A/N: So sorry for the time lapse since last update; thank you all for waiting patiently, and for allowing yourselves to follow along with this BeChloe song. Though it may seem like a sad love song, I assure you it will end on a happy note. (See what I did there?) :) Also, thank you all for your feedback concerning Chloe's scar origins, I've decided that instead of explicting it here, I would do a series of one-shot Chloe-centric short fics (featuring Beca, of course) that will explore all of the options presented, as well as a few I'm kicking around. If I haven't asked you already, would any of you mind if I incorporate your suggestions in the backstory of Chloe's scar in those fics? If so, that's completely fine, I'd hate to steal intellectual property; just PM me if it's not cool. Or if it is, and you have any other suggestions! Speaking of intellectual property: not my characters, sadly, though I'm super glad they were created so that I could play with them!

The fiercely bright sunlight pierced through the open window, sending daggers of pain through Beca's brain. She slowly eased her eyes open, but then snapped them quickly shut upon encountering the unrelenting glare of the late morning sun. With a groan, she pulled her blanket over her head, the activities of the previous night assaulting her in waves of images, and colors of sounds. The cacophony of distorted nuanced rhythms reverberated throughout her aching skull, until a particular memory of red hair and soft lips came rushing over her like a tidal wave. She had kissed Chloe; or maybe Chloe had kissed her. The details were still slightly fuzzy, but one thing was for sure. She clearly remembered the sensation of Chloe's lips against her own, the taste of their tongues mingling, and the breathy sounds the redhead made as their limbs entwined. Groaning, she stumbled to her desk, fumbling in the drawer for something to alleviate the intense throbbing in her head. Unscrewing the cap quickly she swallowed two aspirin with half a bottle of room temperature water, and fought the urge to gag on the tepid liquid. As she eased back down into her bed, she dozed off again, hoping that after the hangover subsided she'd be more clear on the details of the night before.

When Beca awoke again it was well after noon, and her phone was filled with unanswered texts and missed calls. Most were from Jesse, filled with spoilers released online about a new Wachowski siblings movie he had been waiting to see, but Beca skimmed over them seeking the one text that stood apart from the rest in her inbox. Simple, brief, lacking any information or hint of emotions the text from Chloe only read: "Hope you got home okay." Was she concerned? What time was it sent? Checking, she noticed the time stamp wasn't set, and Beca couldn't begin to guess if it was right after she left while they were both drunk, or this morning after they had sobered. Not knowing how to respond, wanting to say a million things about how amazing last night was, but fearing that Chloe's judgement the previous evening was clouded by liquor, Beca decided to say nothing at all. At least, not through a text. Grabbing her laptop, she sat upright in bed and began typing a response to Chloe's last letter. She began with the intent of just coming clean, but at the last moment she figured she should stay inconspicuous just a little bit longer. After all, what if Chloe regretted last night? What is she was embarrassed? Deciding to play it safe, Beca committed to the words, hinting at her identity, testing the waters, tentative notes on a fragile borrowed instrument.


I've written this letter a dozen times in my head, but each time I begin to put the words down they fall short of what I wish to actually say. Instead of a long winded and winding jumble of letters that fall together like leaves on an autumn day, I'll answer your questions the best I can. Why haven't I told you who I am? Honestly, it's because I'm terrified. I've always created music mixes, but since meeting you, they've become so much more than an extension of myself and my need to blend tunes. It became a way through which I can express how I feel about you, how I can describe you. Did you ever read that excerpt from "Revenge of the Lawn" called I was trying to describe you to someone? He can't think of the words and finally settles on saying that his love interest is like electricity. How it brightened everything and brought the dark world into the light; illuminating everything in it's path. I think you're kind of like electricity, fast and bright, changing the way I look at the world. I wish with a flick of a switch I could reveal who I am, but I fear that despite how you think you feel about me, it would be a letdown to know me. Like fall. I know it's your favorite season, how it's beautiful and it's the end of something dissipating slowly in a rush of brightness. So many people love fall...what if I'm like fall, but not the red and golden leaves crisply fluttering from the trees in a sea of music crackling; what if I'm the end of November, cold and empty, winter just around the corner, everything dead and vacant in my path. I want to be early fall for you, Chloe. I've already fallen for you. I just don't want to be the end of fall; I don't want this fall to end.

My favorite color is the sound I hear when you sing. The bright bursts of kaleidoscopic sound waves that reverberate at such a beautiful pitch that I can see and hear colors. I couldn't describe the color, it's not on any palate, but it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Items to take with me for a year; this is difficult. I'd love to say music, but any means of listening to it would require a power source, which would be too difficult to factor in, so I'd say I'd like to take with me only you. Truth be told, you have become my own soundtrack, my own musical muse, and together we could make a year on a deserted island seem both like a forever harmony and a brief song. The other two items I would take would be a notebook and pencil for you, because I'd want you to be happy and able to write while there.

Beca paused for a moment, thinking about the next question. Chloe had clearly seen her tattoo on her wrist many times, and she never hid the flower on her shoulder; she contemplated baring her soul and putting it out there, but the words wouldn't come. Sighing, she tried to think back to when Chloe had burst into her shower demanding she sing. Did she see her back clearly? Deciding it was the safest route, especially since she didn't want to lie to Chloe, Beca continued typing.

I have a few tattoos, but one that no one really sees is on my back. It's lines and bars that are a segment of my mother's favorite song, designed to look like the electronic lines on the equipment I use to match beats. Someday I'll play the song for you, I think. I'd like to share that with you. Until next time, I leave you with all I have to give; my music, these songs that express what my words cannot, arranged for you, and only you, because for me, music is what feelings sound like.


