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Beca remembers exactly when she makes the conscious decision to ask Chloe to marry her. It’s a moment when Chloe’s just singing in their apartment, and it honestly makes Beca’s heart feel so full, because Beca knows music, and Chloe flows through her life like a song she never wants to end.
Or at least, one she wants to put on repeat forever, and— oh.
That’s the easy part.
So is buying the ring, because she knows exactly what Chloe would like, and what size it should be. When she brings it home, expertly contained in a thin ring box, Beca hides it in her luggage, because that’s the one place she knows Chloe won’t accidentally look in.
It’s right there, in the little inside compartment, wedged below the piles of winter clothes that she doesn’t need right now. Very Princess and the Pea, she thinks, because she knows it’s there, just egging her on.
It’s been there for two weeks. And really, it’s not like she doesn’t want to propose. The more she thinks about it, the more she knows she wants to do it.
It’s just that she wants to do something special to mark the occasion for Chloe. Beca’s not huge on the big, sweeping romantic gestures, but Chloe loves—
“—Love, I know,” Beca musters with all the conviction she needs to stop Aubrey from drawing up her own plan with timelines and markers and a flow chart of responsibilities. “We’ve been together for almost five years. I think I know that part.”
Aubrey assesses her. Beca feels like Aubrey is doing an actual scan, all the way from the other end of her screen.
It’s still unnerving.
She’ll never admit that to Aubrey and give her that satisfaction.
“I don’t know, it feels like you’re not taking this seriously enough.”
“Aubrey,” Beca starts. She feels a tension headache coming on, right there in between her eyes. Why did she ever think that her counsel would be a good idea? She’s pretty sure Chloe’s brother wouldn’t give her such a hard time, because Chuck actually likes her. He’s told her that himself, the first time she had met him, before enveloping her in a big Beale hug.
Beca tears herself off memory lane, and looks at Aubrey with a determined look on her face. “I’m serious about this. Super serious.”
*
And she is. She’s all in.
Honestly, she thinks that she’s a few years too late. Thinks that Chloe had waited for her to meet her in the middle for so long, and Beca never wants her to feel like that again. Thinks that Chloe has the patience of a saint, dealing with this, and with her in general, because she knows she’s a real handful and will always be.
So:
Beca Mitchell tries to propose to Chloe Beale. She tries four times.
It goes like this.
attempt one—
It feels fitting, then, that they are spending their fifth anniversary in the south of France.
It’s the venue where she’d stood at the precipice of her career, striking out on her own for the first time, with her found family right there supporting her.
More than that, though. It’s also the place where she had been spurred on to action; where she had taken all that had been swirling up in her for years as she pushed aside that guy — Austin? Orlando? She willfully pretends she doesn’t remember his name — and finally kissed Chloe.
And, as they say, the rest is history.
*
(Well, not quite.
There were things to work out.
In no particular order —
The immediate next days and weeks of them, unsure of how and where to place all these feelings that are all out in the open;
The distance, as Chloe starts vet school and Beca starts making music, in a wholly different way, as they contemplate what it means to be a them;
The stolen time, between weekends and holidays and Beca absolutely infuriating Theo and her PR person, but honesty, she didn’t care — still doesn’t;
The distance, again, when Beca travels and performs in venues across the country, across the world;
Beca’s lean towards going along with what Chloe wants, because sometimes it’s just easier to want to give Chloe the world—
Well, that. That, she’s still working on working out. Hopefully, she’ll have the rest of their lives to.)
*
Anyway.
They’re back in France because Beca has this thing in Cannes.
It’s an enormous deal, Chloe would be the first to tell anyone (everyone), but five years in the industry and Beca is still skittish about trying to put labels on these things.
They have a whole week of just them, on this glorious vacation, before Beca needs to dip away for half a day.
Then it’s homeward bound from there, but Beca’s embarking on another world tour not too long after this, for the better part of the rest of the year. She loves performing, more than she’d ever expected to, actually, but she hates that crawling feeling of missing Chloe so fucking much all the time when she’s away.
She doesn’t want to wait anymore.
*
But first, dinner.
*
Okay, so she definitely doesn’t do it at the restaurant. That isn’t the plan, and she doesn’t need pictures getting on TMZ or one of those other hell sites before they’re ready to share it with the world.
But it’s a very nice restaurant. It’s the same one they went to on their very first date, way back when after the USO tour and Beca’s opening number.
Beca still remembers how nervous she had been, even though she was the one who initiated that first kiss.
But actually asking Chloe on a proper official date? That was a whole other ballgame. She’s pretty thankful that no one has video footage of her fumbling.
The butterflies are still there, but Beca has a pretty nice co-existence with them now, if she says so herself.
She still feels the flutters, during completely mundane and random moments. Like in those last moments before she falls asleep, and she knows Chloe’s asleep too because she can tell from the way she’s breathing.
Or when Chloe sends her a perfectly framed selfie, and Beca has to excuse herself to the back of her tour bus, and the flutters giving way to something more warm.
Or now, when Chloe’s wearing a beautifully fitted dress that shows off Beca’s favorite things about her physically.
