#becissar

Slowly, because she still didn’t completely trust her legs after last night’s activities, she made her way through the hotel.

She couldn’t for the life of her find her phone—had she left it in Kommissar’s room? had she forgotten it at the venue even before that? had she lost it on her way to the hotel? who the fuck knew—but at least she still had the key card to her room. As soon as she unlocked the door,

“Beca, where the hell have you been? I was worried sick when you didn’t come back last night, and I called you like a thousand times but you never answered, and none of the others knew where you were either, and I even asked one of the Germans, and the girl from the Canadian team, and one of the Mexican girls, but no one had seen you, and I was so worried, I didn’t sleep all night, an—”

“Ok, Chloe, chill. I’m fine, it’s no big deal,” Beca interrupted her, walking over to her bed to grab her towel and take a shower. Chloe stepped in her way, effectively stopping her from ignoring her best friend like she had kind of planned to.

“No big deal, are you kidding me? You were basically vanished for twelve hours, you are still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and—holy fuck, is that a hickey on your neck?”

Beca’s hand shot up to her neck faster than she had ever moved any part of her body. Fuck. Way to be subtle about this whole thing.

“I—w—what? No. Hell no. Why would I have a hickey? I—hit myself with my—ehm—hairdryer this morning. Also, I happen to really like this outfit, so what’s wrong with wearing it two days in a row?”

Chloe looked at her for a long moment.

“Did you hook up with someone last night?”

Beca tried to looked as scandalized as possible.

“No?”

But of course Chloe wasn’t buying it.

“Who is it?”

“I’m not gonna tell y—I mean, I didn’t, obviously.”

Chloe sighed, taking a step closer toward her and putting a hand on her forearm.

“Beca, I have known you for four years, you are my best friend. I know when you’re lying.”

Ugh, this was why she didn’t used to have friends. Because they asked questions and looked right through her bullshit and were just generally there and cared and were annoying. She should just leave and move to like Vietnam or something, never talk to another person ever again (except maybe Kommissar to hook up with her again).

“Ok, fine,” the brunette snapped eventually and let herself fall backward onto her bed with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I hooked up with someone and it was the best sex I’ve ever had and I know I cheated on Jesse, but I wanted to end that for a while anyway, so can you please not tell him any of this and let me take care of it?”

Keeping a straight face, Chloe sank onto her own bed opposite Beca.

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the brunette murmured, running a hand over her eyes. This was an absolute disaster.

“Who?”

“You don’t know them anyway.”

“Who, Beca, for fuck’s sake!”

There was no way around this, was there. Chloe would just keep pestering her about it until she got her answer, Beca was two hundred percent sure. Well, here goes nothing.

“Kim,” she mumbled, waiting for the inevitable shit storm that was about to rain down on her.

“Who the hell is Kim?”

Oh, of course. Chloe didn’t know the German’s first name. Maybe she should just leave it at that, make Chloe believe she slept with some random girl named Kim. But then again, she was her best friend and would find out sooner or later anyway. Beca sighed.

“Kommissar.”

“As in the bitchy, scary lead of our biggest competitor?”

She could only nod in reply, still trying to avoid Chloe’s eyes.

“What the hell, Beca?”

What the hell, indeed.

She was in the backstage area, applying some make up to her face just to have something to do with her hands, when she was startled out of her thought by someone calling her name in a way that only one person she knew did. Almost giving herself whiplash, she threw her head to the side, laying eyes on the last person she would have expected to see. Jesse.

Jesse was here. Jesse, her boyfriend, Jesse. Her boyfriend, who she had cheated on with a hot German girl that was currently trying to destroy her a cappella group, had come all the way to freaking Copenhagen to support her because—apparently—he loved her that much. Fuck.

“Jesse, hey! W—what are you doing her?” She was trying extremely hard to sound casual (which, of course, she was one hundred percent failing at; great). This was a disaster.

He flashed her his usual Jesse smile. “I wouldn’t miss my girl win Worlds, would I?”

“We need to break up,” was what she wanted to say, but what came out instead was a totally not suspicious, “I—I need to go and—like—prepare for the performance. See you later.”

She needed to got away from this, away from him. She needed to breathe (and not have a panic attack ten minutes before they had to sing).

She was tearing through the backstage area like a madwoman, not sure about where she was actually headed, only thinking that she had to get away, away, a-fucking-way from her still-boyfriend, and her a cappella group, and her own goddamn thoughts. She almost screamed in surprise when someone hissed "tiny Maus" from behind her.

When she turned around, Kommissar was standing in a door to her left, regarding her with a confused expression on her beautiful German face, because of course the blonde could like smell her misery or something. She was just about to scream at her to get fucking lost and never talk to her again because all of this was her stupid fault in the first place, when the taller woman slowly came closer.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked and sounded so very different from the ruthless leader and general bitch she had seemed to be only yesterday. She looked so earnest, and concerned, and soft, soft, soft, that Beca immediately deflated.

“My boyfriend is here. He just surprised me in the dressing rooms and I almost—fuck, I can’t deal with this shit. I’m sorry, but this whole thing—I—I can’t do this, I—”

Before she could go on (or realize what was happening), Kommissar took the last few steps toward her and gripped her by the shoulders.

“Beca. Beca, listen to me.”

Her hands moved up the brunette’s neck, carefully cupping her face and tilting her head so she had to look at the taller woman.

“You need to breathe, you’re panicking. Can you breathe for me? In and out. In and out.” She gave the smaller woman an encouraging smile. “Good, very good.”

When Beca had somewhat calmed down, she gave the blonde a questioning look.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you so nice all of a sudden?”

She was still somewhat uncertain where exactly they stood with regard to each other. Yes, they'd had sex, and, yes, the blonde had asked her out (and Beca had agreed, even) but, to be honest, she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, because none of these made any sense.

“It might be hard to believe, especially considering the start we had, but I actually care. About you.”

She didn’t breaking eye contact, and all Beca could do was stare at her in wonder, eyes wide. How was this woman even real? How had they gotten here from being nemeses only yesterday? Beca didn’t understand any of it. What she did understand, though, and what she was very, very aware of, was the urge to kiss the blonde. So she did.

The kiss was sloppy and rushed and she knew she was gripping at Kim’s biceps to hard, that she would leave marks, but she didn’t care. She also didn’t care that they were in the middle of a corridor where someone—including her very own damn boyfriend—could come by and catch them any moment.

She slipped one of her legs in between Kim’s, pressing herself even closer to the blonde, her hands trying to open some of the buttons on the black blouse she was wearing. She needed to touch her, to feel something, and quiet all the voices that were going crazy in her head by distracting herself with smooth, warm skin and strong, defined muscles under her fingers.

Just as she was about to slip one hand into Kim’s weird skirt-shorts hybrid, an announcement sounded over the speakers in the back stage area and violently pulling her out of her panic-induced haze and back into reality.

“Das Sound Machine is next. Das Sound Machine next.”

Beca abruptly pulled back, awareness of what she had been about to do—take her former (maybe still) nemesis against a wall in a very public place—slowly settling in. She didn’t dare look at Kim.

“Duty calls, I’m afraid,” the blonde said, voice lower than usual, a bit more shaky, while she re-buttoned the buttons Beca had pried open on her shirt only seconds before. “Will you be okay?”

Beca nodded, eyes trained on the floor, so she heard more than saw Kim come closer, until she could feel the other woman’s breath hot against her jaw.

“Good, because I don’t want you to cry about anything else than me beating you at Worlds tonight,” she whispered, biting down on the sensitive spot between her ear and her collar bone, before she traced her tongue over the same spot.