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beca-mitchell · 4 years

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curling at christmas (1/1)

Summary: Beca’s first Christmas with Chloe’s family. Curling and chaos abound.

HAPPY PITCHMAS!! For @ittybittytinypaws—sending you all my love and well-wishes. May you have some Bechloe this year. ❤️

Endless thank yous to @emilyeetsonnett and @cleareyesfullbeers without whom this fic would just simply not be...your curling knowledge/resources was beyond helpful. I know nothing about curling and I apologize in advance for any errors both grammatical and substantive.

Word count: 4921

Read on AO3 or below.

For a group of people who live in a geographic location which doesn’t necessarily get a lot of snow, Chloe’s family in Portland has a fascination with all ice sports.

Including curling.

Which explains why (and yet...that seemingly explains nothing at all) Beca finds herself skidding face-first across the ice to the amusement of Chloe’s brothers (and Chloe, even if she will never admit it).

But first, a brief detour back to where it all began.

— — — —

It starts off slowly.

An inevitable force bringing them closer and closer together.

Slowly because they’ve been friends for years—close to a decade, really—and now they’re living in different cities for the first time in at least eight years.

But all it took was a visit to Los Angeles for the weekend, a casual outing as Beca Mitchell’s plus-one, then one glass of wine to top off the night.

And of course, the brush of impossibly soft lips against her own like Beca had never experienced before. The kiss had been impossibly tender, incredibly light: it had been surreal, both of them spending Christmas away from their own families because of commitments and other situations. Chloe’s eyes had been impossibly bright as she admitted to harboring a crush for years now and oh, wouldn’t Beca just let her forget about doing any of this?

It would have been easy to agree. Almost too easy. Beca found herself on the verge of nodding, even as her tongue flicked out to swipe at her lower lip unconsciously.

But impossibly—almost impossibly—she hadn’t. She had shaken her head and pulled Chloe in for another kiss, both of them whimpering at the sensation.

The next morning, tangled up in Beca’s sheets, Chloe had been remorseful in saying she had to return up to Davis, but she wanted to talk about it and the last thing she wanted to do was forget about it.

(“Best Christmas present ever though,” Chloe whispers, kissing the mark she had left on Beca’s neck.

Beca’s not sure she’ll ever top this Christmas.)

They did end up talking about it, but talking was really all they could manage with Beca suddenly being shipped off across the country on a tour for the following months. Winter turned into Spring, then finally summer and Chloe ended up spending the entire summer interning in Los Angeles.

So it starts off slow, but somewhere between two Christmases, Beca Mitchell ends up dating Chloe Beale.

— — — —

And of course, for all the in-betweens, that summer together cements a lot of firsts together: first fight, first long weekend away together, first ugly tabloid rumor, first public night out as an official couple...many firsts and many memories.

Distinctly, one first is missing, but years of repressed emotions and secret crushes make for a difficult time getting those words out. Three words, that’s all it is. Yet, three words never seemed so intimidating.

— — — —

“Christmas in Portland,” is how Chloe greets her after a long day of class. Class for Chloe. Domestic chores for Beca which she is doing happily as an escape from L.A..

Beca is putting Chloe’s groceries away before Chloe is pinning Beca up against the counter and pressing a long, slow kiss against Beca’s lips.

“What’s that?” Beca questions, distracted by the sensation of Chloe’s lips against her own. Chloe tastes like coffee and something sweet, likely the blueberry scone she enjoys with her drink.

“I said,” Chloe murmurs, tilting Beca’s lips up for another kiss, perhaps a touch inappropriate for the middle of the day with the fridge wide open and Chloe’s roommates just down the hall. “Christmas in Portland?” she repeats. She leans back, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. While a rarity, Chloe’s insecurities still bubble to the surface occasionally. “I was wondering if you wanted to spend Christmas with my family this year.”

“Oh,” Beca says. Her heart begins to thump in her chest, a product of nerves. It isn’t like Beca has made any other Christmas plans, which she knows Chloe is aware of. Beca’s mother is travelling with her own friends this holiday season and her father is spending time with her stepmother’s family. It would be such an easy yes and in all honesty, she kind of wants to scream it.

Chloe takes her hesitation as a negative, beginning to blush under Beca’s gaze. “It’s—it’s fine if you don’t want to. I just brought it up because I knew you didn’t really have Christmas plans. And I honestly debated going home at all this year, but my parents really want to see me and…” Chloe trails off, pulling Beca close. Their bodies settle neatly together, like two pieces slotting together at long last. “I know they really want to meet you.”

