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There was a certain rhythm to running that Clarke enjoyed. She loved the feel of her feet pounding on the ground, pushing her to her limits and stretching her almost to her breaking points. She ran when she was stressed, or when she needed to think. She found she got a lot of quality thinking done when she ran, and she looked forwards to her runs because of it. Today was no exception, and she certainly had a lot to think about.
She’d only moved here recently. Her mother had decided that it was a good idea to move to America, and so she dragged a kicking and screaming Clarke along with her - away from her tightly knit circle of friends, and her lifelong best friend turned boyfriend Wells. They’d broken off their relationship, but she still missed him. In truth, she missed everything about England, and she had plans to move back there as soon as her senior year had finished. She missed Glass, and Luke, and Maya, and Lincoln, and Anya, hell, she even missed Lexa. Wells was first on the list though.
She continued running, pushing her limbs out, and attacking the pavement with her feet. Her mother had said that she’d get used to America, but she hated it already. She hated the heat, and the humidity. And the noise - she’d never get used to that. England wasn’t exactly the quietest of places, but where she’d come from, just outside of Nottingham, was pretty small. She was used to snow, and sleet, and rain even in the summer. She was so deep in her thoughts, that she completely managed to miss seeing the other runner heading towards her, and she only realised that she wasn’t alone when she was sitting on the (warm) concrete.
“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” the voice sounds feminine, and a quick glance up confirmed that - or at least, that’s what Clarke thought.
“No, it’s alright, I wasn’t watching,” Clarke smiles, and takes the hand being offered to her.
She finds herself face to face with a girl. She was pretty, almost abnormally so, and Clarke immediately became aware of how her face was probably flushed and how her hair was in a sloppy ponytail. The girl smiles, revealing a set of perfect white teeth.
“I’m Octavia,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, are you new?”
“Clarke. And yeah… Just moved to the place down the road with my mum,” Clarke replies.
“Oh, number forty eight? Yeah, my brother and I were wondering who moved in there,” comes the response. “We’re in number fifty,”
Clarke blinks. Octavia just keeps on talking and talking. It’s nice; refreshing, almost, to hear another human voice that isn’t her mother.
“Cool,” she nods.
“Yeah. Hey, you didn’t wanna come over for a drink or anything, did you?” Octavia asks.
“What, now?” Clarke stares.
“Yeah, why not?”
Clarke smiles, and thinks that she could maybe like Octavia. She agrees, and then she’s going to her house, and they’re having a decent conversation - the usual things (oh, you’re from England, cool; yeah, I miss it though; damn that sucks; etc, etc, etc) Clarke finds out that Octavia is going to the same school as her, and that she has a lot of friends, and a twin brother called Bellamy.
“Oh, Bellamy’s home. Just a warning, he can be a bit of an ass sometimes,” Octavia tells her as they walk into her house.
Clarke nods. Most boys are, she thinks. They get the drinks, and sit in the lounge, and are continuing their talk, when this creature walks into the room. He stares around, all large eyes and cheekbones and curly hair and tan skin, like he’s God’s own gift to mankind. His long lithe limbs are swathed in leather and denim, and Clarke thinks that he is without a doubt the most attractive human being she’s ever seen in her life. She longs to get her pencils and capture his image; immortalise him on paper. And then he speaks, and the image is ruined.
“Who the hell are you?” he asks her, and God, his voice is the sound of heaven to her (even if it’s laced with animosity).
“Clarke Griffin,” she says, standing up and holding out her hand.
“Her and her mother just moved in next door,” Octavia says from the couch.
He stares at her hand, and a faint flicker of disgust crosses her face. Clarke lets it fall to her side limply.
“Get out of my house,” he says.
Clarke raises an eyebrow.
“Bellamy, I invited her over,” Octavia pouts.
So this would be the twin Bellamy. It would certainly explain the looks - there’s no denying that the two share the same gene pool.
