A/N. (I don't own the characters and certain parts of the plot. Courtesy goes to David Levithan and the creative team behind the movie Pitch Perfect.) Leave reviews and I'll love you forever! SPECIAL THANKS TO weaselette01 FOR BETA-ING THIS!

Perfect Days

Day 7396

An alarm clock goes off annoyingly. I open my eyes and sigh as the morning sun warms my skin.

Oooopps…

This is not my skin. It is Tom's.

Tom. That's his name. Today I am borrowing his body, his life. And forgive me, if I use 'my' a lot of times. I know it seems technically inappropriate, as I don't really have a body of my own.

I get up, turn off the alarm, and wander my eyes around Tom's room. One word: messy. Used socks hang around like Christmas bells, his gaming tools and TV wait to be switched off from last night's playing, and the stench… Oh the stench. This is the room of a typical rich boy who has been put under pressure by his parents to go to college.

I close my eyes and access Tom's memory, so I can have a little background of his life. Yes, I can do that. It's an undying routine, actually. I wake up. I access memories. I pretend. I don't talk. I lay low. I go to bed. I do some thinking. I sleep. The next day, I wake up in another person's body, and I do the same routine again. The cycle goes on. This is my life.

I turn out to be right. Tom is a junior at Barden University. He's a quarterback. That explains the jock jacket lying lazily on the floor. His family is filthy rich. Their surname brings out a lot of stories and controversies dated way back then. They are somewhat known in this town… but not that famous. Tom is the only child, the only one to continue the family's legacy. I'm not sure if 'legacy' is the right term for it, but that's what I'm going to use.

There's nothing much about Tom that I can tell you, really. He's just a guy… with a hot body. Wow, Tom! Great work with the biceps and the abs! I walk to his wardrobe and put on a shirt. I don't know what day it is, but I'm sure to find out soon.

I take another step towards the door before I hear his mom yelling out his name, threatening to send him to jail if he skips school again.

School. I need to get Tom to school.

I ransack his backpack and check his schedule. Tom's Mondays start with Sociology 103 at nine in the morning. It's already eight thirty. Travel time takes about twenty minutes.

Without delay, I change outfits and fix his hair. I grab his backpack and his jock jacket, and scurry out of his room, out of his house – out of his very large house.

Tom's car wows me in so many ways. From the logo, I can tell that it's from a well-known manufacturer. I'm a sucker for cars, but I don't know much about them. I've never been in the body of a car enthusiast, if you're asking.

As I drive, I keep thinking about how to go with a day in Tom's life. Actually, considering that I already have a routine, this should be easy. I will not interfere. I will lay low. It's just for a day, anyway. Tomorrow, it's another life. I have messed up borrowed lives for a day, but I never make my mistakes twice. I learn from them easily, so bad things never recur.

Just so you know, my name is Beca. I don't know exactly what I am, but as I already told you, I change bodies every day. The leap has no patterns; I can be in an American's body today and wake up European the next day. The rules are simple: (1) I am never in a body I've been to before. (2) I only get shifted to bodies of people around my age.

I tiptoe into Professor Massey's lecture. He sees me ducking carefully and calls my attention. I am fifteen minutes late for a three-hour class and he already labels me 'early' for today's attendance. Oh, Tom. From my accessing, the earliest he's ever been to this class is forty minutes past nine. And that happened only once.

I take the empty seat at the corner of the classroom and flip his only notebook open... No notes.

See, this is what happens when a kid goes to college out of pressure. Tom doesn't like college. I can tell that perfectly. The only thing that keeps him sane in this place is football and friends. He's fond of parties and late-night fun. He wants to be a professional athlete, but instead of pursuing his true dream, he's stuck here at Barden.

Tom identifies himself by his passion for sports, but his parents regard him otherwise; he's the future of the family name, of their genes. And so, he must carry on with the long line of lawyers in his ancestral tree.

I have taken Sociology classes before, inside other bodies. I don't like the subject much, but all the Sociology lecturers I've encountered were interesting and hilarious. I keep laughing at Professor Massey's stories. He glances over at my direction and I can deduce that he finds it weird that I'm actually paying attention, like this is the first time.

This is bad. I need to act more like Tom. Do not interfere. Lay low.

I shift my position to the usual apathetic posture, and pretend to doodle on Tom's notebook. Well, I really want to write random stuff in it just so I can kill time, but I can't imagine Tom's face tomorrow when he sees lyrics (of songs he's never heard before) in his notebook.

Damn. I won't even be here tomorrow to see it, but I'm worried as fuck.