Beca’s brow furrows. She trails her hands up Chloe’s arms before settling on looping her arms around Chloe’s neck. “They’ve met me before.”

“Not like this,” Chloe murmurs.

“And what’s this?” Beca challenges.

In response, Chloe kisses her. It is more thorough than the last. Kissing Chloe thrills Beca every time. The sensations ricochet all the way through her body, usually lingering somewhere in her chest. This kiss isn’t one that Beca necessarily wants to stop, so she lets the heat build pleasantly between her legs because Chloe’s hands are slipping up the back of her shirt, Chloe’s foot is kicking the fridge closed, and Chloe’s tongue is doing sinful things to her mouth. Beca, feeling significantly warmer from both the fridge finally being closed and Chloe’s ministrations on her body (more of the latter than anything), kisses back and opens her mouth more to allow Chloe’s tongue to continue its exploration.

Just as Beca feels the urge to shift and clench her thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure building, Chloe is slowing down their kisses, a fact belied only by the way Chloe’s hands are now cupping Beca’s breasts over the thin material of her bra. Beca whimpers and tilts her head back to glare at Chloe reproachfully as if to say “pick a speed”, but Chloe tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and stares at Beca questioningly. It is a little unfair, Beca thinks, that Chloe is one hundred percent using her body (and her familiarity with Beca’s body) to get Beca to respond to her inquiry...not that Beca would have really not agreed to go to Portland. It’s the principle of it all.

Still a little dazed, Beca can’t help the grin that stretches across her lips. “Well why didn’t you just say so?” she asks, a bit more breathless than before.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “So is that a yes?”

“Definitely a yes,” Beca murmurs. “Thank you,” she adds, completely sincere and grateful for Chloe Beale as always. She pulls Chloe in for another kiss, settling on the sensation of Chloe’s smile against her lips and the small giggles that rise up between them. Of all the kisses they have shared and will continue to share, this variation is Beca’s favorite: messy and a little off-base, but still tender and filled with affection. It reminds Beca of everything she likes about their relationship—all the ups and downs and everything that brought them to where they are now. Kissing in Chloe’s tiny apartment kitchen in Davis at the end of November.

Beca doesn’t protest as Chloe pulls her through the apartment to her bedroom, both of them leaving behind the small pile of groceries on the counter.

— — — —

Last Christmas, Beca and Chloe had spent it in Los Angeles—most of it in bed—only starting to figure out their feelings for each other.

This year, Christmas in Portland with pretty much Chloe’s entire family could not be a bigger change in scenery.

Hailing from Seattle herself, Beca hadn’t expected Portland to be much different. She had never really been there before and even during her stop on the tour, she hadn’t been able to really travel around and explore. Some similarities exist: that general smell of rain in the air, decently-sized population, good culinary scenes, pretty friendly people (more than Beca’s used to from both Hollywood and New York at least), and of course the proximity to bodies of water.

Still, Portland is smaller and Chloe’s family lives further outside the metropolitan area than Beca’s family did in Seattle.

But none of that matters. What matters is how nervous Beca feels standing in front of Chloe’s parents' house, staring up at the impossibly intimidating family home. Intimidating in all the warmth it seems to eminate.

“Beca, it’s just my parents,” Chloe says softly. She gently presses one luggage into Beca’s hand. “They like you a lot.”

“That was before,” Beca hisses. She tugs the bag up the front steps with unnecessary force.

Chloe looks entirely too amused. “Before what?”

Like a puzzle piece—the final puzzle piece—slotting neatly into place, Beca feels the oddest comfort ripple through her. Something tightens in Beca’s chest. She turns to face Chloe and for a moment, things seem to fade away: Beca can no longer see the obnoxiously bright Christmas decorations on the front porch, she can no longer hear the sound of the rain lightly coming down around them, she can no longer hear the sound of one of Chloe’s parents’ neighbors loudly singing Christmas carols while putting up his own decorations.

Instead, she sees a drop of rain slip off the end of Chloe’s nose as if she’s seeing things in slow motion. She sees the flutter of Chloe’s eyelashes as eyelids open and close to reveal her favorite shade of blue. She sees the twitch of Chloe’s lips as she offers a reassuring smile. She sees, somehow, an entire future together spread before her, better than any of her best-laid plans before.

She could have never planned for this—could have never asked for anything better.

Her retort dies on her tongue with something else coming to mind instead. But she finds herself too stricken to voice it; too shy to blurt it out.