“Yeah, and I’m telling her to leave. Now,” that last word is directed to Clarke.
She feels a slight pang of hurt in her chest, and silently begs for Octavia to let her stay - going back means facing her mother, something she’d rather not do just yet.
“Clarke, I’m really sorry,” Octavia says. “Look, I’ll drop by later,”
“Sure.” Clarke sighs, then turns to leave. As she does so, she notices a smirk appear on Bellamy’s face, and she wishes that she could say something to him, but she can’t because of her goody two shoes reputation. But then she realises that her reputation is nothing here, and she can say something, so before she can stop herself, she swings around and says;
“You know, when you said your brother could be an ass sometimes, I thought you meant that he was just annoying. I didn’t realise you meant he was a monumental clotpole.”
And as she sashays from the house, the sound of Octavia’s tinkling laughter fills her ears, and for the first time in a very long time she doesn't regret what she said.
****
The next morning she dresses in a her navy denim shorts, and an old white v-neck (it’s extremely tight, and she can’t remember the last time she wore it, but Octavia said last night that it was perfect). Around her neck hangs the book shaped locket that Wells had given her for her last birthday. It’s the perfect transitional outfit, and Octavia had helped her to put it together. The necklace was pretty much a given, and Octavia hadn’t pressed too hard about it after she’d seen Clarke’s face. She was thankful that she’d made a friend already, and even more so that said friend had offered to show her around today.
She drives to school somewhat early in her 1967 chevy impala - her mother had given it to her as a peace offering, but she wished she hadn’t (the number of Supernatural fans she’d found hovering around it…). Abby had meant well, she was sure, it just felt like she was trying to buy her over, and no amount of gifts could ever replace what she had back home. She goes to the office, and gets her timetable, and is trying to find her first class when Octavia turns up seemingly out of the blue.
“Hey,” Octavia greets. “Is that impala yours?”
“Hi. You know most people don’t start a conversation with a direct confrontation like that, but yeah, it is,” Clarke grins.
“Clearly I’m not most people. I just thought I’d let you know though, Bellamy’s drooling over it,”
Clarke smirks. They’d discussed Clarke’s exit from the Blake household last night, and Octavia had said that Bellamy had stood there, staring after her for a while, looking confused before asking what the hell a clotpole was.
“Tav! Hey,” a pretty brunette ran up to them.
“‘Sup. This is Clarke, she’s new,” Octavia says, hugging the girl.
“Raven,” the brunette offers, smiling at Clarke.
“Hi,” Clarke smiles tentatively.
“She met Bellamy yet?” Raven asks Octavia.
“Yeah,” Octavia smirks.
“And?” Raven prompts.
“Flying colours, she called him a monumental clotpole within the first minute,” Octavia looks proud.
“I have no idea what that means. Awesome. Dude, I like you already,” Raven laughs.
“I’m sorry, but what the hell is going on?” Clarke asks.
“It may have escaped your notice, but Bellamy Blake is probably the most attractive person on this planet,” Raven explains.
“I noticed,” Clarke mutters darkly.
“Right, yeah, so I got sick of people trying to be my friend just so they could get into Bellamy’s pants. Cause he does have a reputation of sleeping around,” Octavia continues.
“That’s putting it lightly,” Raven scoffs. “So we came up with this test, where if a girl can last at least five minutes around her brother without flirting or hitting on him in anyway, then they’re worth befriending,” she finishes.
“I see…” Clarke slowly says.
“Obviously you passed, ‘cause you insulted him,” Octavia smiles.
Clarke takes a moment to think about it. It does make sense, because she’s known plenty of girls who were extremely shallow, and wouldn’t even think about hurting someone else’s feelings because they wanted an easy lay. There’s no denying Bellamy wasn’t attractive, but seriously, befriending his sister just to get to him is a little bit overboard. And how bad could he be? He couldn’t have slept with that many people, and she was sure at least he’d have some basic respect for privacy.