After Sociology, I journey the corridors towards Tom's locker. I access his mind once more for the combination. I open it and see nothing very interesting. I slam it shut.

"Hey," a girl's voice addresses me.

I turn sideways to where the little greeting came from and stare at the most beautiful set of electric blue eyes that I have ever seen. Don't take it as an understatement. I have met a lot of people, a lot of races, a lot of personalities, yet no other pair of eyes has sent shivers down my spine like this.

And, now that I think about it, she looks familiar. I can't tell exactly from where because as I said, I meet tons of people every day and it's hard to keep track of everyone. I always try to erase all the faces of yesterday, because I get stressed having too much in my memory. There are even times when I forcibly forget faces of people who made an impact on me, just so I save myself from heartache. It's hard that I don't get to stay in a body longer for a day. Sometimes I meet people whose company I learn to love (even just for a day); I keep wishing I can stay with them for a little longer, but deep inside I know I can't. That's where the pain enters. That's when I start getting strict about a new rule of mine: Don't get attached.

Chloe. That's her name, and she's Tom's girlfriend. Her fiery red locks wave wonderfully down past her shoulders, almost covering her gorgeous face.

Tom is a controlling boyfriend. I can see from the way Chloe makes herself small when she's with him. She looks down shyly as she waits for me to greet back, or say anything.

"Hi, Chloe."

Okay, that doesn't sound like Tom. Sorry.

"So, what do you want us to do today?" I say cheerfully.

She lifts her chin to me with a look of surprise, like this is the first time that Tom has ever asked her what she wanted to do. I access Tom's memories and see a cascade of one-sided bonding sessions.

"I- I don't know." Chloe looks down again.

This is crap. I can feel Chloe's heart beating with such love. Tom is such a lucky ass to have her. Man, he doesn't deserve her. Chloe deserves someone who can at least appreciate the way her eyelashes flutter, who can at least pull a smile off their face at the very scent of her perfume approaching, who can at least kiss her along the hallway and tell her how beautiful she looks today.

But knowing Tom, he's never done any of that to her.

Hell to routine! Today, Tom is not Tom. I am him, for now. And what I see in front of me is a beautiful redhead who smiles so little when she has the power to make everyone in the room kneel before her strength, her magnificence.

"I like your shirt," I tell her, smiling. "You bought that this weekend?"

Chloe pulls a bigger smile, and her lovely cheeks start to blush. "Yes."

I visit Tom's mind once more to see what they usually do at lunchtime. They just go to this eatery that Tom's clique hang at all the time and, well, eat there. Chloe goes with him but Tom throws her into invisibility once he's with the rest of his clique.

Chloe deals with enough of that crap. And today, I am Tom. I want her to know that somewhere in him, he cares about her. Even just for a day, I want Chloe to realize that her boyfriend knows how special she is, how special their relationship is.

"Let's ditch the rest of our classes today," I suggest.

Chloe's gaze tells me that she senses something suspicious. I can see her shaking off that notion and going with the flow, thinking that Tom is just a little different today.

"Where are we going?" She says.

"Where do you want to go?"

She taps her chin lightly and thinks for a while. "I want to go to the beach."

A smile uncontrollably shows in Tom's face. "Beach, it is." And yes, I do realize that I'm breaking a multitude of rules here.

Hell to rules.

I take her hand and we walk to the parking lot. The way her fingers link with mine sends the butterflies in. Suddenly, I get filled with this joy that previously has been given to me only by the rarest of music. And now, Chloe is my music. I rub my thumb gently against her skin and she tightens her grip.

When we reached Tom's car, I open the door for her – exactly what a gentleman should do for a lovely lady.

I've been to this town a couple of times, so I know its geography fairly enough. The nearest beach is about an hour away from Barden. I've been there once and I tell you, it is a quiet, serene place. It is a bit off the tracks so people don't usually crowd the lovely place. That's where I'm taking Chloe today.

The first few minutes of our trip fade away in stillness. Chloe starts humming a tune. I'm sensing that she wants to turn the car radio on and lose herself in a song, but as she knows Tom, and he's not fond of music.

"You can turn the radio on if you like, Chloe." I want use Tom's insensitivity just so I can hear her hum so beautifully, but that's selfish, and the way Chloe suppresses herself around her boyfriend kills me.

She smirks and switches it to her favorite radio station where a familiar tune is playing.

"Jeez," I mumble.

Chloe narrows her eyes in confusion. "What?"

