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“Get your shit together, we're going to the beach.”
Clarke sits up on her elbows to glance at the clock on her bedside table, only to flop back down with a groan when she sees the time. “Fuck you, Bellamy, it’s six in the morning, I’m hanging up the phone.”
“I'll be there in fifteen. Be ready or I’m dragging your ass out of there.”
She groans again before ending the call and burying herself underneath the covers.
Clarke doesn't remember what it's like to have a good night’s sleep, what with her recent schedule that's got her working insanely ridiculous hours at the hospital for her residency – sixteen hours straight with very few caffeine breaks can be taxing on anyone. Which is not to even mention her mother’s wedding that’s coming up in a couple of months. But she's not ready to talk about that yet, let alone even think about it, so she files that away in her things I want to forget or I will goddamn lose it folder.
Her front door opens and shuts exactly fifteen minutes later and she hopes hopes that it's Raven, even though she knows that it's highly unlikely because Raven gets up to go to the gym at five and doesn't get back until around ten, every fucking morning. Clarke only knows one other person with access to their place. “God, I regret giving him a spare key so much.”
She slides out of her bed and trudges to her door to lock it, resting her head against it because she's too tired to even move.
“Jesus, Clarke, this place is a mess, when was the last time you dusted?” Bellamy calls from somewhere in the apartment. He's probably cleaning up as he makes his way through.
“Maybe in a past life.”
He tries to open her bedroom door and when it doesn't give, he sighs and says, “So we’re doing this again, that's cool. You gonna let me in, Clarke?” She can hear the exasperation clear in his voice.
“No. It's six in the morning, Bellamy. Who goes to the beach at six in the morning? The sun is barely up, which means that my ass? Stays in bed.”
“This is absolutely the best time to go to the beach and you'd know that if you ever gave it a chance. You've been tiring yourself out all week, princess. You need to get out of this apartment and get some fresh air. Relax a little.”
“You know what's relaxing? Sleeping until four in the afternoon. Get out of my apartment, Bellamy, I'm confiscating your key.”
He tries a different approach. “I heard you're trying to be vegetarian, so I made mashed chick pea sandwiches for lunch. Raven suggested a kale smoothie too? Didn't know what that was so I had to look it up and honestly, Clarke, I really don't know how you people do it.”
“That's very sweet, but I dropped that already. Too hard.”
“She said you only started three days ago.”
“That's three days too long without chicken tacos.”
“I swear to God, Clarke – “
“I'm going back to bed! Let me know how the water was when I see you tomorrow.”
He sighs deeply and she feels a little bad about being difficult. “You do know that I can pick a lock, right? You're not the only childish brat I've had to deal with in my life.”
“Hey! Don't lump me in with Octavia, that's just offensive.”
“Then goddamn let me in.”
She groans, loudly, so he knows how she really feels about this entire situation, and unlocks the door for him. He's standing across the threshold with a grin on his face, his glasses slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose, and the worst part is that he's – not like she cares, but – shirtless. So, so shirtless. After taking a rather too long look at the cut of his abs, she groans again and turns around to flop face first into her bed. This is just so unfair.
“When did you get so dramatic?” he asks with an amused half-smile, like he thinks she's just so fucking funny, and walks into her room, setting the beach bag on her computer chair to rummage in her closet. He pulls out a bikini and throws it onto Clarke’s bed after appraising it.
“Since you woke me up at six in the goddamn morning,” she mumbles into her sheets.
“You can take a nap at the beach while you tan. You're getting a little pasty.”
Clarke swipes a pillow and chucks it at him.
He laughs and sits at the edge of her bed, cupping the back of her thigh to give it a friendly shake. She's so glad she wore sweats to sleep. “It'll be fun, I promise.”
“You said that about the history museum with all that ancient Roman shit last month and I almost threw myself off the balcony.”
“Why are you lying? You loved it.”
He's right, she did. Clarke may not have cared about any of the shit they were showcasing, but Bellamy obviously did, and unfortunately for her she cares about anything he cares about.
“Apparently I’m a better actor than I gave myself credit for.”