She was wrong.
As the day went on, she saw Bellamy a few times, and each time there was a different girl hanging off his arm. She manages not to speak to him until the end of lunch, when he walks into her. Literally. She was busy trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she was in an actual school cafeteria, and everyone was sitting at the tables and eating their lunches from the school when it happens.
“Watch it!” she snaps, glaring up at him.
“Chill, princess,” he smirks lazily at her, and God it’s so infuriatingly hot that she wants to punch him.
“Don’t call me that,” she says instead.
“Or what?” he challenges.
“Or I’ll break that perfect looking nose of yours, you arrogant twat,”
He blinks at her. “You can’t call me that,”
“Says who? The lord of wankerville? I heard that that’s your name,” it’s her turn to smirk now.
She can feel eyes burning into the back of her skull, and she thinks that if looks could kill, she’d be dead a thousand times over. She feels the weight of the entire cafeteria watching them, wondering who she is, and why she’s insulting Bellamy. She relishes in the feeling, and thinks about how much she missed this. Well, not this in particular, but the feeling of controlling a crowd, and having the attention of everyone. She wonders why she ever gave it up.
“Oh, she’s good,” she hears Raven whisper to Octavia.
“Things must have slipped past you before, but I run this school, princess. You’re just the new girl with a stupid posh accent, and you can’t just insult me like that and expect to get away with it,”
“First of all, my lord prattiness, I only sound this way because I articulate my vowels properly, something you’d do if you had any sort of class. Secondly, I can do whatever the hell I want, asshat, and third, I thought I just did, you cabbage head,” she spins around to leave, then decides to add one last thing. “Oh, and by the way? I heard you were ogling my car this morning. At least you have good taste in something,” Then she leaves.
She pauses for a moment just outside the cafeteria, hidden from sight but still able to hear the noise in the room. A thousand tongues are whispering, secrets sliding from person to person like a snake through the grass, and Clarke grins to herself. The usual buzz of chatter is absent, and she loves the feeling of knowing that she made them this quiet. She hears some footsteps heading to the door, so she starts walking.
“Yo, Clarke! Clarke, wait up!”
She turns to see Raven and Octavia coming up behind her.
“Oh, hey guys,” she smiles.
“Oh my god you’re awesome,” Raven says, a grin splitting her face in two. “You should have seen everyone’s faces when you left, it was priceless!”
“Really?” Clarke asks.
“Yeah,” Octavia laughs. “Bell looked so pissed off. He’s gonna be ranting about it for the next few days, I can tell,”
Clarke pulls a face. “Sorry. Do you think I was too harsh?”
“Nah. Besides, no one’s gonna hurt you, not when they know that we’re friends with you,” Raven grins, and the matter is closed.
*****
Months pass, and Clarke and Bellamy’s interactions become all the more frequent and interesting for the onlookers. Clarke’s insults became all the more colourful and entertaining; the most interesting including lickspittle, snollygoster, nuggetclown, and the memorable statement ‘you myopic, cantankerously-caterwauling aberration’. Everyone in the school knew her name, and she had gained many fans. A lot of the girls in the school admired her for her ability not to succumb to his charms, and envied her because of her courage to stand up to him. Others thought she was no more than an idiot and a foreigner, and couldn’t wait until she ‘got what was coming to her’
Octavia and Raven proved to be valuable friends on more than one occasion, Clarke was grateful for that. They shielded her from insults, and treated her as though she’d always been their friend, inviting her into their friend group that consisted of three boys (Monty, Jasper and Nathan (call me Miller)) and one other girl (Harper). She spent more time at Octavia’s house then she did at her own, often staying over for days at a time, even when Tav had work at the local coffee shop. Those were some memorable times, because she’d been alone with Bellamy, and many shouting matches had occurred before they came to an uneasy truce. Of course they did still insult each other, and they bickered more often than not, but it was better than before. There was a significant amount of sexual tension between them, and you’d have to be blind not to be able to see it, but they would never act on it; they were both far too stubborn for that. That was, until one time Clarke went over to their house, meaning to stay the night, but found instead that Octavia had been called to work and had forgotten to tell her.
