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It was almost dark as Clarke pulled up to the little house she shared with her best friend and roommate. Her stomach growled as she parked her car. It had been a long day, well days, if she was counting correctly. The lights were on inside, shining warmly to welcome Clarke home after three long shifts at the hospital that had morphed into one, as she’d technically never left the building. One of the beds in the on-call room was unofficially hers.
The kitchen lights were on, so Octavia must be home. And if Octavia was home, there might be food. And as much as she’d missed her best friend these past few busy weeks, Clarke would be more happy to see food, in all honesty. Her stomach growled again, as if to prove her point.
Clarke was starving, but far too exhausted to go out of her way to pick up something on her way home, let alone cook. She’d planned to order something in, and then crash in her bed for the next twelve hours. But maybe she could squeeze in a little time with Octavia, to catch up. Between Clarke’s insane schedule at the hospital, and Octavia’s new boyfriend, the two friends hadn’t seen each other in weeks, always passing through their house when the other was out.
Yawning, Clarke climbed up the front steps and let herself inside. “Hey, O. You’re alive?!” she called, kicking off her shoes and tossing her bag on the floor with a heavy thud.
She expected a response, either a loud retort from her friend or a running hug tackle. But neither came. Instead, the kitchen floor creaked.
Clarke rounded the corner and jumped in surprise to see a man in her kitchen.
Not just any man.
Bellamy Blake.
Octavia’s older brother. Who also happened to be Clarke’s long time rival. And secret crush.
“Hey, Clarke,” Bellamy said, lifting his hand in a small wave before tucking both hands into the pockets of his jeans as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Honestly, I didn’t even think you’d be here.”
She stood frozen in her spot, just staring at him. In her exhaustion, this didn’t seem real. Clarke blinked up at him. “I’m sorry… but what the hell are you doing here, Blake?”
“I was looking for Octavia. She hasn’t been answering my calls or texts. And it’s been over a week, and I was getting worried.” He ran a hand through his hair, and then looked up, holding her gaze. “You haven’t heard from her lately, have you?”
“Ah, okay, worried older brother,” Clarke murmured, shuffling toward the stool at the kitchen island, and taking a seat. She rested her arms on the cool countertop, muffling another yawn. “Yeah, uh, she texted that she was going to stay at—wait, did you know she’s seeing a new guy?”
Bellamy raised his eyebrows, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
Clearly, this was new information.
“Shit, I shouldn’t say anything then,” Clarke said, shaking her head slightly. “She’s alive, I can tell you that much.”
Bellamy exhaled loudly. “Well, that helps, I guess.” His shoulders sagged. It wasn’t the answer he’d wanted.
“Cool.” Clarke tapped her fingers on the kitchen counter.
“Sorry for barging in, then. I didn’t think you’d be home,” Bellamy apologized. “I know Octavia gave me a spare key for emergencies, but I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy—”
“It’s fine, Blake,” Clarke cut him off with a wave. “I’m used to your overprotective big brother schtick. It makes sense. I’ve known you for years, remember?”
“Of course, Princess,” he said slyly, his tone adopting the teasing lilt it normally held when they spoke. The tone of voice usually laced with anger during the blow-out arguments they used to have when they were younger. “How could I ever forget.”
Clarke rolled her eyes at him, as memories of their screaming matches and snide comments came flooding back. She had befriended Octavia in middle school, and spent far too much time at the Blake’s house after school and on weekends.
Bellamy would bemoan the fact that the spoiled princess spent all of her free time at his house. And she would retort that his sister invited her, and ask by the way, was he allergic to clothes. Bellamy, shirtless, would flex his muscles and tease her. Clarke would spit back a biting remark, and they would trade insults until Octavia either dragged Clarke away or pushed Bellamy out of the room.
It was textbook, their relationship and the way they spoke to each other. Never friends, only two people who constantly argued, constantly brought together because they both loved Octavia. But as they grew older, their arguments grew fewer and farther between, as Bellamy invested his time in school and new girlfriends, and Clarke graduated high school and moved away for university. Now, on the odd occasion they were in the same room, the same animosity returned, a familiar old habit they both fell into.