“Clarke.” God, she knows she's fucked now because his voice is doing that thing where it gets all soft and sad and it's inevitable that she's going to cave to it any minute. It's a good thing that she can't see his eyes. “We haven't spent time together in – I can't even remember how long it's been.”
She can: three weeks, five days, sixteen hours. Not like she's been counting or whatever. Not like she can only keep track of days anymore in relation to the last time she saw him. Because that would be ridiculous. And grossly pathetic.
“Please.”
“Jesus, don't sound like I just kicked your puppy,” she whines and sits up in bed, dropping her head onto his shoulder. She feels his hand at the back of her neck. “Not like I could say no to you anyway.”
“That's my girl,” he says, a little pride in his voice that makes her roll her eyes. “Now, change your clothes and we'll reconvene in ten minutes. Go!”
“I'm not too sure how I feel about chipper Bellamy,” she says, squinting her eyes at him. “I think I prefer it when you're irritable and impossible to deal with.”
“Which is like ninety percent of the time.” He gently shoves at her shoulder. “Stop stalling and get up. I'll even make you pancakes, how about that?”
“You chose the wrong day to be that breakfast guy in the sun costume.”
“Just put on your fucking clothes, Clarke, my god,” he mutters, slightly annoyed, as he gets up from her bed. She instantly misses his warmth and the view of his chest, but his back as he's walking out of her room is pretty nice too.
“Hey, Bellamy,” she calls out. He turns and raises his eyebrows in question, absently scratching under his navel. His hair is a little bit shorter now, she notices, and it hits her all at once how much she's missed seeing him everyday. She's never going three entire weeks without seeing Bellamy ever again. “I – uh. Missed you too, just in case that wasn't already clear.”
He gives her a closed-mouth smile, ducking his head like he does when people show him any type of affection. “I know.”
“Really? Because I yelled at you and threatened to take your key away.”
He grins then, all teeth, and it shoots something like lightning into her veins. Not for the first time, she's bombarded with the I am so goddamn lucky to know you sentiment that happens on occasion whenever Bellamy offers her a smile like that. She hasn't seen it in what seems like forever, so it makes it even sweeter that she’s the one that can pull it out of him. Even when she is being a piece of shit.
“Not like it's even my key anyway,” he replies with a shrug. “You can take it back any time you want.”
That's literally never gonna happen is her immediate response, but she just nods and lets him close her door to give her some privacy.
It's kind of funny how they got to where they are now, in that terribly clichéd kind of way. She and Bellamy had had a rocky beginning when they met during an unfortunate run-in in the campus parking lot, starting with the simple fact that he hated her because he thought she was an elitist princess whose basis of survival relied on leeching off of her parents’ bank accounts, and she hated him because he was a hotheaded asshole with no filter.
But of course, god – or luck, destiny, the guiding hand of fate, she doesn't know – hated the both of them twice as much, because they were somehow thrown into the same friend group. Monty, a guy she instantly latched onto in her biology lab the second semester, dragged her along to a campus bar one night so she can meet his friends. She liked all of them, of course, a little found family that welcomed her with open arms, despite how different they all were.
And then he walked in.
The first thing she thought when she saw Bellamy Blake, although she'd deny it if anyone ever asked, was how effortlessly attractive he is. The second was, what the fuck, this goddamn fucking asshole—
She knew he recognized her at the same time she did because he stopped in his tracks and threw her a double take. His eyes scanned the booth, regarding all of his friends, before landing on hers again with notable resentment. He pasted on a wry grin and slid in beside Miller, across from her. “Someone explain to me what's happening right now.”
“This is Clarke,” Monty had said, an easy smile on his face. “She's in my bio – “
“I don't care,” Bellamy had cut in. His eyes never wavered from hers, and she responded in kind, lifting her chin like the fucking princess she is. “What is she doing here? This is a sacred place, Monty, you know this. I never took you for the Judas type.”
Raven had rolled her eyes. Clarke had already liked her from before, when they met after the Finn Debacle of ’13, which she honestly never wants to think about again, so she appreciated it a lot more when it came from her. “Cut the shit, Bellamy, I can speak for everyone when I say we’re all goddamn tired of your dramatics.”
