful, long, delicately curled, ombré silver styled hair and legs to die for random chick who you've never seen a day before in your life.

Before any words are exchanged between the two of you, the strong stench of beer-Corona and even some Blue Moons- instantly hits your senses, along with the sounds of music playing from somewhere inside the room that is breaking recommend volume levels. No wonder why Liz couldn't sleep; it is basically a party happening in room 38 and they even have random chicks who look as if they came straight out of a Victoria's Secret catalogue to go along with it.

Okay, for real, what the Hell is going on?

"Oh hi!" Random girl beams you a smile and geesh the smile is so wide and so toothy, but nonetheless any perfect. Seriously, a smile that big deserves a nobel prize. She leans the corner of her head on the doorframe, not allowing you to see fully inside the room. "What can I do for you?"

Um, tell me who the Hell you are, why you are answering the door to Beca's room and why you're even here in general? "Is Beca here?" You say instead with an unintentional dirty look, biting your tongue not to accidentally slip the thoughts running through your head when catching the same sweatshirt Beca wore the day she got coffee on Random girl's body, framing her body perfectly.

Random girl doesn't seem to notice your weaponizing stare directed towards her choice of outfit and lack of any pants whatsoever and keeps her beaming grin, angling her head backwards behind the slightly propped open door. "Oh yeah-Becs!" she yells and why Beca didn't answer the door in the first place boggles your mind on a whole other level.

Soon, Beca joins the scene, wearing a plain black tank top- a tight, plain black tank top with visible cleavage-and a pair of baggy grey sweats, her hair loosely curled and draped over one shoulder and the same stench of beer radiating from her mouth when she greets you with a friendly "Hey Chloe."

And you're too discombobulated to appreciate the view, which should be considered a crime not to admire such a lazy, beautiful sight.

"Hi…" you drag out, eyeing random girl suspiciously, who is still present, holding the door open, standing a little too close to Beca for your liking and still you can't get over that she is wearing one of Beca's hoodies with nothing on underneath. Who the Hell is she?!

"You know this girl?" Random chick asks incredulously and you fist your hands into balls not to slap her into next week. Violence has never been in your action vocabulary and you don't stand to tolerate anyone who uses violence in a negative manner, but this girl, random...hottie might just change that.

"Yeah this is my RA," Beca answers with one of those deathly smirks of hers, only this time does it not have the same effect on you that it usually does. Instead, you keep a blank face, clenching your jaw to the point of breaking teeth, unable to pinpoint what exactly this feeling you're experiencing is, but suddenly too pissed off to try, break it down and analyze it and even care, really.

"RA? I would've never guessed," Random chick snorts and okay, what the Hell is that suppose to mean? And also, who gave her the microphone to speak when in reality, her presence is just about as important as wisdom teeth.

Completely ignoring everything about this random girl's presence, "you having a party, Beca?" You didn't intend on the words coming out as harsh as they did, but you also didn't intend on being face to face with a half naked girl when expecting a tiny, awkward brunette to answer the door.

Beca is taken back by the venom lacing your tone, even random chick takes a step back from the door, creating more space between the two of you and you applaud her, because the closer she was, the harder it became to test your strength not to strangle her.

"I uh...no. W-we are just hanging out," Beca stutters with a shake to her head, confused and still baffled by what's going on. Well at least that makes two of us, Beca.

"You received a noise complaint." Your sharp tone doesn't ease. In fact, it gets even sharper, along with your features on your face when random chick decides that now, of all times, to snicker under her breath. You throw her a piercing, death glare, shutting her up hopefully for the rest of this conversation before refocusing your attention back on Beca. "Also, alcohol is not allowed in the dorms."

"I thought you said it wasn't a dry campus, Becs." Maybe you had your hopes up too high as random girl says this out loud, looking pretty not an issue, but staying quiet is obviously an impossible task for her to do.

Also, why does she insist on calling Beca that? Why is she even here in the first place?

And why is she wearing Beca's clothes?!

Beca quickly senses your anger bubbling inside you by the second and sneaks pass random chick to close the door to her dorm, granting you guys more privacy to talk and letting random chick know she'll be right back. "You good?" she asks cautiously, concern lacing her eyes that have a bloodshot, glassy film over them from the beers, you assume.

"Perfect," you retort back, not any less harsh than what you've been responding with.

You can't help it. Images of some stranger wearing Beca's clothes makes your head all fuzzy and your blood start to boil and not to mention the thoughts of why and how she got into Beca's clothes.

Beca doesn't believe this for a second, probably because it's not hard to tell by the invisible white foam coming from your mouth that shows you're upset. Upset over something you don't exactly know why and what it's mostly directed to.

"Are you sure? Because you seemed like you were seconds away from ripping Lindsay's head off." Oh look at that. Random chick has a name. Doesn't help Beca's case here, however, but the observation is valid. "I'm going to be honest here. Yes, we are drinking, but not a lot to get shit faced, I swear."

You squint your eyes at Beca's defensively raised up hands being used as shields. It doesn't matter; you're still extremely irritated and knowing what's being held behind this white door, who is standing on the other side makes you even more irritated.

You aren't upset at the noise complaint, the loud music, and all the drinking. Honestly, you planned on teasing and joking around with Beca about it. What infuriates you and makes you upset is the fact that Beca is hanging out, receiving noise complaints, drinking and playing loud music with some hot, half dressed random chick and not you.

And it's then when bullet boarding all these reasons behind the harsh tone, the sharp jabs in looks and absence of your usual bubbly, upbeat personality you realize why you've switched from a yellow ball of sunshine to a big green monster.

You're jealous.

And the thought alone makes you want to vomit.

"Look, I'm sorry about all the noise. We just got a little out of hand," Beca mumbles apologetically and her wounded, puppy dog expression almost makes you regret acting so crazy.

Almost.

"Keep the noises down," you snap with a vicious snarl, surprising yourself and Beca, as well, by the widening to her eyes. You steam down the hallway back to your room without even the thought to turn around and see a dumbfounded, probably confused brunette

It was a drastic change in events, to say the least, and by the time you make it back to your room, lashing all your pent up jealousy and anger to your door when you slam it shut with every ounce of force you have in your body, like you're a middle schooler who just got grounded by their parents, you're too angry to even think about doing homework

So, you clean instead.

Your whole damn dorm room, top to bottom.

That seems like a better alternative to busy you instead of dwelling on the obvious jealousy you have shadowing your every move.

Ugh, stupid Beca Mitchell and stupid random chick and stupid Liz for making you go over there in the first place!

Sigma Beta Pool Party

You don't see Beca for the rest of the week, which is probably a good thing that you haven't since it gave you the much needed time to relax, take a chill pill and analyze your sudden anger towards her when you didn't intentionally mean to do so, honest to God.

Jealousy is an entirely foreign feeling for you.