“Well, I’ll leave you alone then.” Pulling his keys from his pocket, Bellamy crossed the kitchen to leave, but stopped suddenly, turning to face her again. “Oh, actually, I hope you don’t mind, but I opened one of your packages that was at the door. It was one of those food boxes,” he gestured to the empty box on the floor. “I put everything in the fridge so it wouldn’t go bad. I know they come with ice-packs, but I wasn’t sure when you’d be home next.”
“Oh, umm, thanks.” Clarke was confused. She blinked at the box, trying to place it in her mind. “It’s not mine though, I didn’t order it.”
“That’s weird, it had your name on it,” he explained.
“What?” She peeled herself off the stool to inspect the package label. And sure enough, there was her name. She never would have ordered herself a box of pre-planned dinners, full of fresh ingredients that were ready to assemble. Never. But… but her mother would.
Clarke groaned and reached for her phone, and found the text thread she’d been ignoring for weeks. And there it was, Abby’s latest attempt to control Clarke’s life from afar—by ordering her dinner in a box.
“You okay?” Bellamy asked.
She looked up, confused by the sincerity in his voice. “Oh, uh, yeah. I guess my mom ordered this for me.” Clarke sighed, dropping her phone onto the counter. “No idea why, I’ll never actually have the time or energy to cook any of it.”
Bellamy’s eyes followed Clarke as she collapsed onto the stool again. She dropped her head in her hands.
“Ugh, I’m never going to be able to use any of this, and it’s all going to go bad,” she whined, rambling uncontrollably, her exhaustion getting to her head. “And it’s such a waste because there’s kids and families starving who would kill for something like this, but I’m just too tired, and I can’t cook, and I just want to order take-out and sleep, and it looks too hard, and—”
She jumped, feeling a hand on her arm. It was Bellamy. He gently wrapped a hand around her wrist, pulling her hand from her face. “Breathe, Clarke. Easy.”
Clarke blinked up at him, trying to ignore the electricity zinging through her arm at his touch. Her sixteen year old self would have swooned.
Bellamy must have realized he’d crossed the line, because he quickly drew his hand away, as if her skin had burned him.
“Umm, sorry. I’ll shut up. You can go,” she sighed, before taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.
But Bellamy didn’t move. He held her stare for a moment longer, observing her.
She shrank under his gaze, hating the fact her hair was greasy and messy, her scrubs were stained, and the bags under her eyes were probably visible from space. In that moment, she was seventeen again, desperately wanting to impress her crush, hoping he’d stumble into the kitchen where she was doing homework with his sister.
“Clarke, when did you last eat? Real food.”
She shrugged, and tried to think, scrunching up her nose. “There was a power bar and a coffee before I started my shift today, and I—I didn’t stop for a break ‘cause a patient went into labour, and—”
“Clarke, you need to eat,” Bellamy said softly, kindly.
As if on cue, her stomach growled audibly.
“Okay then,” Bellamy said, clapping his hands together. “I’m going to cook up one of those meals for you right now. You go shower, and it’ll be ready soon. Is that okay?”
Her jaw dropped. “I—uh—umm.”
“Just say yes, Clarke, let me help. I know you want to fight me on this, but please don’t argue. Go shower,” he commanded, already turning toward the refrigerator.
Clarke stood her ground, folding her arms as she stared at his back.
When he turned around with a bagged meal kit in his hands, Bellamy seemed shocked to see her still standing there. Shocked that she hadn’t followed his orders.
“Clarke, seriously. Go shower,” he said again, dropping the meal kit on the counter.
“You don’t have to do this, you can leave, Bellamy.” Clarke replied, tapping her index finger against her arm. “We both know we’re only minutes away from screaming at each other, and I’m way too tired and hungry to deal with that. Thanks for the offer, but please, just go. You can leave.”
A flash of emotion crossed Bellamy’s face. Surely he couldn’t be hurt by her words.
But Bellamy didn’t leave. Instead he made a counter offer. “That is fair, based on our track record, eh? But what if we both promise to be civilized? I’ll be on my best behaviour,” he said, a smirk crossing his lips as he held out his hand, pinky outstretched. “What do you say, Princess? Pinky promise?”
Clarke scoffed, but held out her own pinky anway. “Fine,” she sighed, “But what are we? Twelve?”
“No,” he retorted instantly, his voice dropping an octave. “You are definitely not twelve anymore.”
Clarke couldn’t read the expression in his dark eyes. Realizing she was staring, she said the first thing to come to her mind. “Duh, if I was twelve I would have already made fun of your glasses by now.”