“She's cool, man,” Jasper reassured, although Clarke knew he was going to remain unconvinced no matter what anyone said. “I bet all my money she can drink you under the table.”
Bellamy had just glared at him, as if to say et tu, brute?
A girl with dark hair and a permanent scowl had sauntered in a few moments later to slide into the booth next to Jasper, shoving at him to make some room for her big attitude. Clarke had recognized her too. She had been sitting in the passengers seat of Bellamy’s rusted ass piece of shit car that day, when Clarke had unknowingly swerved into the parking space he was about to turn to. In her defense, she hadn't been in the right frame of mind considering she'd had to deal with her father’s death three months prior, so she didn't see his car idling there. Nor did she see him jumping out of it to storm over to hers until she heard the tapping against her window, and he’d stood there waiting for her to roll it down with his arms crossed over his chest, so he could rip her a new one. She doesn't think she’s ever heard anyone use the word “entitled” in the span of three minutes as much as Bellamy had that day.
It took a while for the tension to ease up after their first official meeting. They hardly ever spoke one word to each other, still tending to bruised egos, and if they did, it was short and from a place of agitation. Their friends were used to them arguing over every little possible thing, trivial or otherwise. Sometimes they even bordered on flirting, although both Bellamy and Clarke were always quick to deny Raven’s baseless accusations. Because there’s no way Clarke would ever flirt with a boy as pretentious and irritating as Bellamy, and there’s no way Bellamy would ever flirt with a girl as annoying and self-righteous as Clarke. Obviously.
But as she got to know him better Clarke had been having trouble staying angry at him when she had to accept the fact that he was actually incredibly smart – possibly the smartest person she's ever met – and hard-working. It took a while to get the whole story – only snagging pieces here and there from Octavia and Miller at first – but she learned that his mother died when he was eighteen, that he never knew his father, that he'd been the one to take care of Octavia ever since she was born with not even a semblance of gratitude from her.
When it was just the two of them drunk at the bar one night, the others ditching them out of annoyance, he told her that he dropped out of high school when he was sixteen so he can support his family after he realized that their mother didn't have the capability. With the money from working two jobs, the money he saved from not going to college, and the scholarships she was offered, Bellamy was able to get Octavia into a decent university. He says that that is his greatest accomplishment, and it’s sweet, but more often than not Clarke found herself wishing he would take some time to care about himself as much as he cares about other people.
As soon as she had that thought, she realized how fucked she was. That once you start caring about Bellamy Blake there’s no coming back from it.
But as for Bellamy, it took a little bit longer for him to come around, mainly because of the fact that she never really discussed anything in her past with anyone. Clarke found it difficult to open up to even the people she trusted most, didn't like how everyone treated her differently because of it, as hypocritical as that is. If that meant Bellamy still thinking she was a rich bitch coasting through life on a trust fund that never ran dry, then fine. She can live with that.
Until it was the anniversary of father’s death and she didn't show up to the bar one night, without telling anyone. Raven had called her six times and left scathing but worried voicemails, Monty sent her text messages asking if she was okay, but the most surprising was when Bellamy showed up at her door with his hands in his pockets and a lame excuse of Octavia forcing him to go check on her, which she absolutely did not believe.
She didn't want Bellamy to see her like this, eyes red, hair a mess of a ponytail, half empty bottles of Jake Griffin’s favorite whiskey sitting out on the coffee table untouched. This was Clarke: unpolished, vulnerable, exposed. It was her least favorite feeling to be raw in front of someone else, especially if that someone was Bellamy Blake. But he made it easy, somehow. He's always been the caretaker of the group, the one to hold your hair back when you throw up, the one to bring chicken noodle soup when you’re sick, the one to remember to bring the water bottles and sunscreen. It's just who he is. Although Clarke never imagined that his tendencies to take care of people would extend to her.
Things changed after that, after she left herself bare for him to see all the ways she's fucked up. She's sure he liked her better because of it, liked how she wasn't so put together, so self-righteous. Liked how she had scars too, as they all did, and she was scared and brave and human enough to show them to him.