“Tav?” Clarke calls, opening her friends front door.
“O isn’t here, princess,” Bellamy’s familiar drawl sounds out as he walks around the corner to smirk at her. “She got called in for a late shift at her work, must’ve forgotten to tell you. She’s crashing at Raven’s after, it’s closer,”
“Okay,” Clarke mutters.
“Disappointed? Feeling betrayed?” Bellamy questions slyly, stepping forwards.
“You wish, asshat,” Clarke snaps, glaring at him defiantly.
“I wish a lot of things, your majesty,”
Clarke blinks. It almost sounds like he’s flirting with her, with the way he’s lowering his tone. She stares at him, and thinks two can play at that game.
“Yeah? Such as?” she smirks slightly, and injects just enough playfulness into her voice to make him startle.
“Well, I couldn’t possibly tell you that right now, princess,” he moves forwards again, and yes, he’s definitely flirting with her. The revolution shocks her a little, but she doesn’t back away. She wants to show him that she isn’t afraid, and she isn’t the prude he thinks she is.
“And why would that be, you colossal clotpole,” she steps through the door subtly.
“Colossal clotpole? What the hell does that even mean?” he laughs a little, dodging her question, and walks towards the door, stopping just in front of her.
Clarke blushes slightly as the meaning of the insult flies to the front of her mind.
“Uh,” she starts, and he smirks at her. “Big idiot dick,” she bites her lip sheepishly, and shuffles forwards again.
“Big idiot dick? I’ll show you a big idiot dick,” he all but growls, moving forwards so that he’s right in front of her, and he’s so close they’re almost touching.
“Oh yeah? Will you really?” she whispers, looking up at him.
“Yeah,” he breathes, and his breath is warm on her face. “Really,”
They stare at each other for a second, and then suddenly his lips are on hers, and they’re kissing like they’ve never kissed anyone else before. Bellamy slams the door as they stumble through properly, and Clarke’s bag falls to the ground with a thump. She slides her hands under his shirt, and he responds by practically ripping hers off, and caressing her sides with one massive hand. Clarke loves Bellamy’s hands, she always has, and she’s wanted to draw them for almost as long as she’s known him. He leads them blindly through the house, losing his own shirt on the way, and then there’s a mattress against her back, and his weight is trapping her on the bed.
They’re still attacking each others lips with vigour, and with the amount of sexual tension that’s been between them recently, it’s no surprise. Bellamy’s hand fiddles slightly with the clasp of Clarke’s bra, as if asking permission, and she responds by moaning and pressing her chest to his. Then his lips are on her neck, sucking and biting and working down her body slowly, and she can’t take it, so she mutters a breathless ‘please, God,’, and abruptly he stops, pulling back, and sitting on her hips.
“Bell?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows. “What is it?”
“I thought you wanted me to stop,” he murmurs, glancing down at her.
This is a side of Bellamy that she’s barely seen, a sweet sensitive side that he hides from the rest of the world, only showing people that he really trusts. A warmth spreads through her that has nothing to do with the fire in her belly or the tingling in her lips.
“No,” she says, biting her lip for a second. “God, no,”
“Are you sure? ‘Cause if we keep going I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop again,” he warns, and his eyes are dark with lust.
“Good,” she breathes. “I don’t want you to stop,” And then she reaches up with one arm and buries her hand in his thick curls, pulling him back down to her lips.