Never have your experienced it with your exes, or people you've developed crushes for, even Tom and his inability to get rid of all the underclassmen girls' eyes off him while he worked out at the gym or practiced for football. Yes, it was rather annoying and talking to those bimbos was like talking to a brick wall, but he wasn't your property, let alone boyfriend at the time of your freshman through sophomore year.

All you two did was fool around with each other, be the other's stress reliever when Tom had a bad day at practice and you were swarmed in homework, or be there willing to help out with certain needs.

So without the label of you two actually dating, getting jealous was never an issue because what Tom could do, you did as well, three times harder.

This minor issue with Beca; a girl who you've admitted-after pulling teeth- to having a small crush on has made you feel a lot of emotions, experience a lot of things that you've never felt before, but equally bad and good.

One of them being the sudden tremble in your knees whenever she laughs, or smiles at you, or even just laughs and smiles in general. Another one involves the cage of butterflies you feel in your stomach whenever she says your name, which is just freaking bizarre, if you're being honest. The smirk; the stupid, intoxicating half smile she does more times than not has been painted in your head and you don't know if it's a good or bad thing.

The view isn't bad at all, not one bit, but the effect it has on your sanity is a little concerning,

The big issue here and the extraterrestrial feeling hitting you like a snare drum occurred the exact night when you saw another girl in Beca's room, wearing her clothes, looking good as shit in her clothes (sadly) and hanging out with Beca in general.

"You know, your ears are starting to smoke from how hard you're thinking, Chlo," Aubrey comments all of a sudden, tearing you out of your previous week's analyzation over these abnormal emotions that have sprouted up. "Also, your grip over the steering wheel is seconds away from disintegrating the rubber."

It's true; your hands are squeezing at the wheel so tight that when you release the grip, your finger indentions are seen. You ease a bit, rolling down your window to catch some fresh air to cool you down. Just, thinking about Beca and that girl, and them engaging in...whatever activities they had planned for the night aggravates you to no other.

Oh no.

You're getting angry again.

Stop thinking about it, Beale.

"Are you going to tell me why you've been less chipper and more gloomy these past few days?" Aubrey inquires, moving her sunglasses to the top of her head and you can feel her eyes burning two holes at the side of your face.

Turning down the music to zero, leaving the car in complete silence for you to talk, "It's Beca," you breathe and roll your eyes when Aubrey mutters a 'no shit, Sherlock,' letting you know that your obvious change in behaviors was due to a certain freshman and that she already knew this.

Moving on, apparently, "long story short, I went to her dorm room Wednesday night because she received a noise complaint and I needed to tell her to keep it down because you know, it was a school night and people need sleep and she was ignoring the rules involving quiet hours."

Aubrey waves you on, encouraging you to get to the point instead of fluffing around it.

"Anyways, when I knocked on the door, the only person I expected to answer was Beca, maybe even Kimmy Jin, her roommate, but who I got was a half naked girl wearing one of Beca's hoodies!" You exclaim, anger increasing the longer the story continues as you slam your breaks into a parking spot close to the fraternity's house.

Aubrey slaps her hands to the dashboard, luckily catching herself from the force before her face ate airbag. "Jesus, Chloe!"

"Sorry," you grumble with annoyance, turning off the car, but not yet getting out. Also, you aren't all that sorry because you can't get hot, random chick out of your head and the images of hot, random chick's lips on Beca's. For that matter, anywhere else on Beca's body, and seeing these things makes it impossible to contain the jealousy.

"They were drunk, Bree," you gasp, as if this little information is by far the worst.

"Drunk?" Aubrey asks, clearly alarmed and only proving your case here at how absurd this whole story is. "Drunk on a Wednesday night?" Of course, this is the minor bit of information that she'd picked up on and the bit that seems the most inexcusable.

"Well, not drunk drunk," you clear up; Beca was still coherent, had cognitive thoughts and could stand on one leg reciting the alphabet backwards if asked to do so. "But they were both obviously drinking; I could smell it on both of them!"

Aubrey taps her chin in thought and you eye her suspiciously from under your summer, pooltime aviators, knowing anything could be said by your friend, whether it's something you want to hear, or something you'd rather not listen to. "So, from what I am gathering here is that you are jealous of this girl who you found in Beca's room, but really you have no reason to be because you haven't even dropped the slightest hint to Beca that you like her, is this correct?"

And you stand your case.

"Maybe," you mumble under your breath, followed quickly by way too proper "excuse me?" from Aubrey, causing you to repeat the one thing you'd rather not admit to. Honestly, drinking bleach sounds more appealing than admitting to being jealous.

Aubrey clears her throat when you don't respond, impatiently waiting for clarification to her theory and you groan out a loud, "yes! Fine! I'm jealous!" and pull yourself out of the car, a tantrum in the beard future you feel.

Aubrey follows right behind and grabs her bag from the backseat. "Why don't you just ask Beca out to avoid all the late night booty calls? Seriously, I never thought I'd witness my best friend pulling the shy, 'I have a crush on the girl next door' card."

You cringe at the usage of the term "booty call" and try to erase yet another unpleasant image from your head involving Beca and the one person who is driving you absolutely insane. "Because I'm a senior! And I'm her RA!"

"Bullshit, Chlo," Aubrey shuts that excuse down faster than you can even back it up. "You of all people don't give a shit about age difference, let alone being someone's RA. Jesus, it's not like you're her high school teacher."

"It's because if I ask her out, hopefully she'll say yes and then if she does, we go on a couple dates, hold hands the first two, kiss on the last one and bam, she's my girlfriend. We have an amazing time together, take romantic walks around campus at the twilight hour; she walks me to my classes and even walks me to work where I'll end up being late because I'm too busy making out with her in that creepy back alley right behind the coffee shop. She shows me her music, makes me mixtapes and we sing along to them when we take turns visiting the families on big holidays. She knows my coffee order; I know hers and then she knows what kind of toppings I like on my pizza; she likes mushrooms but knows I hate mushrooms, so she doesn't get them. After all this, the kissing, the Instagram posts, the sleepovers, the more adult sleepovers, the cuddling the next morning, and we start to get pretty serious, then bam again, I'm graduating, she's a sophomore, I'm doing grad classes in Taiwan, we break up, I lose a best friend and a girlfriend all at the same time and I'll be forever alone with my fifty cats I'll adopt and make farm for them to play in while Beca gets hotter, gets together with random chick who becomes a model and they move to LA together and become Hollywood's next 'it' couple."

You finish this rampage of words just before you make it to the backyard of the frat's house where most of the people are, breathless and with the slight possibility of passing out due to the lack of air you allowed your lungs. Aubrey stares at you dumbfounded, speechless coming off as an understatement and all she can do is blink. Blink multiple times as her brain tries to catch up with her mouth while you half think, other half worried that you might've popped a neck vessel.