Bellamy slapped a hand across his chest in mock offence. “And what is wrong with my glasses?”
Smirking, she shrugged. “Well, if you don’t already know, I’m not going to spoil it.”
“Rude,” Bellamy replied, turning his focus to the food on the counter, as he began to methodically unpack the meal kit, eyes scanning the instruction card. He looked up over his shoulder at her. “What are you still standing there for? Go shower. You smell, Griffin.”
Clarke huffed. “Fine,” she whined, knowing her tone would rile him—he always complained when she whined, and she wanted to test if his pinky promise would hold true.
And it did. He waved her out of the kitchen, and turned to the cupboards to search for the pots and pans he needed.
So Clarke padded down the hallway toward the bathroom.
...
Twenty minutes later, Clarke felt refreshed. Well, that was a stretch. She felt clean, and comfortable. But she was still exhausted, and still starving.
Wearing an oversized t-shirt and pyjama shorts, and her damp hair falling around her shoulders, Clarke stepped back into the kitchen, following the scent of mouth-watering food.
“Holy Moses, that smells incredible,” she said, catching his attention.
Bellamy had his back to her, stirring something on the stove, but glanced over his shoulder at her words.
And then he turned around again, offering a shy smile. “Yeah? I picked the chicken pasta dish. I figured you’d like that one best.”
Clarke hummed appreciatively and stepped closer to investigate. She truly couldn’t believe that food could smell that good in her kitchen, let alone the fact that food was actually being made in her kitchen.
“You used to devour the pasta I made when you’d come over for dinner, back when you and O were in high school.”
Clarke laughed, clamping a hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“You practically ate us out of house and home back then,” he teased, elbowing her side. “It’s like you were a stray animal, once we fed you, you never left.”
She retaliated, nudging him with her own elbow. “Hey! First of all, rude. Second of all, your mom said it was okay.”
Bellamy just shrugged, and didn’t say anything else, as he focused on dinner. He added a handful of something to the pan, and a savoury smell filled the kitchen.
“I hated being home alone, that’s why I always hung out at your place,” she admitted.
Again, he didn’t say anything, just nodding once to acknowledge he’d heard her. He must have heard enough about her life back then to know she didn’t like talking about it, after her father had died and how she’d come over crying after fights with her mother.
Clarke lifted herself onto the counter, perched just a few feet away from Bellamy. Somehow the stool she was sitting at earlier seemed too far away from him, but she couldn’t understand why. Her brain was too tired to unravel that puzzle.
“Thanks again for doing this, you really didn’t have to.”
“I don’t mind, it makes me feel useful,” Bellamy said, revealing a hint of sadness in his voice, only evident because she knew him so well. For someone who had practically raised his younger sister, it must be odd to adjust to a life where she no longer needed him. Lonely, too.
“It’ll be a few more minutes. Want something to drink?”
Clarke grinned, “It’s my house, shouldn’t that be my line?”
“Fair, but you just finished, a—how many hours?—shift.”
Clarke scrunched up her nose as she thought. “Well, it was three twelve hour shifts… but I never actually left the hospital. I kept staying longer to check on my patients, and then the ER was short-staffed so I helped there for a bit, and then I just crashed in the on-call room.”
“So a sixty hour shift?” He blinked widely, shaking his head, “That’s insane, Griff.”
She shrugged her shoulders and hopped down from the counter. She reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. She really shouldn’t drink—not when she was this tired with an empty stomach and had another shift tomorrow. But there was something about Bellamy being friendly that made her guarded walls crumble.
“Want some?” Clarke asked Bellamy, already taking two wine glasses from the cupboard. When he agreed, she poured him a glass.
With a full glass of wine, Clarke jumped back up onto the edge of the counter, swinging her feet slowly. Taking a sip, she let herself relax for a moment, trying to release the tired tension from her shoulders.
But her entire view was Bellamy, standing in her kitchen, making her dinner.
What sort of alternate universe had she stepped into, where Bellamy was visiting her house and was actually being nice to her and they weren’t tossing insults left and right. She had no idea, but wasn’t going to stop to question it. And with his back turned to her, she wasn’t going to not admire the way his shirt clung to his muscled shoulders, or the way his dark hair fell in messy curls, making her want to run her fingers through it.