*****
Clarke wakes up the next morning naked and alone, in an unfamiliar bed. It takes her a second to recall the nights events, and when she does she blushes furiously. What on earth was she thinking, sleeping with Bellamy like that? Octavia would be outraged when she finds out! She sighs, and sits up, pressing her palms to her head. She bites her lower lip, her tongue sliding over it, and she tastes him lingering there, and her thoughts flash back to Bellamy, his head resting on his pillow, his face slack jawed and oddly childlike. His curls - damp and ruffled, and one of his arms slung over her waist. The sheets had slipped down, revealing his tan, toned back, and below that was--
She stands up, and dresses quickly. She can’t find her top, and she has a vague recollection of losing it in the entry to the house, so she settles for stealing one of Bellamy’s. It swamps her small frame, and makes her feel like a child, but she doesn’t care; she just wants out of the house. More particularly, out of this room. She has no idea where Bellamy is, and she doesn’t much care either. She just hopes that he isn’t going to pester her about the evenings events.
Back at her house, Clarke’s mother bugs her about not being there often enough, and asks her where on earth she was last night, and Clarke Griffin that better not be a hickey on your neck or so help me… It’s all meaningless to Clarke though. She gave up on her mother ages ago, and she isn’t bothered by her thoughts of her anymore.
“Clarke!” her mother snaps, dragging her out of her thoughts. Clarke gives an emotionless stare back. “Oh, why couldn’t you have just stayed with Wells…”
“You know why, mum!” Clarke finally snaps back, sick of listening to her mother berate her.
“Who gave that to you?” Abby asks, pointing at her daughter's neck. “Tell me it wasn’t Octavia,”
“No, it wasn’t, although I don’t think it’s any of your business,” Clarke rolls her eyes, turning away.
“Don’t you turn your back on me, young lady! Of course it’s my business, I’m your mother!” Abby grabs her arm.
“Oh yeah? Well then, why don’t you start acting like it, instead of treating me like I have no feelings!” Clarke yanks her arm back, then turns around and leaves again, despite the fact she has no idea where she’s going.
She hits the pavement running, and she runs and runs for what seems like hours. When she finally stops, she’s in a park somewhere, and there’s a light drizzle coming from the sky. It’s warm - but then, what in this god forsaken place wasn’t? She feels trapped here; trapped in her own body, and the small amount of peace she felt last night has dissipated. Rage boils in her like a volcano that’s about to erupt, and she desperately needs to hit something, or yell, or both.
“Heya, princess. Fancy seeing you here,” a hand lands on her shoulder, and she whirls around flailing out with one of her arms in defence.
“Ow,” Bellamy mutters, rubbing his chest. “That hurt,”
“Oh,” Clarke says. “It’s just you,”
She sighs, and walks over to a bench, knowing that he’ll follow her.
“You know,” he starts, and she can hear smugness creeping into his tone, which just infuriates her more (No, it absolutely does not turn her on. Not in the slightest.). “For someone who had the best sex of their life last night, you look a little bit wound up,”
“The best sex of my life? You think?” she raises an eyebrow. He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t have to know that.
“I don’t think. I know,” he smirks. “Why else would you have stolen one of my t-shirts after?” he plucks at her sleeve, fiddling with the thin fabric.
She presses her lips together, and becomes all too aware of the fact that the top she took was a white one, and it was currently trying it’s hardest to rain on them. Coupled with the fact that she was wearing a lacy red bra, it was maybe not the smartest choice.
“Seriously though, what’s wrong?” he slings an arm around her.
Clarke shrugs, and rests her head on his shoulder.
“I didn’t exactly think that we were on sharing your life story terms,” she says.
He nods. “Wise thought,”
“Don’t you think that last night changes anything, Blake,” she warns, lifting her head off his shoulder.
“Funny, I was under the impression that we’re suddenly friends now…” Bellamy replies sarcastically, but he withdraws his arms from around her.
She feels a chill travel over her, and dismisses it as the wind.
“Just a one off,” she clarifies, swallowing hard. “A release,”
“Yeah. It won’t happen again,” he nods. “No one has to know,”
“Exactly.”
*****
A one off. It wouldn’t happen again. That’s what they said, was it not?