It's not that you have commitment issues; you were born being committed to anyone who you respected and anyone who treated you well. The problems with testing out these feelings and why you're so hesitant to try them out with Beca is because of what comes after. What comes after you graduate, what comes after Beca decides to fulfill her passion and move to LA, what comes after accepting these feelings, but only for Beca not to reciprocate them back.

There's a lot of unanswered questions and you have a gut feeling you won't like any of the outcomes once they are eventually answered.

"Oh...my God," is all Aubrey is able to muster up, face blank, mouth hanging just slightly open. "I cannot believe you just expressed your entire thirty year future in a single breath. Non realistic, by the way. Taiwan? You hate thai food because it's too spicy for you."

Of course this is the only thing Aubrey got out of the Lord of The Rings sized novel you just professed in a single breath.

You pout, even though you're impressed by your lung capacity, as well. You put on a winning smile when running into some of your friends, dazzling them like always with your charming, upbeat personality, as if you didn't just participate in one of the biggest breakdowns you've ever been apart of. Hugging the few boys hosting the party, Tom, Howie and Ryan, you get pointed in the right direction of where all the alcohol is after asking politely.

Lord knows you need it.

As you're walking over to the backyard table set up with a plethora collection of alcohol to choose from and next to a bunch of other people crowding the kegs Tom ordered, a familiar, long legged beauty circling a bunch of guys like her prey magnifies your attention towards her, mouth dropping to the grass when you realize who it is and you reach to cling onto Aubrey's wrist, ignoring her pleas to loosen up before you cut off her circulation.

"There she is!" You hiss at whisper volume, but it still comes out fairly loud. What is she doing here, why is she even here and if she's here, where is Beca and why wasn't Beca with her?

"Where?" Aubrey searches the entire perimeter trying to spot the girl you are already fantasizing about strangling in more ways than one inside your head, but without pointing in the general direction of it being obvious and the large crowd this pool party has, spotting the same girl seemed impossible.

"That tall girl hanging around the baseball team! She's wearing those cut off, white jean shorts, white bikini top and basically looking like a male's fantasy dressed up like an angel," you give your best description of random chick without removing your eyes off her frame, the fear of her disappearing to risky to chance your luck and look anywhere else.

Aubrey continues to search, head twisting and turning in every direction. She even gets up on her tippy toes to look over the taller group of guys blocking her view. Eventually, there's confirmation that you both are looking at the same person by a small snicker she emits with, the only sound able to tear your glare away from random chick.

What's so funny about your competition!?'

"That's Stacie's younger sister," Aubrey responds casually, not a single hitch in her voice. "Guess she's been up here visiting, getting a little taste of college before her weirdly late in the year Pennsylvania school starts back up."

Younger? There's no way that can be true. Okay, now that you are given the chance to study her profile better, envy every inch of sun kissed skin, every God made bone structure and two legs to jump off a bridge for, you can admit she shares the same physical traits as Stacie in almost a scary, bizarre way. Hell, she's practically a clone of Stacie and you can only imagine how good looking the rest of the family is after seeing two girls who look like they deserve to be on every front cover of every magazine possible.

But younger?

There is no way.

Yeah you're pretty confident about your body and looks, but you did not look that hot when you were in high school. Maybe above average once you discovered makeup and hair products you junior year, but this girl breaks the scale in looks.

"Lindsay is the girl who you caught in Beca's room the other night?" Aubrey asks curiously, bringing the unwanted conversation back afloat and her amusement sparks backup.

Oh God.

You don't know if you'd rather be jealous over some random girl who spent the night at Beca's, or Stacie's younger sister who spent the night at Beca's. Gross, both sound horrific, but the thought of Beca hooking up with A). Someone supposedly younger and B). Her friend's younger sister gives you an unexplainable and highly unpleasant amount of chills.

Suddenly, however, random chick's-Lindsay's face, more specifically her mouth is pressed firmly against Ryan Evan's mouth, kissing the overly touchy boy and his wandering hands all over her body fiercely, and you don't know whether to find Beca immediately and inform her that...Lindsay, whatever the Hell she is to Beca is, in fact, out in the open cheating on her, aggressively making out with some college baseball dude, or jump up and down with an overflowing amount of joy.

"Sup, hotties!"

You squeak a high pitched yelp at the newly unannounced guest, guilt melting over you like molten lava when you can admit to being more than a little relieved to catch Lindsay red handed with her face molded onto someone else's mouth, cheating on Beca right before your eyes.

Once getting over your minor heart attack after being startled half to death, you turn around to greet the sudden intruder and main cause for putting you into cardiac arrest. Standing there clad in just a black swimsuit, toned skin glowing under the sunlight and amount of cleavage knocking the wind out of you at first glance is no other than Stacie.

And you curse to yourself when seeing that beaming large smile, wanting it to be literally anybody else in the world, even Joey and his stupid, immature pick up lines because you don't know how to bring about to the taller girl that you have recently just got done painting multiple mental pictures inside your head of how to attack her sister in the most sinister ways.

"I'm so glad you guys are here!" Stacie exclaims, genuinely excited and it almost pulls a small smile out of your blonde friend, the faint smell of beer radiating off her tongue. She also comes off as unaware to spooking the living daylights out of you. "You look good," she compliments to both of you, but you can tell that it's is more directed towards Aubrey by the extra linger in eye contact and wandering eyes down the red and white bikini Aubrey is flaunting.

"Thanks," Aubrey replies slowly, squinting at the taller girl and the amount of tension in the air between them makes you feel like you've been switched to the impromptu third wheel. "You look cute too."

"Cute?" Stacie's brows raise to her hairline and you can't help but mirror the look of surprise. Aubrey hardly ever compliments anyone unless they truly deserve her breath, let alone calls someone-a girl- cute. Holy shit. "I don't do cute; it's not in my lexicon."

"Nice word choice," Aubrey almost curves up a smile; you could see the threatening twitch at the corners of her mouth and as an English major, you have to agree with your friend on describing Stacie's surprisingly impressive vocabulary.

Clapping through the tension, half wanting to remind the two that your presence is still there and half wanting to bring about a completely different topic, "so Stacie, your sister is here?"

Shamelessly, Stacie hooks an arm around Aubrey's midsection while still giving you all her attention when you ask this question. Her hand stays put at Aubrey's hip for a while until it is being plucked off and dropped back into her side, and you're having more than a hard time establishing whether or not Aubrey enjoyed the brief, intimate contact by the faint blushing you examine in her cheeks.

"Yeah she is!" Stacie answers enthusiastically, calling over Lindsay, who is no longer occupied playing tonsil hockey with Ryan Evans from the baseball team and struts her way over to the group when she hears Stacie's voice being yelled through cupped hands around her mouth. "Just visiting her favorite sister, isn't she?" She cooes baby like into Lindsay's cheek when the other girl arrives, smothering the area with peppered kisses.