It's not like they instantly became best friends after that, they still had things to work through. Bellamy still couldn't get past the fact that she came from money, even after he found out that she and her mother had been estranged.
But they got there, eventually. It was a slow and gradual shift, like something finally clicking into place when they realized just to what extent they cared about each other. It scared her a little, at first, the thought of doing anything for Bellamy, no matter the cost. She'd never felt that way about anyone before, not even for Finn, not even for Lexa.
Clarke had never imagined that he would become her favorite person in the entire world. And maybe she's a little bit in love with him, too, but that's fine. It's just become a part of who she is now.
*
“I think it's time to say goodbye to this car, Bellamy,” Clarke says ruefully as she shuts the passengers door behind her, careful not to slam too hard. “It's literally falling apart. Are you even seeing the same thing I am? This door is being held together with duct tape.”
“It's not about that,” he says as he walks over to the trunk to dig out the cooler and beach chairs, handing over some shit for her to carry. “There are countless memories in here, Clarke. Miller’s blood is still on the seat from when he broke his nose trying to fight Murphy and I had to take him to the hospital. There's the grape juice stain on the floor courtesy of six year old Octavia. And remember I told you I kissed Gina Martin in the tenth grade in the backseat of this rust wagon? I can't get rid of it.”
Clarke shifts the beach ball underneath one arm to the other. “I get that, you're a romantic and a hoarder. But, God, Bell, it's committing suicide every time it stalls in the middle of the highway. I would like not to feel like it's gonna be my last day on this earth each time I get into this piece of junk with you.”
“Drink your coffee, you're being dramatic again.”
“That’s real rich, coming for you.” She rolls her eyes and turns around after he slams the trunk closed. “I don't know how many times I have to say that you've got a death wish for you to finally believe me.”
“And don't call my car junk,” he grumbles from behind her. “It's got character.”
“Whatever, I’m done talking about this with you,” she mumbles and they set up their towels in the sand. It's just a little after seven, so there's not that many people out yet. She likes it better this way, just her and Bellamy and endless miles of ocean.
Clarke remembers him telling her how he used to go to the beach every weekend with Octavia when they were growing up, waking up early to catch the morning bus and staying as long as they can. It was the cheapest way to have fun, and Octavia was always easily amused as a child. It makes her wonder if maybe this is his safe place.
“Do you wanna pick a book?” he asks as he sits down next to her, squirting a dollop of sunscreen into the palm of his hand. He's, unfortunately, still shirtless so she has to figure out how to deal with that without losing her mind. Which is something she's not unaccustomed to. “I brought extra.”
Clarke shoves her sunglasses on her head. “Of course you did.” She rummages through the bag, bypassing all the mythology-related covers with its dog eared pages and weathered spines. Her eye catches on to the bright green hardcover when she sees it, and pulls it out quickly. "The Giving Tree?"
“It's your favorite, right?”
“Yeah. A depressing children’s book with pictures, just what I like.”
“See, I pay attention.”
She smiles slightly and opens up the book. It didn't really become her favorite until she met him, mostly because he reminded her of it. Bellamy Blake, the one who's always giving and giving and giving. His sister, always taking and taking and taking. It made her sad to think about, that he'd centered his entire life around making his sister happy without expecting anything in return. She closes the book and puts it back, picking up a magazine instead.
“You need help with the sunscreen?” he asks then when he's done covering his chest. Clarke’s gotten really good at pretending she doesn't care about his chest, but he's a goddamn fucking miracle if she's ever seen one. “You always miss spots on your shoulders and get weird sunburned patterns.”
She scoots over to sit between Bellamy’s thighs. “Sure, just don't get handsy. I know this move.”
He rolls his eyes and amusement pulls the corners of his lips up. “I'll try my hardest.”
His hands are warm and firm on her back and Clarke is doing everything she can not to lean back into them. He lifts up her bikini band to get underneath and when Clarke lifts her hair from her shoulders she can feel his breath on her neck. This is fine, it's totally fine.