Chloe’s brow furrows in confusion and concern. “Bec.”

“I...Nothing.”

Beca is saved from further inquiry when the door finally swings open, startling both Beca and Chloe out of their staring match.

Delighted squeals fill the air and Beca finds herself pulled into her first family group hug of the holiday season.

(Maybe ever.)

— — — —

Despite Chloe’s reassurances that her family will like Beca regardless and that they already do, in fact, like Beca, Beca finds herself staring warily across the kitchen table at both of Chloe’s brothers who have somehow instigated some kind of interrogation without Chloe’s knowledge.

“Chloe?” Beca calls over her shoulder, waiting to hear if her girlfriend will respond.

“Beca,” Cooper—the younger of Chloe’s two older brothers—says, folding his hands neatly on the table. “Chloe’s helping mom in the basement.”

“She can’t hear you,” Mackenzie—other brother—adds helpfully.

They’re not necessarily threatening statements, but Beca is feeling decidedly threatened. She inhales. “How do you like Seattle?” she directs at Cooper. “Chloe told me you just started a new job there.” He stares at her. “I’m from Seattle originally,” Beca adds quickly.

“It’s fine. Not too different from here. And I’m glad it’s not too far from home.” He grins at her. “Away from home often, Beca?”

“Beca,” Mackenzie says suddenly. “How do you feel about team sports?”

Beca groans.

— — — —

“They’re harmless,” Chloe promises.

“They look like they could easily pick me up.”

“Beca, I can easily pick you up.”

“Huh. Must run in the family.”

— — — —

Later that night after a relatively harmless—as promised by Chloe—family dinner, Beca hesitantly climbs into bed next to Chloe who is uploading photos of themselves to Instagram. “Chlo,” she says lightly. “Why did your brother ask me about team sports today?”

“Who, Mackenzie?” At Beca’s nod, Chloe laughs. “Oh, he’s a manager at Evergreen. We do a family day during the holidays if enough of us are around. I thought I told you about that.”

“Uh, no,” Beca squeaks. “You definitely didn’t. You know how I feel about physical activity.” Beca’s brow furrows. “And what’s Evergreen? Is that a community center?” She doesn’t like Chloe’s grin. “Chloe,” she whispers harshly. “I need to be prepared.”

Chloe puts her phone down before twisting to curl an arm around Beca’s waist. “Prepared for what?” she asks, laughing.

“Emergencies, like playing sports.”

“But you do like physical activity,” Chloe points out.

“No I don’t.”

“Some,” Chloe clarifies. To make her point, Chloe begins kissing Beca’s neck pointedly. Her hand tightens on Beca’s hip when she feels Beca’s body shift and curl into her own instinctively.

“Chloe, no,” Beca hisses when she comes back into herself. “It’s almost Christmas and your parents are right down the hall. Your siblings are in this house.”

“I don’t see how any of those are related,” Chloe whispers, brushing the tip of her nose along Beca’s jaw.

“I don’t see how you can’t see how this is all related,” Beca retorts without any real bite. Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation of Chloe’s hand trailing up her shirt. “Stop, I don’t have a bra on,” she murmurs.

“I don’t see how that’s a problem,” Chloe murmurs. Still, she pauses her hand, stopping it in its path. She presses a slow kiss against the corner of Beca’s mouth. “I’ll stop if you really want to,” she promises. Damn her, Beca thinks. Her voice is low and raspy, just how Beca likes it most.

“Fine, but be quiet,” Beca grumbles without any real animosity. She twists so she is smoothly sitting astride Chloe’s hips.

Chloe raises an eyebrow at the action, running her hands up her thighs. “Are you sure I’m going to be the one having problems being quiet?” Her grin becomes downright lascivious. “You know how you get when you’re on top.”

Leaning down, Beca presses a heated, thorough kiss against Chloe’s mouth, intent on proving her wrong.

— — — —

It feels very wrong, scrambling to put on any piece of clothing when Chloe’s mother knocks on her bedroom door the next morning.

It also feels incredibly inappropriate to thank Chloe’s mother for the warm custom-made sweaters while wearing one of her daughter’s oversized t-shirts clearly snatched up from the closest drawer.

But, unfolding the sweater, Beca nearly tears up when she traces the stitching of her name into the cheerfully red and green fabric.

Chloe pulls her into a warm embrace, kissing her cheek without saying a word.

The sweater is also designed like a sports jersey, which really should have been yet another clue, but Beca is too overwhelmed with emotions.

