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Drinking made sense. It was black and white- you drink alcohol, you get drunk. So that’s just what Octavia did. Maybe a little more than she should, but whatever. She likes the feeling, loves the buzzing under her skin, the blankness of her mind. That’s why many nights, like tonight, she finds herself at some trashy club or bar or college party where she could pass for 21 instead of 19, tipping back shots and dancing with nameless strangers. She was careful, of course, never letting anyone buy her drinks and watching as they were poured and made. Never letting anyone get too far with the dancing. Getting drunk enough to feel light and floaty, but still keeping her wits about her.
Tonight, though… tonight is different. Octavia wants to forget . So she drinks a little bit too much, doesn’t notice the hand of the guy sitting next to her on her thigh until it’s just a little bit too high to be acceptable. She blinks, cold sobriety suddenly washing over her as the guy smirks. She looks for the bartender, but they’re distracted by another customer. Octavia clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably as she slides off the barstool.
“I’m- I’m uh- I’m gonna go to the bathroom, she mumbles. The guy stops her with a hand on her wrist and she frowns at him. “Let go of me.”
“Counteroffer- why don’t I take you back to my place, sweetheart?” The guy is still smirking easily, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that has red flags flaring in Octavia’s mind. Shit .
“Um, I’m ok, thanks though,” she tries again, attempting to twist herself out of his grip. His fingers tighten around her wrist and she winces. That’s probably going to bruise.
“C’mon, now, don’t be a tease-”
“I believe she said no,” a low rumbling comes from behind Octavia. She snaps her head at the sound, finding the most beautiful man she’s ever seen, his face oddly familiar but unplaceable at this level of drunkenness, standing at her side, face stormy and eyes dark. He sets a hand on her waist, pulling him towards her. And, despite the gesture, something in Octavia instinctively trusts this man. “Besides, she’s taken. So fuck off.” The guy looks between them for a second before scoffing, dropping Octavia’s wrist, and turning back to his drink.
“Fucking tease,” he mutters as the man tugs Octavia away. She lets him, trusting him a lot more than that creep. He stops once they’re out of view, the hardness leaving his face as his features soften in concern.
“Are you alright?” he asks gently, no longer touching her. She glares at him, angry for some reason despite her gratitude.
“I’m fine ,” she snaps. She knows she’s not angry at him but he’s given her a target, an outlet. And she’s going to fucking use it. “I didn’t need to be rescued, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, asshole.” He blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting that reaction.
“I’m sorry. You looked pretty uncomfortable, almost like you were about to panic.” He’s right but Octavia’s not about to tell him that. She says nothing and his lips curve up in a smirk after a second/ “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“No, should I?” she demands, venom in her words. The man chuckles lightly, holding out a hand.
“Lincoln. I’m friends with Clarke, we’re in the same Art History class. Octavia, right?” Octavia blinks because oh right, that’s where she knows him from. He’s the infuriatingly hot guy that always sits in the way back of Clarke’s class. She’s talked to Clarke about him- she says he’s really quiet but he was cool that one time that had a joint project. She nods, reaching for his hand but stumbling when her head spins. He catches her with a grunt.
“Wow, ok, you definitely need some air. Can I take you outside?” his eyes are wide and dark, sincere and concerned. Octavia, drunk, tired, with all the fight leaving her, nods and lets him take her hand and guide her outside. He guides her to a bench a few feet from the bar entrance, sitting down with a sigh. The fight has officially left her, with it the happy buzz, leaving her sad and painfully sober. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Octavia just taking deep breaths.
“I’m not usually like this,” she whispers, looking up at him. He just nods, not pressing her. “It’s just… not a good night.”
“You wanna talk about it?” he offers. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” Octavia shakes her head.
“I don’t wanna bother you with my shit,” Octavia sighs, burying her head in her hands. A gentle hand lands on her arm and she looks up at him again. His eyes are caring and sincere, and something in her just trusts him inexplicably.
“Please,” Lincoln asks. She sucks in a deep breath, focusing on the pavement under her feet.
“Tonight’s a year since my mom died,” she tells him. “And my- my brother he’s got his girlfriend and they’re amazing but I just- I’m alone and nobody fucking cares about me and I just wanted to forget but I fucked even that up somehow- how do you fuck up getting drunk? I just- I’m a mess and I-”
“Hey,” Lincoln says, cutting off the rambling before she could fully tumble into hysteria, a ledge she’s creeping closer and closer to with each second. “Just look at me. Breathe.” And Octavia does, wide blue eyes meeting his. He holds her gaze silently for a few moments. “Let me take you home, please.” Octavia just nods tiredly. Lincoln stands up, holding out a hand that she takes and lets him use to guide her to his car. He opens the door for her and she plops into the seat with a sigh.
“You guys still at the place on Maple?” Lincoln asks. Octavia frowns, wondering how he knows that. “Came over a few times to work on the project with Clarke. You were there once, but I barely saw you.”
“Right. Just Clarke’s adoptive kid sister,” Octavia sighs. Ever since Clarke and Bellamy met, Clarke has been the sister Octavia never had. When they started dating, it just became even more solid. Now, they all live in the Blakes’ old house. The house Octavia grew up in. The house her mother raised her in.
It’s only about a ten minute drive and they spend it in silence, Lincoln occasionally looking over at Octavia as she rests her forehead against the window, eyes closed. Lincoln almost misses their driveway, having not been there often or in a while, but he catches himself and pulls up to the house, turning to look at Octavia, who sits up and blinks tiredly.
“Oh. Uh, thanks,” she says awkwardly, undoing her seat belt and climbing out of the car. Lincoln does the same and she shoots him a frown. He shrugs. “Might as well say hi to Clarke while I’m here.” She nods, too tired to care, and leads the way to the house. The door opens the instant she knocks, a concerned Clarke waiting there.
“Octavia!” Clarke exclaims, pulling her in for a hug. “Where did you go- Lincoln?”
“Hi Clarke.” Clarke shakes her head, refocusing on Octavia.
“Where were you? You fucking scared us, O,” Clarle reprimands. Before giving her a chance to reply, she’s pulling Octavia inside, into a tight hug.
“Sorry,” Octavia murmurs. “Just needed to… not be here.” Clarke nods, not angry, and so painfully understanding.
“I get it. Just let us know next time.” Octavia nods, hugging Clarke back. “Bellamy, she’s back!” As Bellamy comes running into the room, instantly scooping Octavia into a bear hug and scolding her for taking off, Clarke turns to Lincoln who’s watching with a smile on his face.
“Thanks for bringing her home,” Clarke whispers, nudging him. He smiles at her.
“Of course. She gonna be ok?” Clarke puffs out a breath.
“I hope so. She’s had a kind of tough time lately.” Lincoln nods understandingly. Clarke nudges him again with her shoulder. “Think she might use a friend,” she adds slyly. Lincoln grins at the floor.
“I’m gonna head out. But give her my number and tell her to text me if she ever needs anything, yeah?”
“You got it,” Clarke promises.
Years later, watching them say ‘I do’, Clarke feels a surge of pride. She knew from the instant she met Lincoln they would be perfect together. He was the calm to her storm, the tame to her wild, the quiet to her loud. They work.