Your DJ

Reading it over a few times, Beca groaned inwardly at the cheesiness, but was still too hungover to deny that it was honest and probably the best she could cobble together. Copying it by hand, she carefully selected the songs she had made for Chloe, and as per her usual inconspicuous way, slid the envelope silently under the door she had bolted out of the night before.

When she returned to her own room, Kimmy Jin was studying, and looked up long enough only to shoot a glare in Beca's direction. Rolling her eyes, Beca took a seat in front of her laptop, placed her headphones on and prepared herself to begin mixing what she hoped would be her final compilation delivered to Chloe in secrecy. Just before she hit play, she picked up her phone to respond to Chloe's text. She stared for a moment, not sure how to begin. Deciding to play it cool, she finally tapped out, "Hey, I made it back fine, had a hell of a hangover though. Starting to feel better now. How are you feeling? What happened last night?" She hit send, and when no reply came instantaneously, she went back to the sound board. Until she knew how Chloe felt about everything that transpired, Beca wanted to keep her heart safe; the walls she constructed existed for a reason, and even though she seemed to always let Chloe in, she was not about to let the red head cause her undue pain. _ _ _

Chloe awoke the next morning, heart heavy and mindd fuzzy. Despite the fact that she had refrained from consuming alcohol, the taste of Beca's lips had left her intoxicated in another way, and she craved the connection again. When she hadn't received a response back from the younger girl, Chloe's heart started unraveling; it was clear to her that Beca was thoroughly intoxicated and it had been a drunken hookup at best, a sinful mistake at worst. That evening when she noticed the envelope under her door, her heart simultaneously leapt and sank. She might not have Beca; but perhaps she could salvage something of the mysterious advances of Jesse. Once he finally revealed himself to her, she could deal with Aubrey's hatred of all things Treble, and she could figure out if he really had such a perfect connection. As she listened to the new mix, she could think of nothing but Beca. Frowning, she pushed pause and began to read the letter.

Five minutes later she threw the piece of paper on the floor. Tears threatened to spill out of her blue eyes, and a pained rage simmered behind the vibrant blue. When Aubrey walked in minutes later, she immediately rushed to Chloe's side.

"Oh, sweetie, what's wrong?" The usually stoic blonde wrapped her thin arms around her best friend, her concern growing as sobs begin to shake through the red head.

"She told him." Chloe's voice was a hoarse whisper, and Aubrey pulled away, confused.

"Who told who what?" She knew she had been studying ardently for the LSATs lately, and at this instant felt incredibly guilty that she had been missing something so obviously important in her friend's life.

"Beca. She told Jesse." Chloe's response was brief, and did nothing to clarify Aubrey's confusion.

"Aca-scuse me? Jesse the Treble? What did she tell him?" Her concern began to grow into anger, though she wasn't sure why she was angry. Ignoring the implications of relations with a Treble, she just knew that something had happened, and Chloe was hurt, and it wasn't okay.

Sighing, Chloe sniffled and began to wipe the mascara from under her eyes where it had smeared. She knew she couldn't keep it from Aubrey any longer, but was hopeful that when it came down to it, the blonde would take her side over any hard feelings she might harbor for Barden's male group. After explaining how she discovered Jesse playing the songs, and how she had talked to Beca about her favorite season, Chloe showed the letter to other Bella.

As Aubrey read on, it clicked. Beca had told Jesse about the conversations with Chloe; she had used her friendship with Chloe to find out more about her so that she could give the information to him to craft himself into the perfect guy for Chloe. Except, it wasn't perfect. It was insane, underhanded, and quite frankly, despicable. "Chloe, this is awful. I'm so sorry. It's not fair, and I wish you weren't always so trusting. I hate seeing you get hurt." She spoke in a tight lipped voice, trying to contain her anger at the situation.

"I know," Chloe whispered. "I just never thought she would do that...especially after last night."

"What happened last night?" Aubrey's voice was questioning, but she refrained from sounding accusatory.

"Nothing. I mean, I don't know anymore. Apparently what I thought happened didn't happen. At least not the way I wanted to. Aubrey, what should I do?" Her eyes were pleading, glossy with tears about to spill.

Hearing the sound of her text alert, Chloe glanced at her phone. Reading Beca's text, she laughed to keep from crying again. "She is so...ahhh!" She let out a frustrated scream, and closed her eyes tightly. "She's acting like nothing happened. That's it. I'm texting her to meet up. Should I?"

Aubrey sighed, knowing what she would do and what Chloe would do were two separate things. Knowing her friend, she gave the advice that was most like the red head's normal response to things. Calmly, she said, "There's only one thing to do. Ask her. Confront her. Find out why she'd betray you like this. I knew we shouldn't have let her into the Bella's. She's just not Bella material! I knew she wasn't right..." She stopped mid sentence upon seeing the hurt in Chloe's eyes. Biting her tongue, she kept the rest of her thoughts about the younger Bella to herself.

Clearing her throat, Chloe stood up and straightened out her outfit that had been wrinkled by her breakdown. Her eyes now burning bright with anger, void of tears, she grabbed the letter and walked quickly to the door. "I'm going to talk to her, I need to know what kind of game she is playing. Because Chloe Beale doesn't play unless she's going to win." Yanking the door open, Aubrey shook her head, not used to seeing such a response from the redhead. Against her better judgement, she fired a quick text to Beca.

"It's Aubrey. Chloe's looking for you. You better have a damn good explanation when she finds you. And you might want to be in a public place."

Beca read her text message, confusion making her still present headache a little worse. Shrugging and rolling her eyes at Aubrey's dramatics, she headed out to find Chloe, oblivious to everything but love.