It was barely a week later that it happened again. And then it was only four days after that that it happened again. It became a regular occurrence - they’d meet up, swap a few words, then have sex and leave. Clarke had confessed to Octavia a few days after the first time, when the guilt was devouring her and she couldn’t stand hiding it any longer.
“I slept with Bellamy,” she blurts, in the middle of a conversation about if Dreamworks was better than Disney or not.
“I so called it! Bro, you owe me twenty,” Jasper yells, turning to Monty and pumping his fist up in the air.
“You don’t think I didn’t already know that?” Octavia asks, raising an eyebrow at her.
“What?” Clarke stares at her.
“Clarke, when I got home the other day the house reeked of sex and your top was hanging from the light shade. It didn’t take a genius to work out what had happened,” Octavia smiles. “Besides, it was only a matter of time,”
“Hanging from the light shade? That’s a new one,” Monty laughs, handing Jasper a twenty dollar note.
Clarke blushes. “What do you mean?”
“Dude, the amount of unresolved sexual tension between you two… I could cut it with a blunt spoon,” Raven grins.
“Yeah but… You aren’t mad?” Clarke asks confusedly.
“Nah, it’ll happen again. You really think I got called to do a night shift? I’ve been making excuses for ages,” Octavia smirks, and the subject is abruptly changed by Miller yelling at Harper something about ‘the snow in Rise Of The Guardians being way better than the snow in Frozen’.
And so it went on. The rest of the school year went by in a flash, and Clarke had never been happier. She got free, no-strings-attached sex from Bellamy, and her friends didn’t care about it. Well at least, no-strings-attached was the theory. They had agreed to no feelings, but she was a teenage girl having sex with an attractive teenage boy on a regular basis. It was bound to happen eventually. She just imagined telling him differently. She imagined it would be a romantic setting, and one where she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him. It was after a fight with her mother - no surprises there. Abby had just told her that they were moving back to England after she graduated. Clarke was always planning on going back to go to university there, but she wanted to go on her own terms, and not as soon as she’d graduated from college.
She stormed over to the Blake twins house, for once grateful that Octavia was at work. She met a bemused Bellamy inside, and they wasted no time in having a round of furious sex.
“What was that all about,” he whispers in her ear after, fiddling with a strand of her hair.
She turns and kisses him, long and hard before answering. “We’re moving back to England,”
“What?” he laughs, thinking she’s joking for a second.
“My mum just told me. Straight after graduation, we’re going back. She has the tickets booked, non refundable. They leave the night of our leavers dinner. I can’t go to it, cause I’ll be on a freaking plane,” she chokes back a sob, and presses her face into his chest.
“Clarke…” he trails off, and tightens his arm around her.
There’s a lump rising in her throat, and unshed tears are burning behind her eyes. She hasn’t felt like this since she broke up with Wells. God, Wells, she’ll be seeing him soon. Graduation is in two weeks, and then she’s going back to England. Funny thing is, for the first time since she’d been here, she doesn’t want to go back there. She finally has something worth staying for.
She takes a deep breath. “I love you,” she says.
His hand in her hair stills, and she knows he’s heard her.
“I know what we agreed too, but I just had to say it before I left,” she slips out of his arms, and sits up, not bothering to hide her body.
The silence from behind her is deafening. It is impossibly loud, and it pierces through her eardrums for the longest time, before she hears a slight rustling sound. She takes it as her cue to leave, and is just about to stand up when a hand touches her waist. It caresses around, and there is a touch of weight that suggests Bellamy is sitting up behind her. His lips on her neck a moment later confirm that thought, and her eyes slide closed in momentary bliss. He works his way up slowly, and she relaxes back into him, tilting her head up and to the side for better access.