And I start to sing with Tom's voice, "You shoot me down, but I won't fall. I am titanium!" I reach out and turn the volume all the way up. "I love this song!" I shout.

She laughs hard. "I love this song too!" She yells over the loud music. And for the duration of the song, we sing at the top of our lungs.

There it is: that connection. I'm singing with her and nothing else feels important to me. My hands are on the steering wheel but my mind locks itself to hearing Chloe sing on perfect tune. I can feel her heart beating in the same rhythm as mine.

Uh-oh. Attached. I'm already attached. I should be panicking, and worrying about how messy tomorrow will be for both Tom and Chloe because of what I'm doing right now. But I love this connection. I love being with Chloe.

Man, Tom has some bad vocal chords. I keep shaking my head off for not being able to hit the right notes the way Chloe does.

"I am titeyy-neeee-yummm!"

And she giggles so cute at my effort. That giggle. I keep wondering why Tom hasn't made it as his ringtone. It is definitely a lovely sound; the kind of sound that takes all your stress away and brings out the best mood in you.

The hype ends with both of us laughing. Another song plays; Chloe sings it and I listen as I drive. The connection grows stronger by each minute. Finally, our hearts distinguish in beats. Mine goes faster. Chloe has that effect on me. It's a big thing, because Tom's body is physically healthy, so his heart don't easily race. And today, I tell you, his pulse is sprinting.

We reach the beach in forty-five minutes. The sun is high but its heat remains friendly to our skins. I peek into Tom's trunk and see a semi-dusty Barden banner lying lazily at the corner.

"This can be our mat," I say.

Chloe chuckles. "Yeah." She gets the banner from my hands and wiggles the dust away from it. "I didn't know you kept this banner. It's from our first date."

Tom can be sweet, after all.

No! Shit. It's not the same banner Chloe is talking about. Tom disposed of it on the day after that alleged date. This one is an identical banner that Tom stole to cover himself when he woke up naked on the grass after a late-night party.

I simply smile at her. She grabs my hand gently and leads me further nearer to the shore. She lays down the mat and sits on it. I sit beside her and wrap an arm around her shoulders – pulling her close. She rests her head onto me, and I run my thumb softly against her arm.

We silently watch as the waves embrace the sand for the first hour. I keep replaying all significant encounters Tom had with Chloe and admire the way she smiles at all the occasions.

"This is a nice note," I say – out of nowhere.

"It is," she replies. "I love it when a day ends with a nice note."

"Tell me about a time like this."

"Like this?"

"Yeah… One that ended with a nice note."

Chloe shifts her position and lies her head on my lap. "It happened last year," she began. "I was in the common bathroom, when I heard this girl sing. And the Bellas badly needed recruits, so I decided not to let an opportunity pass."

My breathing gets a little weird. Oh god. I hope this isn't what I'm thinking this is.

"What was she singing?" I ask.

"That song that we were singing in your car earlier… Titanium," she replies.

Shit. I think I know where this story is going.

"She just entered the bathroom, actually, when she started singing. She disappeared into a shower stall, removed her robe, and opened the water." She chuckles. "I shouldn't be telling you this because it's a little embarrassing."

"No, please. Go on." I laugh nervously.

She clears her throat. "I kind of… jumped into her stall, Tom. I swiped her curtains aside, grinning, - and I startled her. I actually met her earlier that day at the activities fair. She was wearing this thick eye liner, which I found very cute, by the way. And she told me and Aubrey that she doesn't sing. Well, hearing her in the showers, she did sing. And I was way too happy to have discovered her. I um, I told her to audition but she rejected me, that's when I asked-,"

"When you asked her to sing your lady jam," I interrupt illogically.

Chloe looks at me with a confused yet amazed face. "Yeah, I did. How did you know?"

Oooppps…

"And ohmigod, you just said 'lady jam,' I'm thrilled." She giggles.

That was her! That was Chloe! Last year, I got into the body of Beca Mitchell. Beca was the girl that Chloe described – the one whose shower stall she charged into without proper permission. I never knew Chloe's name back then. On that day, I was Beca; I was the one she sang Titanium with. How the hell did I forget that?!

Oh, right. My rule: Don't get attached.

I cried so hard on that night. It's not every day that you get to meet a bubbly redhead with strong-willed blue eyes who had you trapped under her spell. It was only last year, but I almost had it erased completely from memory.

I remember Chloe's fiery red hair tied up in a messy bun – the way it defines her well-carved jaw line even more. I remember that same connection when we sang in the shower stall. I remember her happily telling me that they once backed up for Prince. Chloe was so outgoing and cheerful – a big contradiction to the shy-type mannerisms that she is sporting now.