“It sure is a nice day, isn't it?” she chirps, just for the sake of saying something. “Not so bad going to the beach this early.”
“Mhm,” he responds, and Clarke instantly resents the amusement laced into the sound. “You think you can do this again?”
“Absolutely not.”
He laughs and then pats her on the side. “Alright, I'm done.”
They lay there and read for a while. Although, Clarke is mostly trying to ignore the way one of his arms is crossed behind his head and the other holds the book on his chest close to his face. Everything Bellamy Blake does is distracting and it's really, really not fair. She needs to get a fucking grip. She's like a ten year old boy with a crush on his hot camp counselor.
“Hey, you got something picked out for Miller and Bryan’s wedding yet?” he asks at one point without taking his eyes off the page.
“Yeah, Raven and I went shopping last week,” she tells him, sitting up on her hands. Clarke looks up at Bellamy then, and it slams into her like a tidal wave. That she doesn't know how not to love him. All honey warm eyes and golden skin, she can’t really blame the sun for wanting to touch him all over. “We’re picking up our bridesmaids dresses tomorrow.”
Miller and Bryan are getting married in a small outside venue in three weeks time, which means that they've hardly seen them with all the last minute planning. She’s not going to admit it out loud, but the shallow part of Clarke resents Miller appointing Bellamy as his best man a little bit because it’s taken so much time from them spending it with each other.
“You got your tux yet?” Clarke asks, and she's definitely not imagining how good Bellamy would look in a tux.
“I was going to wear the one I wore to my mom’s funeral, but then Octavia told me that that was too morbid,” he tells her. “Plus, my ankles were showing. You think I can tag along with you guys tomorrow?”
She rolls her eyes and smiles fondly. “You're a disaster.”
“Never argued against that.”
“Hey, did you know that there's a running bet that Raven and Luna are gonna hook up at the wedding,” Clarke tells him. “It's at 75 now.”
“I really thought they were already hooking up.”
“No, Raven’s just loudly wishful.”
“Understandable,” he says with a nod. “Harper’s definitely gonna hook up with Monty. I’m calling that.”
Clarke lifts an eyebrow. “You think that hasn't been called already?”
Bellamy sits up and turns to face her. “Okay, when are these things happening? Why am I missing this stuff? Are you guys hanging out without me?”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Yeah, we hate you so much we made up an Anti-Bellamy Blake club where all we do is talk shit about you. Last week, we discussed how your naturally perfect hair made us all feel inferior.”
He leans his head back and smiles down at her. “You the president?”
“Obviously.” She bumps her head on his shoulder. “Seriously though, you’ve been busy lately.”
He rubs his face with his hand. “Yeah, you too.”
“I'll just quit my job at the hospital so I can spend more time with you. Problem solved.”
“You really need to stop being so good at deadpan because I honestly cannot tell if you're joking.”
“Half-joking. Twenty-five percent joking.”
Bellamy gives her a look bordering on amused and exasperated. She's used to that look by now, almost counts on the next time she's going to see it. “Don't even joke about quitting your job, Clarke. Your rent is ridiculous.”
“If anything, I could become an artist like I’ve always wanted and move in with you. I'm sure my mother would get a kick out of that.”
“Sounds like a great idea. I’ll get a couple body bags ready for when she sends out a hit on us both.”
“Hm. Thanksgivings sure would be awkward. Griffin, party of 1.”
“You're terrible. I'm not having this conversation again.” He flops back down and covers his eyes with his arm.
“So, hypothetically speaking, you wouldn't want to live with me.”
“You live with Raven, I think you're pretty set in the roommate department.”
“That's why I said hypothetically.”
He lifts his arm up to look at her. “I wouldn't completely hate it.”
“That's reassuring,” she says as she rolls her eyes.
His own are narrowed as he considers her. “Why are you asking?”
"I dunno." Clarke shrugs, digs her hand deep into the sand and mumbles, “Just because.”
“Just because what, Clarke?”