“Don’t go,” he whispers eventually in her ear. “Don’t leave me,”
She opens her eyes, and drops her head, then screws her eyes closed again. The amount of pain in his voice makes her want to cry even more, so she crawls around, and wraps her arms around him tightly, and feels his muscles flex as he grips her as though she’s going to leave right this minute. They sit like that for the longest time, just holding each other, before getting dressed and going downstairs to watch a movie and hold each other some more. Clarke is just about asleep when Bellamy says “I love you too, princess,”.
Octavia finds them that way the next morning, wrapped around each other on the couch, with the TV going mindlessly in the back ground. She makes a joke about it - how she thought she’d never see the day that they’d get over their stupid no feelings pact - and asks what brought it on. She cries when Clarke tells her, and that almost sets Clarke off as well. Octavia curses that the world isn’t fair, and she wants to go and give Abby Griffin a piece of her mind, but the damage is already done, and it can’t be changed now.
*****
Saying goodbye to the rest of the group is hard, and her last two weeks in America pass far too quickly for her liking. Her friends all skip the leavers dinner to see her off at the airport; something she’d told them not to do, but they did anyway. Jasper and Monty crack jokes about how she’s finally going back to England, and she’ll be home where she can have her tea and scones whenever she wants. Harper cries, and hugs her hard, promising to call her, then subcombs to Miller for comfort (something she’d been waiting to see ever since meeting the pair), who hugs her briefly and tells her that she better come visit or else. Octavia is bawling, and even Raven is letting a tear or two escape, which makes Clarke cry even more. They bombard her with hugs, and Octavia threatens her to call or she will be forced to do something.
And then she turns to Bellamy, and she’s crying, and he’s standing there looking as amazing as he did the first time she saw him, and he opens his mouth and calls her princess for what could be the last time, and she can’t take it anymore and so she kisses him. She kisses him like the first time they kissed, except this time is filled with sorrow and pain. She can feel her mothers eyes boring into her back, and she knows that she ought to be humiliated or embarrassed because they’re making a scene and everyone is staring at them, but she doesn’t care.
They break apart when her gate is called to be open, and she hugs everyone one last time, then she turns and steps through the gate. And then she’s gone, and she’s still crying, and iit hurts so much, so much more then she remembers it hurting with Wells. She just wants to wake up from this nightmare, because if this is real love then she doesn’t want it; she doesn’t want any of it.
*****
Her friends in England great her with excitement, and whilst she’s overjoyed to see them all, the underlying pang of hurt is still pulsing. Glass was her closest friend other than Wells, so it was no surprise she could tell something was wrong, and the first chance she got, she corners Clarke, and orders that she tell her everything.
“Tell me everything,” she demands Clarke.
They were sitting on Clarke’s bed, in her old bedroom, in her old house, and it felt almost like old times. Clarke explains as best as she can without melting into a puddle of tears. Glass asks if she has any photo’s, and she does, they’re just on her phone, which she lost somewhere.
“Well did you draw him then?” Glass asks instead, looking expectantly at Clarke.
Clarke nods absently.
“Can I see?” the other girl asks.
Clarke thinks back to the times she sketched Bellamy, and how he’d always pose ridiculously, and quote that stupid line from Titanic (you know the one...) until she kissed him and told him to behave or she wouldn’t sleep with him. She remembers tentatively asking him if she could draw him two weeks into their arrangement, and how he’d looked; his skin practically glowing and his curly hair damp and ruffled from sex, his face flushed and how he had a pillow strategically placed over his groin, and she thinks about how intimate that moment was, and then how he’d kissed her afterwards, and a crimson blush lights up her face.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then,” Glass laughs. “Wow, Clarke, is there anything you didn’t do with this guy?” she teases.
“Plenty,” Clarke grins, and she thinks about how glad she is to have her old friends back.