"You're… my only... sister," Lindsay says in between grunts, pushing away the slightly taller girl. Up close to Stacie's beauty and Lindsay's, together, it's almost too painful to look at and should be considered illegal. No wonder why Beca was so fancy by Lindsay; she was unreal in the most annoying way.

With Haley-not claiming that you were jealous or whatever- but at least you knew that your looks and personality outbeat hers by a landslide.

Lindsay takes the next opening to break herself away from her sister's hold, fluffing her curls back up to perfection. Doing so, she catches your stare and the smile she was once sporting quickly dissipates into an increasing frown. "Chloe, right?" Part of you was hoping that maybe, somehow, she forgot about your previous encounter since it wasn't ideally the most memorable and definitely not the first impression you'd normal give off.

"You two know each other?" Stacie seems genuinely surprised and you can feel Aubrey trying to stifle in a laugh, knowing damn well just how acquainted you and Lindsay are after hearing the story and you nudge her in the ribs, hopefully shutting her up before it draws unwanted questions that you won't know the answers to.

"Yeah she came over to Beca's room a couple nights ago when we ordered pizza, drank beer and played beerio kart," Lindsay explains with a hesitant glance to her eyes and tone, still not comfortable around you since the last time the two of you were together wasn't an encounter someone would like to relive.

How romantic; pizza and beers, you think to yourself, rolling your eyes internally.

"You were passed out already because someone is a light weight. It was just Beca and I hanging out, listening to music," Lindsay also adds when Stacie arches a brow up, not remembering you stopping by the room and apparently even falling asleep in the first place.

You look deeper into the context; Stacie was there that night as well, not physically wise, but she was there in spirit, which makes you feel a little better knowing it wasn't just Lindsay and Beca alone in the room. No, scratch that. It brings an explicit amount of relief knowing Stacie was there with them. However, it doesn't answer the big question as to why she was wearing Beca's clothes, and what in the world beerio kart is.

Must be a freshman thing.

"A totally platonic hang out, I must add."

Another voice makes an appearance in the mix; a teasing tone that's joined by a smug looking smirk and you almost collapse down into the pool you're conveniently standing next to when these two kryptonite forces are joined on top of a forest green bandeau bikini top, a high pair of cut off, jean shorts and showing so much exposed pale skin that fainting is a very high possibility.

God, it's like every time you see the girl she gets hotter and hotter, even when you thought it wasn't possible.

"Lindsay is a senior in high school that's experiencing the shit we do in college, even though brains over here is going to Dartmouth," Beca nudges Lindsay in the arm, throwing in a few more details about Stacie's sister who has been cleared up to be nothing more than just friends with her.

And wow.

Not to judge a book by its cover, which happens to be a very hot, closest thing to perfect you've ever came across type of cover, but you were not expecting this bomb about college to be dropped, informing you that, yes, she's drop dead gorgeous, but under all this raw beauty there also happens to be a mega sized brain, confirming that she is the ultimate package deal.

How much envy can one person hold in their body before the amount becomes worrisome?

Because you think you're reaching your limit.

"She learned from the best," Stacie slips in nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders. "Full rides never die and trickle down the family tree."

Again, you're thrown another curveball by Stacie; she's a brainiac, too? Guess you haven't really gotten the chance to learn anything about her since every time you bring up the name, Aubrey purposely changes the subject. But then again, she's in one of Aubrey's super hard classes, and you already knew this, so not putting the pieces together was foolish on your part.

"She also somehow picked up your impressively scary, animalistic sex drive," Beca jokes; Stacie and Lindsay take a second to stare at each other before simultaneously shrugging their shoulders, practically bragging in a way, shameless written all over the movements.

You're too stunned to join the conversation and laughs, too overwhelmed by the desire to take Beca somewhere more secluded where it's just the two of you and see where the new change in scene takes you both, no thanks to the skin she's showing and your newly drawn attraction to her in snapbacks.

Maybe falling into the pool wouldn't be such a bad idea after all, figuring that the chill from the water will cool you down tremendously; a building problem you need to get a grip on.

"Trust me, I've heard," Aubrey mutters, her voice hinting some anger under the words that you're the only one to pick up on it. She's definitely not being completely honest with you when it comes to how she feels in regards to a certain brunette. "Joys of living right next door to a sex addict and getting a live, studio performance with how paper thin the walls are."

"You know I'm only doing others to get you off my mind, baby," Stacie breaks through her filter on this line, not even batting an eyelash at how insanely flirty it all just came out. Aubrey's entire anatomy and physiology freezes, unsure if she can even respond to this no matter how hard she tries.

"Gross, Stace, get your head out of the gutter!" Lindsay grimaces, using the back of her hand to smack her sister in the stomach, but Stacie, being one to never listen to others and obey certain tasks does the exact opposite and bites her lip with a straight coquettish wink given to Aubrey who is already brimming an aneurysm.

One day you wish to have the same amount of confidence Stacie has in her body because honestly, it's quite impressive.

"It's true I'm here visiting Stacie, by I'm also here getting over my boyfriend of three years after finding out through a random girl at my high school that he was cheating on me via Tinder," Lindsay drawls, still clearly bitter about the situation and you don't have enough courage to ask about it more in depth, terrified at what you would be thrown if doing so. At least there's a reason behind the spit swap you watched her partake in not too long ago and how you're relieved she is coping with the male gender, and not Beca in specific.

"Now that we've cleared up the fact that everyone here is just friends," Beca emphasizes the last part, amusement hinting her words and now you feel like the world's biggest drama queen. "Want me to get you a drink?

And you gladly nod your head at the offer, tempted to tell her you'll take multiple drinks if you're going to make it through this pool party alive.

Sunday Morning; Coffee Shop Shift

As a whole, you feel pretty crappy at the memories of how this past week went. Lindsay is now back in Pennsylvania after her small visit at Barden; she left early Saturday morning after the pool party and you didn't really get the chance to properly apologize at your humiliating change in behavior the first time you met her. Yeah, you apologized for being snappy, blaming it on the stacks of papers that was was keeping you away from a normal sleep schedule, but you didn't apologize for the actual reason.

She was an extremely nice girl with a winning personality and the little time you did hang out with her, Stacie, Aubrey and Beca at the pool party, you felt like an even bigger crazy person for letting your jealousy get out of hand. Excessively crass, to say the least, with her colorful, filterless vocabulary, similar to her sister, but nonetheless enjoyable to hang around.

Lindsay even added you on Snapchat and followed you on Instagram, so at least there was a truce between you two.

For the rest of the weekend following the party, you've seen Beca around the dorms, saw her around the the campus' quad, leaned up against a shady spot underneath a tree while she worked on her music, you assumed; she'd throw you her killer crooked smile and your kneecaps would buckle as you walk, making it look like you tripped over air.