That’s a trick question — Beca’s favorite thing about Chloe is everything.
*
(Also:
She doesn’t do it at the restaurant because one time back home in LA, they watched a proposal go down.
And watched.
And watched.
“Okay, this is getting kind of awkward,” Chloe said, her voice a scant whisper before she took a sip of her wine. The silence in the rest of the restaurant was palpable.
The guy was still on his knee, looking more anxious by the minute. There were hurried words exchanged between the couple, before he finally got up to his feet, and returned to his seat. The defeat painted on his face was miserable, and Beca tried to avoid looking at their general direction.
“Yikes,” she said, feeling bad. “What a blow.”
“I would hate to have to say no with so many people watching either.”
Beca quirked her brow at her girlfriend.
“Are you fending off many marriage proposals that I don’t know about?”
But Chloe just entwined their fingers and laughed, so warmly, and Beca thought it was the best sound she heard that night.
At least, until they got back home. Those were jointly the best sounds Beca heard that night.)
*
After dinner, they take a stroll down the seaside. It’s a quiet evening, with the sun having just set, and Chloe’s hand is in hers.
She doesn’t ever want to take this for granted, Beca thinks, as she squeezes Chloe’s hand. It should be embarrassing how much endorphins she gets hit with when Chloe tightens her grip too, and Beca can see her smile from her periphery.
“What’s on your mind?” Beca asks, genuinely wanting to know as they stop at a little sectioned off area for sightseeing.
She can feel those flutters again, as she maps her moves so that she can put The Plan into motion: Chloe, check. Ring in back pocket, check.
Chloe smiles at her, the stillness of the water behind her, and Beca just thinks about how her eyes are pretty much infinitely better — literally more blue and more bright — than the sight behind her.
“Just that it’s really nice to be back here after so long. And how we haven’t been interrupted every five minutes by a fan,” Chloe intones, teasingly.
Beca rolls her eyes lightly, goodnaturedly, but quickly schools her expression into one of neutrality. Though that quickly morphs into an affection she has never quite succeeded in hiding in front of Chloe.
“It is nice,” she starts, reaching over for Chloe’s other hand so that she’s holding both in the space between them. “Chloe, I—”
That’s when she hears a string ensemble playing, and she turns her head sharply to her right.
About twenty steps away from them is a whole quartet that definitely wasn’t there before, and a man who’s singing to a woman (and he sounds flat, out of tune and off-key all at the same time, and Beca can say this because she’s a professional, although she grudgingly accepts that there is a certain sort of charm to it), and the woman’s laughing and wiping at her eyes when he goes down on one knee.
Chloe, Beca notes, is swooning as she claps, their clasped hands forgotten as Chloe rests her hands in front of her big smile after the applause — they’re literally the only other people there — as the woman nods and kisses the man.
Beca just lets out a disappointed sigh.
attempt two—
They fly back to LA. It’s home, in any case, even if it feels like Beca’s not in the city for more than two weeks at a time now.
The ring box is burning a hole in Beca’s luggage, she’s pretty sure. They’re going to touch down and when they get to baggage claim, it’ll just be a smouldering mess, and Beca will have to explain to everyone why there’s a fire.
“You okay?” Chloe asks, concerned, and Beca swallows hard against her throat.
“Yeah, just — flight stuff, I guess.” Which isn’t a complete lie; literally every time she gets on a flight she starts thinking about how statistically, it is more dangerous during takeoff and landing.
Chloe reaches over, across from her seat and holds her hand, and Beca lays her head against the headrest, her fingers curled around Chloe’s.
If they don’t make it out of this plane, Beca thinks her biggest regret would be not asking Chloe to marry her.
*
They do, in fact, get off the plane unscathed.
So does her luggage.
*
They get home, all their bags strewn in the living room, and Beca surreptitiously retrieves the ring box when Chloe’s taking a shower. She stuffs it into the bedside drawer, but not before opening it to make sure that it’s still in there.
And it is, glinting in the light. If it’s sentient, Beca’s pretty sure it’ll be asking her why it hasn’t had its time to actually truly shine.
She’s going to do it tonight.
It’s going to happen.
She’s going to make it happen.
*
Beca hops in the shower, and washes the grime from the flight off so quickly. She just wants to smell nice and feel comfortable when she finally asks the question.
Chloe is already halfway to drifting off when Beca slips into bed and presses a kiss on her forehead. It’s warm under the covers, and Chloe gives her a soft, sleepy smile as she shifts closer, head tucked under Beca’s chin.
“Chloe?” Beca whispers a few moments later, although she already knows from the way that Chloe is breathing.
Chloe’s already fast asleep.
attempt three—
Beca, for what is probably the first time in her life, wakes up before Chloe.
It’s probably because she’s a little more accustomed to the effects of jet lag. Or maybe she has so much nervous energy coursing through her right now. Who knew not being able to propose would whip up such a frenzy inside?
She tries to be as quiet as possible while cooking breakfast. Beca is... not great at cooking in general, but eggs? Eggs she can mess up and still whip up something decent-ish, so. It’s a surprise to her what kind of eggs she ends up cooking every time, honestly.