Stop it , she thought to herself, knowing better than to go down that rabbit hole again.
Clarke had crushed on Bellamy almost the entire length of her friendship with Octavia. No amount of bickering, taunting, or teasing between them could erase the way she felt around Bellamy. Her stomach flipped, her nerves tingled. And yet, she hoped that the tormenting had all been a front. Deep down, she knew Bellamy was a good person. It was evident in the way he loved his sister and friends. But it was only Clarke that seemed to push his buttons and rile his temper. It was only Clarke that Bellamy seemed to hate, and was unwilling to truly befriend, even for his sister’s sake.
“Clarke?”
Her eyes whipped up to meet his, and she realized she’d missed his question. And then blushed, realizing she’d been staring at him while she zoned out.
“Sorry. What?”
The corner of his mouth curved up into a small smile. “Oh, I just asked how your day was. Or, days, rather.”
“Oh, they were good, fine,” she managed to say, covering her shock. In all her years of spending time at the Blake’s house, Bellamy hadn’t ever simply asked how her day was. Not once. It was usually a groan, followed by some version of don’t you have your own house, Princess?
While Clarke gave Bellamy a brief snapshot of her recent shifts at the hospital—delivering three babies and a set of twins, and getting to cuddle adorable babies during their six week checkups—she couldn’t help but notice how normal it felt.
Talking to Bellamy felt like talking to a best friend, if only because she’d known him for more than half of her life, even if they weren’t ever on the best terms. Talking to Bellamy felt safe and simple and exhilarating at the same time. He listened as if he actually cared about what she said, and that alone made her feel special and worthy. She couldn’t shake the fact that she was sitting on her kitchen counter, drinking wine in her pyjamas, while her best friend’s older brother cooked her dinner. It wasn’t even a date, but it was a million times better than any dinner date she’d been on in years.
It was entirely new, this moment with Bellamy, but felt extraordinarily comfortable.
“How was your day? You’re still teaching, right?” Clarke asked, changing the topic.
Bellamy nodded as he skillfully chopped vegetables for the salad. “Yeah, high school English. My senior class is working through The Twelfth Night right now. That’s Shakespeare.”
“Hey, I know Shakespeare. I might not be a nerd like you, but I’m not an idiot.”
“Prove it,” he said with a smirk, offering a challenge.
Clarke raised her eyebrows, noting the step back to their familiar territory—though this banter came without malice. Odd. But nice.
“Hmm,” she thought, tapping her finger against her wine glass. “That’s the play with the girl who pretends to be a man, and everyone falls in love with the wrong person, right?”
“We both know you’re just taking a wild guess, because that’s the plot of half of Shakespeare’s comedies,” Bellamy countered.
“No, her name’s Viola, right? And there’s a Duke?” Clarke retorted, making sure to catch his eye for her next words. “And something about cheese? Was it gouda?”
Bellamy snickered, “Now you’re being facetious and referencing She’s the Man. I know it was O’s favourite movie.” He shrugged his shoulders, “But to be fair, it’s based on the play, so I’ll give you a point.”
Clarke cheered, and took another sip of wine, feeling the warmth in her cheeks. “But seriously, it’s cool that you found a way to teach the things you love. You know, old books, history, and Shakespeare. I’m just surprised you didn’t start quoting it.”
Bellamy raised an eyebrow, accepting her unofficial dare. Throwing a tea towel over his shoulder, he stepped into the centre of the kitchen, as if standing centre stage. “ If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die.”
Rolling her eyes at him, Clarke tried to play it cool. She tried to pretend that it was silly, if not annoying.
“That strain again, it had a dying fall.” Bellamy’s voice was melodic, enchanting, following the gentle cadence of each line of poetry. His eyes were on her, and he took a step in her direction. “O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving odour…”
But deep down, Clarke couldn’t deny that Bellamy quoting Shakespeare to her was hot, and definitely turning her on. Her high school crush was back to stay, and this time, she wasn’t too young for him. Six years meant nothing now that they were both adults.
“Enough, no more. ‘Tis not so sweet now as it was before.”
“Okay, okay, you win!” Clarke said, interrupting him with a laugh, raising her hands as she conceded.
Bellamy took a small bow, and turned back to dinner, checking on the pasta and sauce bubbling on her stove.