You see her around the hallways at the dorms, walking with Stacie and pretending to be interested in what hook up Stacie was explaining to her in depth, giving you a small wave and a mouthed, "help me," and you'd laugh it off before locking yourself away in your dorm, leaving the two friends alone.

Other than that, though, you haven't been gifted by Beca's presence-her sarcasm and witty responses as much as you'd like, not to meant how easy on the eyes she is, as well. And even though you saw her Saturday afternoon, a week from today, to be exact, you are still guilty to admit missing the snarky brunette and her obsessive use of sarcasm.

Needless to say, you bring the large folder of RA materials you keep stuffed away in your desk back at the dorm and search for a file in specific, scanning the jotted down notes until the one thing you are looking for is found. You type the highlighted note into your phone book and start creating a brand new message to send. Having everything you need and the message typed up, ready to send off to the recipient, you stuff the folder back into your backpack and eagerly wait for a response.

[Chloe Beale 8:34 AM] Hey Beca, it's Chloe. You wouldn't happen to be awake, or waking up anytime soon, would you?

Is what you send off and the only reason behind your jittery hands and tweaked out fingernail tapping you're performing against the tabletop at work. It feels like an eternity of waiting for a reply when really it is only a couple minutes that has gone by, but for whatever reason, you can't seem to calm down and relax whenever a second passes.

Who are you kidding; Beca is probably knocked out, coma style sleeping this early on a Sunday morning. The chances of her responding anytime soon are slim to none, but even knowing this doesn't stop you from checking your phone every five seconds, hoping a message from her will magically appear on your screen the next time you go to check.

It's around the twentieth check to your phone in the duration span of fifteen minutes that makes you squeal like a middle school girl anxiously awaiting a text from her crush when you see Beca's contact name light up on your screen-not her actual contact name, but the phone number you typed in earlier. Either way, you know it's Beca and you couldn't be happier that she only tortured you for a little while instead of the whole day.

[Beca Mitchell 8:48 AM] There's a lot of questions I have running through my head right now, which should be a fucking crime to even think this early in the morning if it's not school related, so thank you for that. One of them being how you got my number and the other being why are you texting me so goddamn early, Beale?

[Chloe Beale 8:48 AM] In case you forgot, I'm your RA and basically know everything there is to know about you, except for the good stuff, which leaves me to why I'm texting you so early.

[Chloe Beale 8:48 AM] Coffee? I'll buy

You don't even care that you responded almost instantaneously once you received the first message from Beca, but it doesn't even matter anymore once another message is vibrating in the palm of your hand not even a second later.

[Beca Mitchell 8:49 AM]: Please. No way would I forget having you, the hottest RA at Barden. But damn straight you'll buy. Woke me up this early, forced me to engage in human interaction. The least you can do is buy a girl an espresso, make it, too, if you're working.

[Chloe Beale 8:50 AM]: Lucky for you, I picked up another morning shift, so a perfectly brewed espresso is in your future.

[Beca Mitchell 8:51 AM]: I guess that's worthy enough for me to get out of bed and start getting ready. May I ask why all of a sudden?

[Beca Mitchell 8:51 AM]: I at least expected a text from you sooner, especially since you had my number literally the whole time. Or a reason why you avoided me for the rest of last week and why Lindsay's head was sitting on the chopping block

You run into quite the obstacle reading these messages as your thumbs twiddle back and forth above the keyboard and blank box under Beca's messages sitting in a grey bubble, your head trying to create a perfect excuse to reply back with. Coming out and admitting to yourself that the main reason why you acted the way you did was because of jealousy was hard enough.

Admitting it a second time out loud, to the one person you'd rather avoid telling for the rest of your life feels preposterous.

[Chloe Beale 8:53 AM] Promise me some more of your mixes and I swear I'll explain everything when you get here

You hope this is enough for the time being, allowing you sometime to go over and make the perfect script to go off if she decides to come.

[Beca Mitchell 8:55 AM] Deal

[Beca Mitchell 8:55 AM] Be there soon

"Excuse me?"

You don't realize you're cheeking like a complete psychopath until a new, already annoyed customer tears your focus away from your cellphone, the confirmation the Beca is on her way erupting a cage of flutters in your stomach while staring at the message for God knows how long, but by the scowling you're receiving from the highly impatient customer who has apparently been ready to order for quite sometime now, you can estimate that you were engrossed in your phone for a while.

An Hour Later

"So, what you're telling me is that you, Chloe Beale, thought that I was hooking up with Stacie's little sister?"

You know for a fact Beca doesn't need any clarification with what you just painfully ripped off your chest in the most excruciating way and is literally only being a complete jerk about it by the smugness radiating off her body from where she's sitting in front of you at the coffee shop.

"And that the reason why you acted so bitchy was because you were jealous?"

And she continues, of course, (why wouldn't she just stop there? That'd be too predictable) and you feel your face melting off because it's ten times more painful hearing it from a different point of view.

You groan out loud when hearing this come from someone else's mouth, still equally as embarrassing as you saying it to yourself. "Yessss," whining, you hide your face from Beca with your hands when the heat is felt rising up to the surface of your cheeks.

You, Chloe Beale, are not a blusher. No, you're the type of girl who makes people blush at your flirty antics, all the winks and touchy movements that no doubt brings a tint of red to whoever's face that is receiving all the attention. Again, you're not a blusher-that is until now, no thanks to Beca and her lack of sympathy while she's too busy laughing about the situation to notice the unbearable heat making its way to your entire body.

"Please stop," you beg desperately, about ready to fall to your knees and command at every wish if it meant that the laughing would stop, or going outside and getting hit by oncoming traffic seems like a potential option.

Beca sobers her laughing, but her shit eating grin glowing on her face doesn't fade away in the slightest. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but what I'm picking up here after analyzing the whole…situation is that you, Chloe Beale, have a thing for me."

Peeking an eye through a small crevice you split between your ring and middle finger, "you're wrong," you only murmur this because Beca is acting way too childish and cocky about discovering this bit of obvious information, but it doesn't even sound a tad bit believable. You wouldn't believe it- you don't believe it, and neither does Beca.

You remove your hands away from your face once you feel your skin starting to cool down.

"So you don't like me?" Beca's voice screams unconvinced, and same with that stupid smirk of hers that you don't know whether you want to smack it off or kiss it off.

"Nope," You deny, popping the 'p' and averting your attention away from Beca's stormy, abnormally bluer eyes all thanks to the white and blue baseball t-shirt she has on, matching perfectly with a pair of ripped at the knees, black skinny jeans and converse, basically heightening her sex appeal and making it extremely hard to deny any feelings you have towards this living piece of hotness.

"Not even a little bit?" Beca pinches her fingers together; a small space between her thumb and index finger, resembling the amount she is talking about.

