#beca-mitchell

Years ago, Beca would tell you she never much cared for colors. Her palette was shades of mainly black and blue, though never outright either. Give her those colors, mute them, dim them, mix a dash of grey -remix this color business, if you will- and then you were speaking Beca’s language.

These days, her taste has changed. Her appetite for colors has grown. Beca will taste the fucking rainbow, because no longer are vibrant, warm, heavily saturated colors threatening to blind her by merely crossing her field of vision. In fact, they captivate her. They draw Beca in. Depending on their form, they can pull an easy smile or cause her heart to pound. Stutter. Stop.

And on the beautiful southern coast of France, under the heat of a sun sitting high in the sky without a single cloud for company, the colors of the rainbow had never looked as stunning as they do here.

Red. 

Beca believes red has never looked so good. She has never seen Chloe’s hair shine so brightly. 

New York City’s color scheme is a drab backdrop, allowing Chloe and her eye-catching hair to undeniably be a focus, but here, even among the lively colors painting the Cote D’azur, Chloe’s hair color is a rarity amongst a landscape filled with natural beauty. 

If Beca were an artist, she would draw a head of ginger hair easily discernible in a crowded antique street market. She would color red curls gently blowing beside the endless expanse of a clear blue shoreline. She would highlight fiery long waves accented by rays of a warm sun. 

(She would also make sure to paint cherry lips popping against sun-kissed and freckled skin.)

Orange. 

Beca swears everything in Nice, France naturally glows. The streets, the people, the buildings. Everything is a happy byproduct of large volumes of soaked sun, because no matter the time of day, she is sure to find something tinted with a hue of orange. A hue of liveliness.

Right now it happens to be a post-explosion ship, smokey and orange, glowing before a dark sky. But there is also Chloe. Huddled in a wool blanket, her face delicately subdued, Beca also sees Chloe glow. Beca has seen Chloe before, but right now there is an aura of orange radiating around her.

Beca marks the image in her mind. Chloe -alive, breathing, calm- glows orange.

Yellow.

Beca feels like DJ Khaled’s team took debuting her as a new star a little too literally. 

The jacket they gave her is more than yellow. It is gold. It shines, and it sparkles. And the decorative threading of the skirt hugging her waist is just as golden, shining and sparkling. 

Beca is certain if someone vaulted her out of a cannon, she could easily be mistaken for a shooting star, because really… there is so much yellow. So much gold.

With the spotlight shining down on her as she stands in the middle of the stage, Beca briefly wonders if yellow is even her color, but then Chloe is smiling up at her, and Beca smiles back, and damn the swelling in her chest is reminding her of another time. 

Another time when Beca sits on a stage. 

Another time when Chloe smiles enthrallingly.

Another time when yellow is a part of her performance.

And huh. Beca guesses yellow makes sense. Especially when the way Chloe is looking at her now makes her feel like gold.

Green.

Green is not really a color that pops on Beca’s radar. 

Even if most of the natural world is green, Beca is something of a hermit, mostly staying inside and working in front of a mixing board or laptop, so green is not a color she sees on the regular. 

Outside of Barden and graduation, green really means nothing to her. 

Before right now. 

Because right now, green is all Beca sees. Green is all she feels. 

Chloe is kissing Chicago, and damn Beca wishes she did not need to experience this moment to understand why the jealousy monster is green. 

She is swirling with envy and a little bit of anger, because really? Chicago is kissing a girl like Chloe and that’s all he can manage? 

Beca wants to throw down. She feels almost hulk-ish. If this were a comic book, the next few frames would show you Beca’s skin turning green and her clothes beginning to shred. She is fueled by envy. She is channeling green-monster friends. 

Maybe that’s why her feet are suddenly striding forward.

Blue.

Blue is the last thing Beca sees. Right before she closes her eyes, right before lips come crashing into hers, Beca is once more captured by bright, brilliant blue. 

It is Beca’s favorite color. Beca’s favorite shade.’

Almost all of Beca’s favorite memories feature this specific blue. And this moment is no exception - surely going to top the list - because this blue is Chloe blue.

It is a blue that encourages Beca to smile, sends her off to dream, steals her breath away,  and makes her feel seen. 

No other blue makes Beca feel enamored quite like this blue.

This blue is one of a kind.

This blue is unique.

This blue, Beca hopes, will be hers to keep.

(Based on the way Chloe is trying to lift Beca’s leg up to wrap around her waist, Beca thinks Chloe might just let her.)

Indigo...

To be honest, Beca has no idea how to differentiate indigo and violet. Also, she’s a little too preoccupied to care. 

If you must know though, the glimpses she caught of the carpet in the hotel hallway leading up to her hotel room might have some indigo. Beca’s not entirely sure. 

And the painting of the flower right above her bed could be violet, but she’ll get back to you tomorrow.