It was suddenly too quiet in the small kitchen. Clarke knew her cheeks were flushed from the wine, and her exhaustion, and the proximity to Bellamy. So she blurted out the first thing on her mind. “This is so weird, can I just say that? I mean, it is weird, right? You being so nice to me, even though you hate me?”
Bellamy froze and slowly turned around to face her. He wore a mix of emotions, mostly unreadable, but confusion and hurt were among them.
“Clarke, I don’t hate you,” Bellamy said carefully, his eyes full of sincerity.
“Really? ‘Cause you sure had a weird way of showing that,” Clarke retorted defensively, thinking back to the name-calling, the way he flicked her ear, or made fun of guys she dated. She crossed her arms.
He shook his head slowly, and repeated, “I don’t hate you, I never did.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, putting down her wine glass. She was confused. If there ever was one thing she could count on, it was that she’d spent half her life crushing on Bellamy Blake, and it killed her to know that he hated her.
Silence stretched through the kitchen as he spooned hot pasta onto a plate. The dinner he’d selflessly made for her. And only one plate—he wasn’t planning on joining her for dinner.
“Bellamy, if you didn’t hate me, why were you so mean?” Clarke asked again.
Bellamy carried a plate of hot food over to Clarke, setting it on the counter beside her. It smelled divine, causing her stomach to rumble. But as hungry as she was, Clarke didn’t turn to the food, instead she held Bellamy’s stare, challenging him. Her stomach had only been hungry for a few hours, but her heart had been hungry for answers for years. And she was determined to find out the truth.
He exhaled, digging his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, that’s a fair question. I just, you were a lot, okay. You were my little sister’s best friend, and always at my house.”
“And?”
Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly. “You’re really going to make me say this, aren’t you?”
Clarke bit her lip, but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t going to push him, no matter how much she was dying to know what he wasn’t saying.
“Fine,” he shoved his hands in his pockets again, and looked up at her. “I liked you, okay? I liked you too much. And I was painfully aware of the fact that you were way too young for me.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” Bellamy agreed. But he took one step closer. “So I tried to push you away, by teasing you and being mean. It worked on O’s other friends. But not you. You fought back, held your own. And I knew I should just ignore you, but by the time I realized that, I was having too much fun.”
“Oh,” Clarke said again, blinking as all of her high school memories were reframed by Bellamy’s revelation.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” He kicked his foot against the floor. “Do you want me to leave?”
She shook her head, no. Clarke held his stare. If he could be honest, then maybe, so could she. “I liked you too. I—umm, I still do.”
Bellamy took another step closer, stopping just out of reach. There were only inches between her knees and his body and Clarke couldn’t breathe.
Her heart was pounding with exhilaration, but yet calmed by the fact that it was Bellamy standing in front of her. The same person she could count on as a teenager to pick her up whenever she needed a ride or a favour at the most inconvenient times. He’d grumble and complain, but he’d still say yes. The same person she could count on to keep her grounded and centered, never afraid to give her a reality check, even if it came with an insult or condescending tone. The same person she’d been half in love with for years now, who apparently had never hated her—not one bit.
Bellamy reached out, his hand meeting hers on the counter. He flipped over her palm and let their fingers entwine.
Instinctively, Clarke tightened her fingers around his, holding him close, letting him know this was okay.
It must have worked, because Bellamy stepped closer once more, crowding the small space between her knees, so their faces were only inches apart. Delicately, he reached his free hand up to move her damp hair out of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek as he tucked the strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
“I never hated you,” he said for the third time, but this time added, “You’re too important to me.”
She blinked up at him, stunned by his words.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispered, already leaning forward.
“About damn time,” she whispered back, just before their lips touched.
It started soft, a tentative kiss to test the waters of their newly revealed feelings. But their arms soon tangled around one another, holding each other closer as the kiss deepened. One kiss with Bellamy made Clarke blatantly aware of why none of her other relationships lasted—none of them had been Bellamy. None of them had kissed her like this, making her heart pound, her head spin, and her stomach flip all while making her feel at home. This was love, she thought. It was friendship ablaze.
Breathless, Clarke pulled back. Her nose nudged his, and she felt privileged to be the one to witness the beautiful happy smile shining on his face.
“I can’t believe you just kissed me,” Clarke admitted in a whisper, all inhibitions gone between the honesty, the kiss, and the wine. She linked her fingers around his neck to keep him close, and stared up at him. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was fifteen.”