It’s sunny-side-up-turned-scrambled-in-the-pan today.
She can live with that.
*
The surprised look on Chloe’s face makes the early wake-up all so worth it, when she sees the platter of eggs and bacon and toast (barely burnt, and she can definitely pass it off as good toast) and avocado, and there’s even a salad that she thinks Chloe should feel proud of her for.
“What’s the occasion?” Chloe asks, wrapping her arms around Beca from behind.
“Let’s call it… a post-anniversary breakfast,” Beca mumbles, distracted with the way Chloe is peppering little kisses on her jaw, down her neck, and Beca takes in a sharp inhale. Her hand reaches behind to grab at Chloe’s thigh.
“I like that,” Chloe husks, and Beca thinks instinctually, I like you, I love you, and she spins around. It would be so easy to run to the bed and get the ring, and—
Chloe’s phone rings. Beca knows she has it set to ring only for her and emergencies from the clinic, and she’s definitely not butt-dialing her.
She presses her fingers to her closed eyes in defeat.
*
Between the time Chloe jumps in the shower and out of the door, Beca has packed Chloe’s breakfast in a little box so she can eat it when she can.
Her own food is cold, the empty apartment more so, and Beca stabs the scrambled eggs with her fork.
She immediately feels bad, because obviously the poor dog is in bad enough shape and needs Chloe’s expertise, but.
Ugh.
finally—
Beca wakes up at 3 PM, disoriented as fuck, although calling the sleep she had in the four hours prior a restful one would be a lie.
But this is also good, because it gives her time to take in Chloe who must have come home and slipped into bed too, while Beca was napping and dead to the world. Beca’s eyes sweep across Chloe’s sleeping features, as she appreciates just how beautiful and radiant her girlfriend is. It gives her time to think about how lucky she is, to even be sharing this with her, and how she wants to continue doing that for the adult version of forever.
“I can hear you staring,” Chloe says, eyes still closed, and Beca bites back a smirk.
“Wrong sense, baby,” she teases.
Chloe’s eyes flutter open. “I’m never wrong about you,” she responds, and it’s the way she puts it so simply that makes Beca’s heart clench. It makes her realize, actually, that right here and now is the perfect time, because anytime and anywhere is perfect when they have each other.
Beca sits up abruptly on the bed, then stretches to flip the switch for the light and pull the drawer open, her hand trying to aim for the box when her fingers finally wrap around it. She can’t help the little puff of laughter that escapes her.
She knows Chloe’s just looking at her, so she takes a deep breath to still the flutters before she walks over to Chloe’s side of the bed. Beca can feel her heart, beating so fast, so steadfast, against her ribs. Her fingers shake as they pry the box open, and she presents it to Chloe.
“Chloe,” she starts, her eyes thrown skyward for the briefest of moments to hope that nothing’s going to interrupt her this time. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I hope you know that by now,” she said, a nervous laugh weaved in her words.
“Wait,” Chloe tells her, and Beca’s heart sinks to the bottom of her stomach, just drowning in the pit. She watches in slow motion, a morbid curiosity enveloping all her senses as Chloe opens the drawer on her side of the bed, and retrieves a box.
Then Beca sputters, the pieces clicking. “Holy shit, Chlo.”
Chloe sits back down on the bed and flips her box open. In it sits a ring that looks similar to the one that Beca is still holding, encased in its box.
When she looks back up at Chloe, she can see the tears shining in Chloe’s eyes as she smiles so widely. Chloe’s smile is always so beautiful and so bright, and Beca tumbles even more in love in this moment.
“Seriously?” Beca asks Chloe, her voice suddenly small; suddenly uncertain about why she would want to ask Beca to marry her, as if she isn’t doing the exact same thing to her right now.
Chloe laughs and Beca can see the tear streaks on her cheeks, before realizing belatedly that she’s crying too because her vision has gone blurry, and she wipes fiercely at her eyes.
Chloe cups Beca’s cheek, her palm so warm as her thumb grazes lovingly and gently under her eye. “Ask me, Beca.”
“Okay. Um, Chloe,” Beca tries again, drawing another breath as she smiles shakily. “I had this all planned out, when we were in France. That’s like, the place where I thought it began for us, but maybe I’ve gotten that wrong, because wherever we are, you have always been it. Even when I was dense and didn’t realize it. Anyway,” she says, laughing as Chloe tilts her head playfully to the side. “I don’t know a kinder person, or a more loving person than you. I — you know I’m not the greatest at words, but music I can do. And I want to always be listening, because you’re a song that plays in my head all the time. I want to remix us the way we want to be, every single day of our lives.”
She looks at Chloe; looks right at her. “So. Will you marry me, Chloe Beale?”
*
(Chloe’s turn goes like this:
She’s had the ring since, well, since the start of their relationship.
She has that much faith in Beca, in them, even from the start.
So will she be her wife, already?)
“Thanks for saying yes, by the way. That would have been really embarrassing if you didn’t.”