You shake your head, denying the obvious feelings once again, though this time it was a harder task to do.

"Is it weird that I don't believe you?" Beca adds slyly and even positions herself to lean her elbows against the tabletop, the distance separating both of your faces beginning to disappear.

You gulp nervously when being the closest you've ever been to the freshman out of the small time knowing her, so close you can spot the darker patches of blue in her eyes and tighten every muscle in your face not to glance down at her lips.

Thankfully, just like any other Sunday morning at Barden, the coffee shop is slow as far as customers went, leaving you and Beca to engage in whatever it is you guys are currently doing without drawing any attention or strange stares. You even have the whole shift to yourself since Sebastian called in early, claiming about how he has food poisoning.

"And what I do believe is that you've liked me since the day you gave me the key to my dorm and for whatever reason, that makes you nervous." Beca is so close to your face that you feel every puff of air hit your lips when she speaks and can even smell whiffs of the strawberry scent in her hair from the shampoo she uses. "And I'm here to let you know that the feelings were and are mutual."

Brittle under so many factors; the sudden closeness, the intoxicating smell of Beca's hair, the darkening of her eyes, the gut wrenching, decreased octave in her voice levels, you allow your eyes-just briefly- to drop lower to Beca's lips before returning your gaze back to her eyes.

And it's then where you find it hard to differ which sight you have more strength to stare at and not to lose control over; her eyes or her lips.

"So, are you still going to pretend to deny and ignore the feelings you have for me, push them away like they don't mean anything to you, or are going to let me take you out on a date?"

A verbal response is out of the question, you conclude when you open your mouth to speak and only wordless sounds come out.

So, you kiss her instead, hoping she'll catch your drift.

And you kiss her hard, because even though you might be speechless as of now, you have never been one to half ass things.

And you want to make sure she remembers every second of this lip bruising kiss, just like how you'll remember for the rest of your life that one, specific Sunday morning during one of your work shifts when you accepted the fact that you so totally have a major thing for one of your residents.

A Month Later

"Wanna tell me why it took until October to finally get into my RA's pants?" Beca asks from where you're laying above her chest, under her black comforter and tiny black bed sheets covering her (not made for two people) dorm's bed.

You mock offence, gaping your mouth and sitting up straight, momentarily glueing your focus to Beca's teasing features and not down at her bare chest. "Is that all I am to you, Mitchell? A one night stand with a high authority? Something to cross off your bucket list?" you roll your eyes, breaking your well put on, hurt facade when Beca corrects you, mumbling 'more like fuck it list,' causing you to giggle at what a romantic choice you picked out of the flock of freshman to choose from.

"Nah, you're a Sunday morning type of girl," Beca says, pulling you back down into bed by the waist and kisses you tenderly, making the days of the week and your own damn name hard to remember.

There's not a lot to say after that morning in the coffee shop, even though everyone reading might have a whole novel full of question they need answered as to why you're currently naked in bed with Beca, who is also very naked and is kissing her in a way an RA shouldn't be kissing their residents.

It's funny how things happen so randomly and change so quickly; one second you're terrified of being with someone and starting any form of relationship with them because you'll be graduating soon and long distance never works out, especially with a freshman in college where there's an obvious gap in age difference, but then next thing you know, all those worries preventing you from starting something great and being happy for once turns into things that you just really don't give a shit about anymore.

Who cares if you don't have the answer yet to 'what happens next?' after you receive your diploma and where that leaves you with your relationship. You'll figure that out when the time comes, but as for right now, with the time you have left and the amazing person who tripped, fell and landed into your life, who also is special enough to to share this time with you is what you want to focus on.

Everything else is just noise.

How this whole ordeal started…

It's Saturday night, you and Beca just came back from eating dinner at the campus's most popular burger joint, marking off date number five in your checklist. Usually and something that has become a weekendly activity you and Aubrey would attend, you'd be getting ready for some party that is going down at the fraternity's house, trying on your nicest dress in your closet while your friend did your hair and make up.

Tonight, though, after receiving multiple texts from Tom about a crazy rager happening at Sigma Beta's and a party you definitely shouldn't miss out on, you decline all the invites, ignore all the begs and bribes and simply tell them all that you've already had plans.

Plans that involve scarfing down a delicious burger the size of your face, savoring the brain freeze from gulping down a large milkshake you'll share with your very hot girlfriend in the cheesiest, most cliche way possible and head to her dorm room right after for other activities you aren't too sure about, but can assume they'll be just as enjoyable, maybe even more.

Needless to say, that night sounds a lot more appealing, especially when Beca has been overly sweet and touchy the whole night while you two eat and even was the one to initiate the hand holding when normally that's your job.

It only gets better from there when Beca causally asks you to buy her a six pack of Coronas and a couple shooters from the liquor store because obviously, "I'm only dating you because you'll buy me booze whenever I want," and you smack her in the arm, but buy the alcohol anyway.

You guys drink all the booze on the hood of your car while watching the sunset off some cliff you parked your car, giving you a full view of Atlanta's city skyline.

You listen to some new mixes off of your ipod playlist connected to Beca's beats pill that she made specifically for you and you dance around, sing at the top of your lungs to the songs you know and embarrass the living daylights out of Beca because it's become a daily thing to accomplish for you and you freaking love how she tries to act all badass twenty four seven, but you've weaseled your way through her spikes and cracked her shield.

Which is hands down the most satisfying deed to fulfill.

And it's always a bonus hearing those mesmerizing set of pipes she has and kept a secret from you for so long.

It's only around eight when you guys make it back to the dorms; Beca has to drive your car back because out of the two, you're the most drunk, but not super drunk, like you're still a functional human being, but a functional human being with a gnarly buzz.

And your vision is kind of blurry and your face is really hot, but that's it, you swear.

Beca leads you up to her dorm room, the building is abnormally quiet due to everyone being at the party Tom is hosting. She finds her key and unlocks the door before opening it up and gesturing you inside.

It's not the first time you've been in Beca's room; it's the longest you've stayed in here since the last couple times have been room checks for RA purposes, but you aren't unfamiliar with all the high tech DJ equipment set up and how it's surprisingly clean for it being...well...Beca's room.

"Kimmy Jin gone?" You ask when spotting the emptiness and lack of a roommate on the opposite side of Beca's room.

"Yeah and I told her it'd be best if she found somewhere else to sleep, unless she was up for walking in on a show." There's a tug at the belt loops on your jeans and before you can turn around, Beca smoothly pushes you down to lay on top of her sheets, her eyes basically hazed over and black and it's a type of look that makes you swallow hard.

The longer you look at Beca, the drunker you get, the hotter you get, the more turned on you get and the more it becomes harder not to go against the ringing urges to pull Beca down by the neck, kiss her hungrily and make use of the alone time you guys have together for the rest of the night, apparently.