— — — —

I am probably going to be nominated for a Grammy Award next year, Beca thinks to herself while Chloe loads up a video about curling of all things. Probably remembering their previous conversation a few nights before. I can learn about curling.

“Two minutes,” Chloe promises. “And if you have any questions, I’ll explain.”

“You’ve played before?”

“Pretty much played it growing up. My family loves it. It’s basically a Christmas tradition.”

Beca grins at the side of Chloe’s face. “You’re so weird.”

“Shh, Beca—” Chloe glances at her. “Beca! You’re missing it!”

— — — —

“Do you have any questions?”

“...No,” Beca lies.

She should have asked why they were watching a video about curling.

— — — —

It happens quicker than Beca expects.

It being that...Portland begins to grow on Beca. She loves the friendliness and the food and the way Chloe happily introduces her to everybody they meet as “my girlfriend, Beca” with all kinds of fondness and happiness in her voice.

She could get used to this.

— — — —

It’s hereditary—it must be: she knows that Chloe has a penchant for sports of all kind, even if she kind of sucks at everything except volleyball. Beca has seen Chloe crush it at beach volleyball, but the girl really isn’t much good at anything else. That’s still one sport Chloe has over Beca who would much rather prefer being a passive observer. She has kind of limited her physical activity since leaving Barden.

(She still engages in some physical activities. Very limited physical activities. Fun ones. With Chloe, ideally.)

Regardless, Beca knows that Chloe is a huge fan of the Olympics, particularly Winter Olympics, so she should have seen this coming really. She just hadn’t been expecting curling. Nor had she been expecting Chloe’s brother to work at the Evergreen Curling Club. She had sorely underestimated her girlfriend and suddenly wishes she had put two and two together sooner.

“Curling,” she repeats, looking at Chloe for help while they make their way through the doors. “I’m not playing,” she says immediately.

“You don’t have to play,” Chloe promises. “Just show some support. And,” she whispers, leaning down to nip at Beca’s ear. “Just a couple of hours of this and we have the house to ourselves tonight because my family’s going out.”

Beca can’t really argue with that.

Still, just to be clear: “Okay, but I’m not playing,” she repeats clearly.

— — — —

“Here,” Chloe says, pressing a brush into Beca’s hands. Beca stares at the offending item, then back at Chloe. “Try,” she implores. “We don’t have to play officially, but I think you’ll look cute sweeping.”

Beca looks at Chloe suspiciously. “You never say that to me when you’re trying to get me to clean my apartment.”

“Do you want me to say that to you?”

Beca pauses. “I’ll consider it.”

Chloe opens her mouth to retort, probably with something supremely inappropriate in a deceptively sweet tone. Beca is disappointed when they are interrupted by a new voice cutting through their high-school level flirting.

“Chloe?”

Chloe turns, nearly whacking Beca in the face with the tip of her brush. “Sarah! It’s been so long!”

Beca waits for Chloe to introduce her to whom she assumes is one of Chloe’s cousins, with how comfortable Chloe is with this person. And how this person runs a hand up Chloe’s arm like she’s familiar with doing so. And how this person gazes at Chloe with an interesting amount of more-than-platonic interest.

Beca bristles and slowly shuffles closer, gently poking Chloe in the shoulder with the end of her brush. “Hi,” she greets. “Sabrina, was it?” She ignores Chloe’s sudden knowing grin.

“Sarah,” ‘Sabrina’ corrects. Her smile is tight and there is a certain air of forced nonchalance, but Beca is used to spotting recognition in people’s eyes by now. Fake. “Have we met before? Do you work here?”

Chloe snorts. “No, this is Beca Mitchell. My girlfriend.”

Beca refrains from gloating or saying something incredibly stupid but incredibly true like you might have heard me on the radio. That would be inappropriate. Maybe later. “Hi,” she says again. “How do you two know each other?”

Chloe clears her throat. “Family friends,” Chloe explains, then hesitates. “...And we dated in high school. A fling.” One glance at Sarah and Beca can tell that she doesn’t necessarily agree. “We’ve still kept in touch from time to time though.”

“Mainly through social media.”

“Are you playing today?” Chloe asks quickly.

“As if your parents would allow me to sit out.” Sarah sighs. “My family versus yours. Just like old times.”

Chloe’s hand comes up slowly to slip into the back pocket of Beca’s jeans discreetly. “Yeah, just like old times. I’ll see you out there.”

Beca resists from sticking her tongue out. She pulls her hair over her shoulders so Sarah can see her name emblazoned on the back of the knitted sweater when they turn around.

