Chapter Text
The diner bell clanged, and Clarke looked up from the sugar containers she had been refilling. Usually nobody came in around this time on a Saturday night, since it was well past the dinner rush but not quite late enough for the few drunken, hungry idiots the town pub inevitably produced to stumble in.
She was even more surprised when Bellamy was the one leading the group, and her eyes widened as she took in his stormy expression. Monty and Miller, who shuffled in behind him, didn’t look much better—Monty seemed like he was about to throw up, and Miller looked horrendously depressed. The last member of the group was unfamiliar, a shorter guy with shifty eyes and floppy, greasy brown hair sticking out from underneath an extremely large, bright blue beanie. As he looked around her diner, his nose scrunched in disdain, and she distinctly heard him mutter something about why in the world are we in this shit-hole of an establishment.
Well, fuck you too, Clarke thought, slapping a rag down as she scrubbed the counter furiously. She had to count to ten so she didn’t order him straight back out of the diner and thereby insult whomever of her friends had brought him.
The fact that in response, Bellamy launched out of his chair, its feet screeching along the linoleum floor, and prowled over to the counter made her feel a lot better.
“So I guess he’s not with you?” She asked under her breath, automatically filling up a cup of coffee for him, which he took gratefully.
“Depends on what you mean by with,” Bellamy grumbled as he posted up on one of the stools.
Clarke just raised her eyebrows, even more intrigued.
Before she could even ask him to elaborate, he cracked with a doleful sigh. “Monty finally asked Miller out.”
“About damn time.” Clarke slid an excited glance over at the couple. Both of them still looked miserable, however, while their guest slumped in his chair scowling, which was not a promising sign for a first date. “So what’s the matter?”
“Miller’s cousin, Murphy, was in town for the weekend, and being the idiot that my best friend is, he decided instead of asking Monty to reschedule, he, you know, told him they could make it a double date—they just had to find someone for his cousin.”
“No!” Clarke spluttered, finally catching his drift, and then began cackling. “Oh shit, no way.”
Bellamy just glowered over the rim of his cup in response, his glum expression causing her to laugh even harder.
“You’re a good friend,” she offered gleefully when she finally caught her breath again.
“I mean, I used to double date with him in college, no big deal. I even got some good hookups out of it, but this—he owes me big for this one.”
“Murphy not your type?” She teased.
“Asshole isn’t my type.”
“Aw, what did he do?”
“My hair is too messy. Oh, and apparently my voice is weirdly low.”
Clarke snorted, then without thinking reached over and ruffled his hair, carding her fingers through the dark locks. It stuck up in even more disarray than before, like he had just gotten out of bed and hadn’t combed it yet. She pointedly ignored the way her pulse leapt at the sight, instead leaning back and looking at him in contemplation.
“Well, I have no objections,” she finally said, feeling her cheeks heat up when he gave her an odd, curious look in response. Flustered, she changed the subject. “So what else did Murphy do?”
“Well, after that lovely introduction, he spent the entire dinner glaring at me, but it didn’t freak me out until he started decapitating the deer-shaped butter things at the table, staring straight in my direction the whole while. That was also about the time that Miller told the fiftieth story to me about Octavia, having been ignoring Monty completely the whole time.”
“So it’s a disaster.”
“Disaster is a very, very kind word for what tonight is.”
Sighing, because Monty really needed to get laid, and specifically by Miller, she tied her apron back on and called out for Jasper to fire up the grill. “What do you guys want?”
“Burgers for the three of us. Murphy isn’t hungry, apparently.”
Clarke looked over at the table, considering Bellamy’s “date” carefully. He kept fiddling with the edge of that ridiculous cap, which clashed horribly with the jean jacket, jeans, and blue shirt he was wearing. Suddenly, an idea struck her.
“Smurphy.”
Bellamy choked on his sip of coffee, coughing out an amused, “What?”
“Look, he’s wearing all blue, and that hat is absurd. So I dub him Smurphy.”
The loud ring of Bellamy’s pleased laughter had their friends and the two other patrons in the diner turning to look at the pair of them. The attention didn’t deter Bellamy though, and he kept laughing, bracing his arms on the counter as he leaned forward, shoulders shaking in amusement. Clarke found herself beaming, less at the joke and more at the relaxation that was reappearing in every line of his body.
The moment was lost, however, when Murphy sprang up and shouted, “Miller, I want to go.”
“Murphy, sit down,” Miller pleaded in a soft grumble.
“This is bullshit. Let’s just go home, c’mon. I want to go. It’s Saturday, and I just want to go play darts. C’mon.”
Miller, clearly torn, sent an apologetic glance at Monty, shifting in his seat as he prepared to stand.
“Stay!” Monty blurted, fisting his hands nervously as they rested on the tabletop before continuing more quietly. “Please, stay. We haven’t even really started our date yet.”
There was a pause, a breathless, nerve-wracking beat, then Miller smiled, relieved and encouraged, and he settled back down into his chair.
“You know the way home, Murphy,” he said firmly, staring up at his cousin impassively. “Feel free to leave. I, however, am on a date.”
Murphy scowled, his face twisting into an even more unpleasant expression, even if Clarke didn’t know how that was possible. With a displeased huff, he stormed for the door, pausing to glare at her and Bellamy, who looked positively joyful at the guy’s departure.
“Bye, Smurphy!” Bellamy rumbled out, and Clarke swore he had dropped his voice an octave lower on purpose. She barely stifled the snorting laughter choking her throat as Murphy slammed the diner door behind him, the bell ringing violently in his wake.
Clarke slid a glance over at Miller and Monty to see how they felt about the exchange, but the boys were just staring at each other, grinning stupidly.
“Finally,” Bellamy muttered under his breath, and Clarke caught his lips curving up into a fond smile as he also looked at the pair.
“Order up!” Jasper called out from the back.
“I’ll just eat here,” Bellamy told her softly. “They deserve to have some time alone.”
Nodding, Clarke grabbed the plates Jasper had slid over the kitchen partition and brought them over to the boys’ table, quickly leaving them in peace. Then she brought Bellamy his plate, slapping down a blank order pad and pen next to it.
When he looked at her questioningly, a few fries sticking out of his stuffed mouth, she grinned. “A lady never abandons a gentleman who was been stood up on a date.”
Snorting, Bellamy gulped down another sip of coffee and then asked, “What did you have in mind?”
Clarke uncapped the pen and began drawing. “Hangman.”
He laughed softly, as Clarke knew he would, because this was his favorite game. So, between bites, he called out letters, and while he normally crushed her at this, tonight he wasn’t doing so hot. Finally, he guessed his last chance, incorrectly, and Clarke was doubly glad. One, because she had finally beaten him, and two, because she really wanted him to see the surprise she had in store for the final piece of the hanged man. Letting the pen glide over the paper, she drew a circle for the head, then traced back up and added one more feature, something that set Bellamy off laughing again, the deep, happy sound sending warm tingles up Clarke’s spine.
“You hung Smurphy,” she teased, outlining the beanie she had added to her stick figure.
“If only,” he joked back, swallowing the last of his meal. “Rematch?”
Surprised, because Clarke thought he’d be out of there, ready to get away from the scene of the worst date of all time, she flicked a curious glance at him. “Really?”
Bellamy quirked a warm smile at her, affection twinkling in his eyes as he grabbed the pen and paper from her. “Have to defend my title as the Word King.”
Clarke raised her eyebrows in challenge, leaning forward on the counter in anticipation for the next round, and for more time spent with him. “Bring it on, your majesty.”