"So I have a dilemma,"Beca says all of a sudden and you release a choppy hum for her to express, go into deeper in detail of what's bugging her, but also not really paying attention as your eyes are glued to her chest and the low cut tank top she has on under a unbuttoned, red and black checkered board flannel, exposing a delicious amount of cleavage for you to gawk at instead.

"I really want to be a gentleman and wait, making the first time between us special, but I also really, really want to rip your fucking clothes off." Without a flinch, Beca's voice shifts to some sort of growl towards the end, her face locking into a predatorial glare while her eyes scan every inch of your body.

Your stomach drops, like you're on an amusement ride because holy shit.

And like a damn magic trick, you are throwing off your clothes left and right, faster than Beca could even brace herself for the upcoming bruising kiss planted on her mouth moments later before her clothes, as well, start getting torn off her body.

Back to present time…

So that's how this came about; all the kissing, nakedness and the unplanned sleepover that progressed into one of the best nights of your life.

Placing a few more chaste kisses to Beca's puckered lips, savoring the delicious taste of her signature, pomegranate raspberry eos lip balm, you force yourself away, leaving the girl wanting more as you scramble out of her mountain of sheets and head to where your clothes are scattered around the floor.

"Fuck, my RA is sexy," Beca half growls, half moans as her hungry eyes can be felt from where you're turned around devouring your body.

"That's RA girlfriend, to you, missy." You toss her a wink from over your shoulder, almost crumbling at the sight of her hair messed up and pushed back in the sexiest way possible before focusing on the important task at hand, continuing a search party for your phone that you have no idea where its form could be. There wasn't much care towards the device last night once clothes started flinging off from left to right.

But now, the following morning after a blissful night spent with Beca, the euphoria and pure ecstasy feeling still tingling throughout your entire body, finding your phone is a must when knowing for a fact there will be a few unread texts from Aubrey as you remember who she had a special date with last night.

Flipping your hair out of your face, you scavenge the dimly lit room and every inch of the floor. Underneath Beca's mini fridge is where you find your phone, thankfully the screen is still in one piece and not shattered. Also, it's not fully dead and sitting comfortable at thirty six percent. Just like you thought, there's several unread messages from your best friend flooding your notification screen and even a missed call from her, which is kind of concerning.

[Aubrey Posen 7:03 PM]: Date is going great so far. Don't think I'll need that bad date bailout card anytime soon. Stacie is quite the charmer with her way of words.

Next message.

[Aubrey Posen 8:01 PM]: Okay, I'm alone at the table while Stacie is paying for our food, what do I do if she cops a feel or tries to kiss me? Yes the date was spectacular; one of the best I've been on, but I don't want to rush things by moving too fast.

Next message.

[Aubrey Posen 8:07 PM]: Mayday, Chloe! For serious, I know you're hanging out with Beca tonight, but this is a best friend's, SOS, life or death emergency!

Next messages.

[Aubrey Posen 8:23 PM]: So...I kissed her

[Aubrey Posen 8:23 PM]: I couldn't help myself! She was being so chivalrous and sweet and she held my hand the entire walk to my dorm room and the kiss was so much more than I ever imagined it to be. Now, though, I'm only having a minor panic attack in my room because she invited me to stay the night in her room and I told her YES. What if she wants more than kissing? I've never even seen another girl's boobs, let alone know what to do with them! (Except that one time you claimed your left boob was bigger than your right and made me inspect it after the web told you you had breast cancer when in reality, your chest is just unsymmetrical)

Last and most scary text message.

[Aubrey Posen 8:26] Chloe! Where the hell are you!? Stop making out with Beca and help me, please!

You can only laugh quietly to yourself when reading Aubrey's bipolar, borderline maniacal text messages, guilt for not being there for the blonde only hitting you momentarily until you're unable to not find humor in the messages. There's one more message from Aubrey and it was only delivered five minutes ago; you probably couldn't hear it because your attention was glued to your girlfriend's lips, but whatever.

Opening up the last message,

[Aubrey Posen 8:27 AM]: I had sex with her

You can't stop the squeal from slipping out as you read this message from your friend, alerting Beca from where she is watching you in her bed with a puzzled stare, arms held up above her head, bare chest still exposed for you to drool over when seeing the sight.

Quickly, you type a message back to Aubrey, first apologizing for being MIA last night and that your hands were in other words 'preoccupied' and second, you ask her to tell you everything, from start to finish.

"They totally banged, huh?" Beca steals the words right from your mouth and you only nod your head up and down erratically, bouncing against the walls with joy for your friend because finally Aubrey got laid, lord knows she needed it. "Jesus, it's about fucking time. The sexual tension between those two was getting out of hand."

You roll your eyes at Beca, not disagreeing with her, but not encouraging it, either. "Be nice, she was having a hard time accepting her attraction towards Stacie. It took her long enough to have her come clean and say she was bisexual." This couldn't be anymore true. Even though you already knew the answer by the non subtle flirting from both parties, the time it took for Aubrey to confess her orientation out loud, let alone attraction towards Stacie was excruciatingly painful to endure.

All it took was a bouquet of the fanciest, most expensive flowers on the shelf, a surprise visit at her dorm late at night, and an order from Stacie, informing her that she better be dressed and ready once Saturday night came around because they were going on a date whether she liked it or not.

Needless to say, Aubrey was impressed, thus landing us to this fine morning where she just dropped the bomb about going all the way. Kudos to Stacie, though; it must've been some exceptional date if it was able to knock the socks off Aubrey's feet.

Or should you say, pants.

"Now I see why the two of you get along so well," Beca teases; you shamelessly take the time to savor your girlfriend's nude state from afar, the postcoital bliss she's glowing with hitting you heavy in the gut.

"And why's that, Mitchell?" You ask curiously, biting your lip not to pounce at how kissable and addictive Beca is this early in the morning.

"Well, it took you a long time, as well, to go along with your gut, or should I say toner, in the words of Aubrey Posen?" Beca mocks teasingly, wiggling her eyebrows up and down and okay, touché.

You roll your eyes yet again, amazed that you're walking around Beca's dorm room, clad buttnaked while your girlfriend eyes your every move and nothing about it feels uncomfortable. It's something so simple; something that you've never really had with anybody else and you're more than ecstatic that the first person to give you this level of comfort happens to be Beca.

Out of nowhere, Beca's phone goes off with a message where she soon reads off a text from Stacie saying, "totally just had sex with Aubrey and I never want to have sex with anyone else ever again," making you laugh through a smile; they're so in love it's nauseating and ridiculously cute all at the same time.

Your phone also goes off at this time.

[Aubrey Posen 8:36 AM]: One word; Miraculous. I can't believe I denied myself so much release for so long

[Chloe Beale 8:36 AM]: That's a weird way to say mind blowing orgasms ;)

[Aubrey Posen 8:37 AM]: You're too much, but I'm too happy to even care. Lunch today at that sushi place? We can exchange nights there?