She doesn't say anything for a while, not sure if she should just get it over with and tell him how she feels or if she should continue living with it on her own. Because she's not exactly sure where he stands and he's already got so much to worry about in his life, which she completely understands should take precedent over her stupid feelings for him.
So Clarke doesn't mind it, that he might not be there yet. She's not going to force him to reciprocate her feelings because she knows that you can't make people feel something they don't want to and sometimes the people you love don't love you back and that's okay. She's okay.
But she's tired of loving him quietly, of not knowing for sure, and if he doesn't feel the same way, then that's fine. She can learn to live with that too.
“There's another betting pool,” she tells him.
“What does that have to do—“
“It's you and me,” she interrupts before she loses her courage. “They're betting on you and me.”
His eyelashes flutter rapidly and he clears his throat as he processes her statement. Bellamy has always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, but she can't pinpoint what he’s thinking at this moment. Which might also have to do with the distracting roaring in her ears. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” She's already starting to regret bringing this up.
“Does everybody think that we're…”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Okay. Mhm. Interesting.”
“That's all you have to say? Interesting?"
“Well, what exactly do you want me to say, Clarke? Sorry? I can't control what people think about us.”
“Cool, okay, never mind then.”
Talking to someone about feelings is already hard for her as it is, and Bellamy doesn't exactly make it easy when he acts like he doesn't give a shit.
Five minutes later, she opens her mouth again. Because she has no self control. “So it doesn't bother you? That people think we should – fuck? Or whatever.”
“Does it bother you?”
“No, but – “
His voice is gruff and she refuses to look at him when he says, “Then it doesn't bother me, either.”
She gives an awkward laugh, pushing her sunglasses back over her face so there’s no chance of eye contact. “It's more than that, actually – “
He sits up then, so he can look at her better. It's unnerving, having him look at her like that, like he's stripping apart her skin. “It's not like this is the first time people have assumed that we're fucking. Or whatever."
“No, I know that, but,” she takes a deep breath. It's now or never, because he doesn't seem to be getting it. “I was just thinking that it wouldn't be so bad. You know. You and me. Like that.”
He blinks, opens his mouth to say something and then quickly snaps it shut with an audible click of his teeth. Clarke’s just about to yell at him to say something, literally anything, when he lifts his eyebrows, a twitch at the corner of his mouth like he's holding in a laugh. “Is that what this is about? You wanna fuck me, Griffin?”
She rolls her eyes. “I mean, amongst other stuff. Like hold your hand and stupid shit like that. Please don't laugh at me, I haven't done this in a long time.”
“That’s a surprise. The Clarke I know always had game.”
“That's such a lie, and I will literally take it back. I will take it back right now if you don't take this seriously.”
He laughs, almost in relief, and curls a hand around her wrist to pull her closer. “Hey, it's okay, I'm sorry, it just caught me off I guard. I never thought -” His free hand is cupping the side of her neck, thumb stroking the edge of her jaw. And he's looking at her the way he always does, soft and sure, and she can't believe she didn't notice it before. “Jesus, you really didn't know – such a goddamn idiot, Clarke, Jesus. You really had no idea, did you?”
Clarke doesn't let herself hope just yet. “So does that mean that you,” she swallows, thick, “like me too? I need to hear you say it, Bellamy.”
“You're an adult woman, Clarke. You want me to check yes or no?” He laughs again when she shoves at his chest, and she's so happy she gets to hear that laugh for as long as he'll have her.
“Please, Bell.”
His eyes soften considerably at the tone in her voice. “Yeah. Yeah, it's not even a question. Of course I like you too, princess.” He bites the corner of his lip, lowering his eyelashes in a brief moment of vulnerability. His voice gets deeper, lower, when he adds, “Maybe even more than just like, honestly.”
She breathes a sigh of relief and drops her head in her hands. “I really was about to lose my goddamn mind, you have no idea. It was so stupid."
He removes her hands from her face. “So does this mean I get to kiss you and tell you how hot you look in that bikini. Because seriously, Clarke, what the fuck.”