Chloe’s hand on her ass probably helps.

— — — —

It’s fine until the game itself starts and Beca pretty much forgets about old flames who don’t matter. It starts off slow.

Beca is enjoying how handsy Chloe is, teaching her how to have proper form while both sweeping and throwing the—

“What’s this thing called?”

“A stone.” Chloe nudges it with her foot.

“A rock?” Beca leans forward to try and lift it, before nearly crashing face first onto it at the unexpected weight. “What the fuck? Why is it so heavy?”

Chloe ignores her. “You’ll want to be careful while throwing the stone,” she explains, like Beca knows what that means. “When you release it, put a turn on it. It’s all very precise,” Chloe says with some reverence in her tone.

“That’s one word for it,” Beca mumbles. She tilts her head, watching Chloe stretch out her legs and how nice she looks in those jeans. "But uh, show me again?"

— — — —

Beca has seen some clips of people curling and maybe she snuck off to the bathroom five minutes earlier to quickly rewatch the two-minute video Chloe had showed her the day before, but she is still surprised by the amount of passion Chloe’s entire family seems to have for the sport. Even Chloe’s father whom Beca had exchanged three whole sentences with (he’s her favorite so far) is suddenly yelling incomprehensible things down the ice while Chloe and her brothers take turns sweeping. Beca tilts her head, admiring how focused Chloe is even if Beca thinks she looks a little ridiculous. Still, she darts over to her phone off to the side and snaps as many pictures as she can, intent on sending them to the Bellas group chat.

But Beca feels jealousy surge through her at the way Chloe’s high school flame (high school exes are nothing) is eyeing Chloe from the other team. All kinds of inappropriate things float through Beca’s mind even if Chloe isn’t paying any attention to Sarah. Casually and not at all awkwardly, she wraps an arm around Chloe’s waist, pulling her into a side hug.

Chloe leans into her, tilting her head to press a quick kiss to Beca’s cheek. “What’s up babe?” she asks, watching the ice intently.

Beca’s brow furrows as she tries to refocus on the ice, trying to see what Chloe sees.

She has no idea what she’s looking at and she still doesn’t fucking understand curling.

“Nothing,” Beca finally says. “Just cold.”

— — — —

It is the jealousy. It has to be. Or is it possessiveness?

Some innate and stupid primitive instinct is triggered and Beca finds herself agreeing when Chloe’s younger sister Madison politely asks if Beca wants to have a turn on their family’s team.

— — — —

It’s honestly fine. The game moves at an odd pace, with a small amount of waiting around, a balance between fast and slow.

Beca sweeps, attempting to put some amount of force into it and stops trying not to think about how fucking awkward it is to hear her girlfriend’s father yelling at her from the giant target. Not to mention traumatizing. The curling rock-thing (“stone,” a voice corrects) slides into the gigantic target (“house,” Chloe had said earlier. Beca hadn’t questioned it.) and Beca is somehow done.

She’s still standing upright.

Chloe is surprised, but admiration and delight still shine in her eyes as she applauds Beca’s sweeping efforts. Chloe’s father nods approvingly and Chloe’s mother squeezes her shoulders affectionately. Beca, who has no idea whether she did anything helpful, simply accepts the praise and the kisses Chloe places on her cheeks.

“Do you know what you just did?” Cooper asks Beca out of the corner of his mouth.

“No idea,” Beca responds. He laughs and side-hugs her, making Beca feel inexplicably happy at the inclusion.

Clearly a little high off Chloe’s affection and praise—as well as her family’s acceptance of her subpar curling skills—Beca agrees to throw by some magical Christmas force.

— — — —

The fucking stone weighs as much as she does.

First of all, it takes a couple tries to even push herself with the weigh in her hand.

Second, Beca is not expecting being dragged across the fucking ice.

Third, she noise she makes as she goes down is entirely unexpected and totally uncool.

Fuck.

— — — —

Suddenly Beca is blinking, lifting her head from the ice. Nothing really hurts, but her face stings a little.

She’s mostly glad she isn’t crying, but Jesus—she can’t even look to see everybody’s expression.

“Oh my God!” Chloe’s voice sounds, cutting through the laughter. Beca groans, turning over just as Chloe’s hands grab at her shoulders, helping her sit up. “Beca,” she whispers. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” Beca shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she mutters quickly, embarrassed beyond belief. “Did we win?” she tries, going for levity.

Chloe shakes her head. “Let’s go home,” she murmurs. “Let me help you, baby.”