*****
Clarke settles back into life in England quite quickly, and she talks with all her friends in America regularly. Octavia and Raven have even booked plane tickets over, and they arrive in a few days. She doesn’t speak to Bellamy much - it hurts too much to even think about him, let alone talk to him. The wound he left is still fresh, and it pulsates whenever she thinks about him. Wells had a difficult time grasping onto the fact that she’d gotten over him so fast, but she pushed him in the direction of Maya and he forgot about it pretty fast after that. Glass and Luke, she was pleased to find, were still going strong after four years - in fact, a week after she got back, Luke told her that he was planning on proposing to Glass as soon as he could afford a ring.
The day Octavia and Raven were due to arrive, Clarke just about drove all her friends mad with her excitement. She was bouncing off the walls in the local train station, and Lincoln seemed quite excited as well after she’d shown her friends all a quick sketch she’d done of Octavia. When Anya asked about the picture of a semi naked man she thought she’d seen when Clarke was flicking through the book, Clarke flushed slightly and responded with ‘oh, that’s Bellamy,’ and refused to say anything more about it, which piqued all of her friends interests.
They all knew who Bellamy was, of course, but they hadn’t seen any photos or drawings of him. Glass, Anya and Maya all shared a look when Clarke wasn’t looking, and between them they stole Clarke’s book and held her back so they could look through. Anya and Maya were holding her, while Glass was flicking through the pages. They must’ve looked odd, because they were attracting looks from strangers, and Lincoln, Luke and Wells hurried over to them quickly.
“What the hell is going on?” Wells hisses, glancing around at everyone watching.
“They stole my book - let me go!” Clarke struggles furiously against Anya.
“I see,” Luke grins, then walked over to Glass. “Need any help?”
“Traitor! You nincompoop! Assbut!” Clarke calls.
“Seriously Clarke, how do you come up with all of those insults?” Lincoln looks mildly amused, and gives a slight chuckle.
“It’s called imagination, you pumpkin faced butt,” Clarke mutters venomously.
“Found it!” Glass says triumphantly.
She holds up the book for everyone to see. Displayed over the page is a shaded picture of a topless Bellamy. Clarke sighs in relief that it wasn’t a worse one Glass decided to show, and finally manages to shove her way out of Anya and Maya’s grasp. She glances at the picture, and takes in the way his curls were sitting on his head, and how much perspiration she’d shaded on his face and body. She thinks back to drawing it, and how he just wouldn’t sit still until she said she’d revoke his sex privileges unless he sat there for her, which resulted in the slightly hurt look he wore - somewhat like a scolded puppy might look. Clarke takes her book back from Glass, aware of the silence hanging around her friends.
“What?” she snaps, looking around at them.
“Nothing,” Maya hastens to say. “It’s just really good, that’s all,”
“Flipping amazing, that’s what it is,” Wells murmurs.
She’s saved from replying by the arrival of the train. Her head shoots up excitedly, and she scans the crowd as people begin to swarm out of it. She puts her book away in her bag, then searches for two familiar looking brunettes. Her friends are all looking as well, and it’s Luke who spots them first.
“Over there!” he announces, pointing to a clump of people.
“Oh… Oh. OH. Clarke, you’re gonna wanna see this,” Glass says, glee evident in her voice.
“What?” Clarke asks, walking over to them and looking where they’re looking.
She can’t see anything for a second, with the smoke from the train and the throng of people in the way -- Then she stops dead, and see’s what her friends have already seen.
Raven and Octavia are there, and they’re both grinning and waving, but there, standing behind them, is--
“Bellamy,” she whispers.
Then she’s running towards them, and she barely notices when she passes Octavia and Raven, and then she launches herself at Bellamy, and her arms fling around his neck, and his come up around her waist and he’s holding her so tight that she can barely breath, but she doesn’t care, she just hold him tighter. She presses her face into his neck and breathes his scent, and he makes a choked noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob, and she must have died, because this is heaven. He pulls back, and kisses her then, and it’s so much better then she remembers it being, and she knows she’s crying, but she doesn’t care, as long as Bellamy’s here with her. As long as he’s here, she’s perfectly fine.