[Chloe Beale 8:38 AM]: Pencil me in, babe, I'll be there. Tell Stacie I said hi ;)

"I can relate with Stacie, by the way," Beca says all of a sudden when she throws back her phone onto her desk next to the bed, voice now soft and eyes having a different sparkle to them then what you normally see.

"What do you mean?"

"That I don't want to have sex with anybody else," Beca clears up, rapidly increasing the beats to your heart. "And I don't want to kiss anybody else, hold anyone else's hand, or cuddle with anybody else because I'm positive I have everything I've ever wanted in a partner in you-and I know that's a totally cheesy thing to say, but it's the God honest truth."

"It's not cheesy," you defend and the smile you get in return makes your insides melt; a type of smile worth jumping in front of a train for.

"I'm serious. I know it's a fast thing to think about and I might be getting ahead of myself, but I wanna see where this," Beca gestures with her hand between the space separating the two of you, "goes because I swear to God I could fall in love with you."

You are equally impressed as you are mesmerized by the how genuinely sincere Beca just sounded. Of course, you knew she liked you a lot, or in her words, "are a goddamn babe, which is why I can't keep my hands off you," but never have you heard her speak so Romeo like in the almost two months of knowing the girl, one month of dating her.

And never have you heard her drop the 'L' word so easily, especially if the word was directed specifically for you.

"Or you know, I could totally call Lindsay up and see if she'd be willing to switch teams. With Stacie as a sister, her being bicurious is a high possibility." Beca sends you a wry smile, crushing the symphony of harmonic orchestra music for you to enjoy to mid daydream.

"Shut..up, that's not funny," you huff, finding the closest object around to throw at Beca, which happens to be your high priced, Victoria's Secret bra that barely made an appearance last night before it was discarded and throw somewhere mindlessly in the room.

Beca catches the flying piece of clothing before it has the chance to hit her in the face and she proceeds to swoon like she's a teenage fangirl who luckily just caught a piece of clothing from Justin Bieber at one of his concerts.

You shake your head with a laugh watching Beca worship your bra like a trophy. "I'd really like that, too," you sober, voice morphing more serious and it perks Beca's attention back up, one eyebrow raised with skepticism.

"Really?" You nod your head hastily at her brief moment of doubt, smile doubling in size and hopefully is believable enough to assure her that you've never been more set on anything in your entire life.

Because quite frankly, you can see yourself falling in love with girl, too, if you haven't already.

Beca mirrors your smile, relief washing over her features and you're finding it difficult not to get emotional over what just happened.

You didn't plan on becoming an RA, either, and you definitely didn't plan on dating one of your residents.

You came to college to get good grades, which will then get you a degree, then later get you a well paying job so you could sit comfortable, financially wise in life. That's what your main focus was on, not meeting someone and wishing one day to have a future with them.

You guess not everything is written in stone, but you appreciate the sudden change in events that have been added to your life, more so meeting Beca than anything else.

"Plus, you're really good in bed, so that's a valid reason to keep you around," you joke teasingly, winking at Beca's long, heavy eye roll, along with a sarcastic "oh thanks a lot," you get from her, as well, making you giggle at how unintentionally funny you are.

It's a gift, to be honest.

"Good cause I kinda want to raise a dog with you," the words are barely out of Beca's mouth before your eyes triple in size, your entire body lighting up like a firework at the thought. If there is anything closer to how you'd react to getting proposed to, it's adding a dog into the equation. "Slow down, Speedy Gonzalez and pump the brakes, not right now. I happen to have three more years of school after this one, unlike you who is done."

Still, you're unable not to think about the spoiling you'd give your future dog and what kind of dog would the two of you get and-wait. Did she really just say three more years of school?

"What about LA?" You asks softly, hoping Beca didn't accidentally mix up her words, or you just misheard her.

"You know, LA is always going to be there, sitting right at the western coast of America where I can visit anytime. Something that might not be there when I want it is you, so LA can wait. Plus, I totally heard chicks dig a girl with a degree."

You've never felt the strongest urge to kiss someone senseless and cry all at the same time until you met Beca because the girl is the epitome of a drug; once you get a small taste, it's all you want to taste for the rest of your life, never being fully satisfied until you're granted your wants, but always seeming to want more when you do, never fully satisfied.

"Oh God," Beca says worriedly, slapping a full palm to her forehead. "Don't start crying on me, Beale."

You fan your eyes to get rid of the fresh set of hot tears pooling up and also stare up at the ceiling to push them back. "I'm sorry! I can't help it. You say everything I want to hear!"

"Well it's all the truth," Beca assures sweetly.

Your grin pointed to Beca is so wide that you're having a hard time seeing by the squinting in your eyes being overpowered by the raise in your cheeks.

"Is it too soon to admit that I've already been looking up great grad schools and student teaching around Atlanta?"

Admittedly, you started this search through on web the exact moment after your first date with Beca that ended in a handsy, heated make out session in the passenger seat of your car. It was then when you decided that being around Beca in the closest way possible was the only thing important to you.

"Absolutely not." Beca beams, happy with the decision. "I guess it's a good thing that I'm finishing school then, or else you would've been by yourself in shitty Georgia without me to make out with on your free time in between classes-now we can add quickies to the mix." Beca curves up a mischievous, devil like smile; a kind of smile you can't really disagree with.

You sigh happily, everything just falling in place perfectly. "I guess so."

"Get your cute butt over here please," Beca reaches up her arms, giving you 'gimme hands' like a four year old, jutting her bottom lip into an adorable pout you rarely get the chance to see.

Like an invisible rope lassoed around your waist, pulling you over to the bed, your feet move on their own. "Wait." You stop all of a sudden, an idea sparking up inside your head. "Do you have that 'girls' sweatshirt you always wear?"

Beca arches a brow at the random question and why you seem so interested in the piece of clothing, but nods her head anyway. "Yeah I do, it's over there. Why?" She points over to a pile of other clothes sitting in the floor of her closet and you don't waste a second before marching over to the pile, picking up the sweatshirt and throwing it over your head, instantly hit with the warm, feeling of being Beca's.

Sighing contently at the cozy softness and heavenly scent the sweatshirt is radiating off with that smells identical to Beca, you shrug your shoulders innocently with a megawatt smile you can't contain and head back over to the bed where Beca is holding out her arms for you to fill in the empty space between them.

"Why'd you just throw that on?" Beca repeats when she doesn't get a response, amused by it nonetheless with her signature smirk.

You rest your head in the space between her neck and shoulders, shiver at the forehead kisses Beca placed when you got there and cling onto her frame for dear life, like your life depended on it. Feeling complete for the first time in your life, you sink into her embrace, the next wave of exhaustion sneaking up behind you.

"No reason."