This is not her. This is not the real Chloe Beale. Tom should change his ways and recognize how strong of a woman his girl is. And he should let her know that every minute of every day.

The time I became Beca Mitchell still remains as one of my most cherished days – all because I met Chloe for the first time. I remember deciding to change my name into 'Beca' so a little part of that day stays with me – even though I had to start forgetting about her. Again, refer to my rule: Don't get attached. I got pretty attached that day, and I couldn't live with that. I couldn't live with the hardship of wishing day by day to see that perky redhead again, because I knew I wouldn't be able to be with her and make her happy.

Borrowing Tom's body gives me this kind of bliss – all because I get to witness Chloe's smiles again.

This coincidence, what a nice note… There isn't a second that I don't admire her. I let go of my memory of her once; I'm never doing that again… Not this time.

"Why was it a nice note?" I inquire.

She smirks. "I kinda like her – the naked girl."

"You were naked too, at that time."

Chloe giggles. "Her name was Beca. I looked her up. It was a nice note because I got so daring and jumped into her stall without bothering to put up a robe. I hope I'm not making you a little uncomfortable, Tom."

"Not at all."

"How 'bout you?" Chloe gets off my lap and lies flat on the mat. "Tell me about a day like this."

I lie flat beside her, - my hands propped under my head. We both set our eyes to the orange skies.

I don't have time to access Tom's memories for a day that ended with a nice note. I doubt that Tom even keeps nice notes. So I dig memories from other days and smile when a certain thought flashes back.

I can't make it as Tom's past, as it is an insult to his personality. Instead, I decide to make it as a story about a girl he once knew.

"I was just a kid, and there was this girl who just got a mixing equipment from her father," I began. Technically, it was Beca Mitchell's story – I was indirectly telling Chloe about the time I had tried my hands on mixing songs using Beca's equipment and talent. I enjoyed it so much – which is why Beca Mitchell was a very important girl to me.

For the next minutes, I tell Chloe of how that 'girl' enjoyed learning how to mix music. I use words that perfectly describe how I felt that day – how music saved me. Chloe moves over and cuddles into me. I wrap my arm around her and hold her close. I can feel her smiling with every word that I say. I can feel her connecting to my story.

We alternately tell stories about beautiful times for the rest of the afternoon. When the sun is about to leave the skies in darkness, we pack up and head back to Tom's car. The trip back is filled with more stories and more singing. I thank that radio DJ for coincidentally playing my favorite playlist, song by song. Chloe tells me that she loves every song that plays. It drives me crazy that we have so much in common.

It is dark, and I must take her home safely. From Tom's head, I seek the directions to Chloe's house. I pull over in front of a Victorian-themed mansion – where the Beale home resides. We share a short exchange of looks, before she releases her seatbelt and moves to me – placing her soft lips to mine. Chloe brings a hand to the back of my head and clutches strands of my hair as our kiss grows harder and more passionate.

She breaks the tension as the need for air arises. I pant lightly as I stare into her beautiful eyes – her eyes that shine so glorious even with the aid of only the moon's little light.

"I love you," I say. I'm not sure if it's a Tom thing, but I tell her anyway.

I can see her cheeks turning into a rare shade of delicate pink. "I love you too," she replies. And she leaves Tom's car.

I watch her as she turns around and walks across their lawn. I watch her as she fills her head with love for Tom.

For Tom, and not me…

And like some days, leaving becomes so hard. A part of me screams for Chloe to come back and take a deeper look into my core. A part of me longs for her to realize that the person she spent the afternoon with at the beach is someone who loves every inch of her. A part of me wants to jump out of Tom's car, chase her, and tell her that I am not Tom – that I'm Beca, and that I love her and the way she makes a big deal out of every tiny splendor around.

And tomorrow, it is not me who gets to see Chloe smile as she approaches. It is Tom. He won't even have a clue of things that happened today, and yet he gets to receive her warmth, the balminess that I have caused and not he.

I once let her go, and it nearly shattered me to a million pieces. I don't know if I can endure the same pain all over again. Tomorrow, I will be in a different body, in a different place. I will have to live with the agony, and the anger… but I won't let go of the scars, as it's all that makes me know that I'm alive.

fin

A/N. I originally decided this to be a multi-chapter fic, but my outlining went so messy along the way, so I made this my first one-shot instead. Tell me what you think! Please leave reviews! They'll help me improve. Thank you!