Chapter Text
Carrying an all too light laundry basket into the laundry room of her apartment complex, Clarke realized how odd she must have looked to an onlookers eye. Her stark blonde hair was matted down with sweat and sidelong tears which did not accompany the sweater dress she decided to throw on. What little mascara she put on the night before was now smeared under her eyes which made her wonder if she might be related to a raccoon. As soon as the smell of laundry detergent and tequila? hit her, she snapped out of her self-scrutiny and made her way to the closest washer and dryer.
She quickly dumped the contents of her basket into the machine and popped a Tide Pod in just as she shut the door to the front-loading washer. Mechanically, she inserted her quarters into their necessary spots and quickly contemplated if it would be cheaper to buy a washer and dryer in the long run. The overwhelming answer to her question was a resounding no . She wasn’t ready to make her modest apartment a permanent home for her, not when there were still so many things left undecided.
After a long sigh escaped Clarke’s mouth, she grabbed her laundry basket and turned on the heels of her sneakers to head for the door, but jumped back in surprise when she saw a man standing in front of her.
As she scrambled backwards, the space between the two quickly increased from 8 inches to 8 feet. In her haste, Clarke dropped her basket and went to reach for when she was stopped by the open door of one of the laundry machines. As Clarke started to fall backward, she ultimately decided that this was definitely not how she wanted her long day to end, but was pleasantly surprised when a pair of strong, muscular arms caught her halfway through her descend.
Clarke quickly opened her eyes that she did not realize were closed and looked up to the intriguing man that was staring right back at her. His dark complexion complemented his even darker brown hair that curled at the ends perfectly. The man’s chocolate brown eyes were looking down at her with more emotion than she thought could ever exist, piercing yet calm and soft. The freckles that dotted his cheekbones were enough to make Clarke blush, until she noticed the burning stench of alcohol radiating off of his body. She took a deep breath and noticed the air smelled slightly of tequila. At least, Clarke’s senses were still working properly.
She tried to squirm out of his hold on her, but all of her attempts were useless. Clarke opened her mouth to begin chastising the man for holding her so long, but couldn’t get a sound out as the man began to speak instead of her.
“Hey, Princess,” he drawled.
His voice was smoky and smooth, and laced with a significant amount of alcohol.
As she was about to give up, Clarke finally escaped the man’s grasp and briskly took a few large steps to distance herself from the person that was holding her just a moment earlier.
“Princess?” Clarke questioned. “You are definitely not sober.”
“You can tell?” the man looked utterly appalled.
“I guess I’m just perceptive,” Clarke shrugged and the man stumbled, as if his legs were playing a game of Tug-of-War. She quickly ran over to the man, as he struggled to keep himself up. Luckily, he threw his hands out in front of him which caught onto one of the dryers. Clarke hauled him up, but he stepped backward refusing her help.
“You saved me, don’t I get to save you?” Clarke said expectantly.
“Of course not. You were a damsel in distress, you needed saving. Not me,” the man shot back.
“Alright,” Clarke said as the man finally gave into her and accepted her help. “Before you say anything else stupid and ruin your reputation with me even more than you already have, start talking about something else.”
Clarke had successfully hoisted the man up and set him down in a chair across from the machine her clothes were currently being washed in.
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” he said resentfully as he pouted and crossed his arms.
“I actually don’t know if that’s the alcohol talking or not,” Clarke said matter-of-factly. “What’s your name anyway?”
The man’s face suddenly lit up and he sat up just a bit straighter. As he extended his arm, the man finally introduced himself.
“Bellamy Blake, PhD in history from the American University in DC,” he said in a rehearsed voice.
Clarke extended her arm and shook Bellamy’s hand which was oddly calloused for a history major.
“Clarke Griffin, MD PhD.”
“You know, I prefer Princess,” Bellamy said while retracting his hand and looking utterly defeated once more.
“And you know I’m not letting you go home in the shape you’re in,” Clarke shot-back.
“Are you trying to take advantage of me, Princess?” Bellamy said with a smirk.
“In your dreams, Blake.”
The two kept a steady pace of making rhetorical remarks and arguing about everything. As soon as they finished fighting over one thing, Bellamy found another topic to question Clarke about. She answered as honestly as possible which usually caused a screaming battle between her and the freckled man. Clarke was fairly certain Bellamy would not be able to recall any of this information the following morning, so she allowed herself to be as ruthless and stubborn as she wanted.
After a bit more squabbling between the two, a cycle of laundry and a travel size bottle of bourbon, Clarke managed to get Bellamy into the elevator with her and her laundry basket.
As the elevator climbed it’s way to the 4th floor of the apartment building, Clarke quickly glanced over to Bellamy and smiled to herself. Though Clarke would never admit that she had fun tonight, Bellamy had definitely made her night better.
Once the elevator reached Clarke’s floor, she was only a few steps from her apartment. Apartment 4C consisted of a few well-organized rooms that could somehow always lift Clarke’s spirits, but it was far away from being the home she truly wanted.
As soon as Clarke was inside, she instinctively turned toward her kitchen to fetch Bellamy a bottle of cold water.
“You can take off your shoes and leave them by - ” was as far as Clarke made it before she turned around to face her living room and noticed Bellamy fast asleep on her navy blue couch.
Clarke grabbed two pills of aspirin and set them down alongside the bottle of water on the coffee table next to the couch where Bellamy lay sprawled, covering as much of the couch as possible.
Clarke began to walk away, but snuck one more glance at Bellamy before making her way to her bedroom. The rising and falling of his chest made her content for some reason and she figured that the both of them have probably had a long day. It takes a bad situation for someone to get that drunk and an equally bad one to drive someone to do laundry in the middle of the night with mascara running down their cheeks.
As Clarke finally looked away and resumed walking toward her bedroom, she decided that Bellamy Blake would be a problem for another day.