She laughs, suddenly feeling lighter than she's ever felt, and leans forward on her knees to kiss him, his smile pressing against her teeth, his hands automatically moving to wrap around her waist. Kissing Bellamy Blake is probably the best thing that could ever happen in her life, if she’s being completely honest. “You're so romantic.”
“You wanna get out of here?” he asks, voice soft as he tugs on her hair so she can look at him.
“Bellamy, we are not having sex in your car until you get a new one,” she tells him, seriously, and pokes a finger to his chest.
He groans and tips his head back to the sky. “You know I can't afford a new car, Clarke. You're gonna have to deal.”
“I'll buy you one.”
“I can't believe we've only been together for three seconds and I already have to break up with you.”
“I know you don't wanna hear this, but I still have the number of the guy who sold me my car. I can negotiate with him, throw in my mother’s name once or twice, guilt trip him a little - it'll be fine.”
“You remember that time when you told me I can tell you to shut up if you ever cross a line? This is it. Shut up, Clarke.”
She presses her lips together and sits back down on the towel, reluctant because she doesn't want to drop this conversation but she also doesn't want to disrespect his space. “Fine. We won't talk about it anymore.”
“Thank you – “
“Today.”
Bellamy rolls his eyes and slings an arm across her shoulders to squish her to his side. “I'm not letting you buy me a car, Clarke. End of discussion.”
“Mhm. Okay.”
He sighs, but drops it, because it's impossible to try to reason with Clarke when she's already set her mind on something. “How about we try some of these sandwiches? They look pretty good, right?”
Clarke gives him a face as she watches him pull the ziplock bags out of the cooler, handing one of them to her. She accepts it with a grimace and slowly takes the sandwich out of the bag.
He watches her with a slow curl of his lips. “You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, you know.”
“No,” she says resolutely. “It's fine. I'm sure it's delicious.”
“Don't be ridiculous, you put bacon in your cheesecake. You're gonna hate this, I know you.”
She glares at him. “You don't know everything there is to know about everything in the entire universe, Bellamy.”
There's that look again, more on the amused side than anything, and she wants to prove him wrong so she takes a bite. Of course he's right, like he usually is, and she absolutely hates it. But she smiles around the bite of mushed bread and chickpeas and forces it down her throat anyway. “Hmm, it’s…good. Nice…texture. The, um, tomatoes are good.”
Bellamy just shakes his head and throws his unopened bag back into the cooler. “You wanna get some chicken tacos?”
Clarke visibly deflates and tosses the sandwich to the side. “Oh thank god. No offense but that was honestly the worst thing I’ve ever tasted since Raven made me try vegan cheese. God, she and Wells would get along so great. But hey - thanks for the effort, Bellamy, you can say ‘I told you so’ now.”
“Come on, Clarke, I'm not gonna be a dick,” he says as he gathers all the towels, and grabs her tossed sandwich to throw into the nearest garbage can. When he's done cleaning up, he offers her his hand and she links their fingers together. She can’t believe how right this feels. How easy it is, to just be with him like this.
“Says the guy who literally called me an idiot not even five minutes ago.”
“Was I lying?”
“I could do without the attitude, asshole.”
He grins at her and it warms her up inside, everywhere, and that's probably what she loves most about Bellamy Blake. That he makes everything so still and so quiet, like the moments driving under an overpass while it’s raining. And it’s different, from the earthquakes of relationships she's had to deal with in the past that left her with trembling hands and unsteady heartbeats.
Bellamy lifts their linked hands together to brush his lips across her knuckles and she can feel his smile against her skin. There's a bounce to her step as they walk back to his car that's almost embarrassing, but she won't apologize for being happy, because she has Bellamy and, right now, everything in the world seems so simple.
She’s not an idiot; she knows it won't stay like this forever, that they'll get under each other’s skin almost as much as they’ll get under each other’s clothes.
But she knows it'll all be okay in the end because loving Bellamy has always been the easiest thing in the world for her, even when she didn’t want it to be.
She rolls up onto her toes to press a kiss to his jawline. “Hey. I hope someone steals your shitty car one day.”
A smile pulls the corners of his lips up as he rolls his eyes in response. “Yeah, love you too, Clarke.”