For a second, Beca considers protesting. She considers shaking Chloe’s hands off her and pushing herself off the ice herself. She doesn’t need help walking—she can do that herself.

But slowly, something changes in the air—and then all at once. Chloe is so concerned and so caring in such a specific way that it sends a flutter of emotions straight to Beca’s chest and she finds herself breathless once more. Standing slowly, Beca keeps her eyes on Chloe’s face even as Chloe leads her off to the side. Both of them, for the time being, ignore the laughter still sounding. Beca, however, doesn’t find herself caring much about whether anybody’s laughing at her, not anymore.

Not when she’s won.

“Beca,” Chloe says again a little urgently. “Are you okay?” Her arms come up to wrap Beca in a hug, pressing their bodies close together as if Chloe thinks the warmth of her body will somehow regenerate the brain cells Beca lost from the light smack of her head against the ground. Beca isn’t complaining. She nuzzles into Chloe’s neck, finding comfort in how close she feels to Chloe then. Chloe, clearly confused but choosing not to say anything, simply tightens her arms around Beca.

“I love you,” Beca whispers finally, voice only just loud enough to be heard over the music and voices echoing all around them. She’s clutching on to Chloe’s arms in the middle of a curling game between Chloe’s family and her family friends. Chloe looks both concerned and on the verge of laughing, her lips constantly twitching like she can’t decide which emotion to settle on. Beca still doesn’t understand the sport and she doesn’t understand how anybody could dedicate their entire life to something like this.

But at the same time, she gets it—that unexpected dedication to something. Unexpectedly enjoying something she previously thought was lame. Falling in love in the most unexpected of places.

So, loving Chloe—it’s not a new revelation. It was born out of a seed planted years and years ago. Loving Chloe was the easy part. Loving Chloe—it’s weeks old, months old, years old, and staring at Chloe now, she’s sure Chloe knows. But finally saying it aloud after years of dancing around each other and months of finally having each other…Beca feels some of the weight on her chest ease up—as light as she had felt when the rock (“stone, Beca” she hears briefly in her mind—a voice that sounds eerily like Aubrey’s) finally left her hand after dragging her across the ice for an embarrassing distance; she feels as breathless and airborne as she had felt just before she had skidded across the pebbled ice, almost face-first towards what she had felt like a very certain death.

“I love you,” Beca repeats, just to hear herself say it again. She tilts her head back to observe Chloe’s expression and catches the reddening of Chloe’s cheeks. She can see it especially well because of how close they’re standing. As well, Chloe’s heart skips a beat. Beca knows this because she feels it.

(Or it’s a fantastic figment of her imagination…one born out of a concussion from curling.

Fucking curling.)

Somehow, even amidst all the noise, Beca feels silence descend upon them. This is a frequent occurrence now, since she agreed to go home with Chloe for Christmas. Moments where she should have filled the air between them with the three words she hadn’t yet said. That they both haven’t said to each other.

But this silence is good because Chloe’s smile is brilliant and vibrant. Her response comes only a second later, but her voice is sure, even if she is also whispering. “I love you too, Beca.”

Beca feels impossibly warm suddenly, like somebody finally opened up the ceiling to the building and the sun finally took its chance to burst past the clouds above. Warmer than Los Angeles. Warmer than even her favorite comforter.

Warmth like Beca has never felt before on Christmas.

Warmth because Chloe’s parents are smiling at her like she belongs and they wouldn’t have anybody else for their daughter. Warmth because Beca is wearing an admittedly adorable family sweater, clearly meant only for the most important people in Chloe’s family.

“Thank you,” Beca murmurs, still unable to think of anything else to say. “I love you,” she repeats again, almost with a hint of awe. Just because she can. She twists to press the softest of kisses to Chloe’s lips, briefly squeezing Chloe’s arms. She refrains from adding that she literally almost died, anticipating that Chloe probably wouldn’t appreciate that. “But let’s never play this again,” Beca suggests against Chloe’s mouth, unable to help herself. “We can make new Christmas traditions.”

Chloe chuckles and runs a hand through Beca’s hair, smiling at how ruffled Beca looks from the hat she had been wearing. “Deal,” she agrees, sounding a little teary, but immensely happy.

Together they shuffle off the ice, hearts full.

fin.

#bechloe #fanfiction #pitch perfect #merry pitchmas 2019 #pitchmas 2019 #for ittybittytinypaws #my fanfic #mine #pitchmas #beca mitchell #chloe beale

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