His eyes darkened, and his fingers tightened around her waist, as he leaned in quickly for another kiss.
“Damn, Clarke,” he growled, “You can’t say things like that, and—I was twenty-one then, and—”
Clarke cut him off with another kiss. “It’s okay, Bell. We’re both adults now.”
He held her stare for a moment and then nodded. “I can’t believe you felt this way, all that time,” he murmured, sliding his fingers through her hair. He shook his head slowly, and quoted softly, “If teasing be the food of love, then game on, I guess.”
Clarke snorted with laughter at his altered quote, hiding her face in his shoulder. “You’re such a nerd.”
Bellamy smiled, taking the dig good naturedly.
“Hey, your food’s getting cold.”
Clarke looked down at the pasta—it still smelled incredible—and then back up to Bellamy.
“Have dinner with me?” she asked, blinking up at him, pleading.
“How can I say no to those eyes?” He kissed her nose, and stepped out of their embrace. He moved toward the cupboard to grab a plate for himself, filling it with food. He brought it over to the table and took a seat across from her, and Clarke was happy here in this simple moment—she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
...
After dinner, Clarke was warm and content. Her belly was full from the delicious meal, the wine bottle was empty on the kitchen counter, and she had convinced Bellamy to stay just a few minutes longer to sit with her on the couch.
She snuggled against his chest, breathing in the smell of him, so familiar yet thrilling to have him so close. His hand moved slowly up and down her back, raising goosebumps along her skin, but she was too tired and comfortable to do anything more than cuddle.
“You know what’s weird?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet to not disturb the moment.
“What?” he answered, shifting slighting to catch her eye.
“That this—us,” Clarke gestured between them, waving her hand, “doesn’t feel weird. You’d think the world would have to end before the two of us could sit quietly beside each other for five minutes.”
Bellamy smirked, as a fond expression crossed his face.
“The world might still end. I don’t know how we’re going to tell my sister,” he mused, chuckling softly to himself.
Clarke couldn’t help but grin at the thought of Octavia finding out about them. “That sounds like a tomorrow problem to me.”
“Me too. How about I come over for dinner again tomorrow night, we can tell her then. And I can cook up another one of those meal kits for you, so it doesn’t go to waste,” Bellamy offered, as he played with the end of her hair.
“You know that’s why I’m cool with this—us,” she teased, tickling his stomach, as she caught his eye again. “I’ve always wanted a boyfriend who cooks for me, and you, Blake, make good food.”
Bellamy rolled his eyes at her words. “You’re trouble,” he muttered, but hugged her closer anyway, and pressed a kiss to her temple.
Clarke snuggled against his chest, not wanting the happy moment to end. Bellamy had wanted to leave so that she could go to sleep, but she’d risk falling asleep in his arms if it meant he would stay with her just a little bit longer. Her eyelids grew heavy, so she closed them, letting the rhythmic motion of Bellamy’s breathing, his chest rising and falling, slowly lull her closer to sleep.
“Hey, Clarke?” Bellamy said a moment later, rousing her out of her half-asleep state.
“Yeah?” She lifted her head off of his chest to look him in the eye.
“Are you ever going to tell me what’s wrong with my glasses?” Bellamy asked.
Clarke snorted at the reference from earlier that evening, and buried her face back against his muscular chest, cherishing the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her.
“What? That bad?” he asked.
“No, they’re perfect. You’re perfect,” she replied, glancing up at him, hoping he wouldn’t press the subject.
His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Then why did you bring them up?”
Biting her lip, Clarke held his gaze for a moment, wondering how she could explain herself. “Oh, fine. I got flustered, okay? They look amazing on you, and I knew I was staring, and well, they’re perfect. You’re perfect.”
Bellamy chuckled, but held her closer, placing a gentle kiss on her temple.
“You’re cute when you get flustered,” he whispered.
Clarke groaned, and buried her face against his chest again, feeling it shake as he continued to laugh.
…
The next night, Clarke arrived home having left work at a reasonable hour to find Bellamy in the kitchen, already preparing dinner.
She greeted him with a kiss, not quite ready to admit how much of her day she’d spent anticipating this moment, being able to see him again. She was slowly beginning to unravel the depth of her feelings for Bellamy, now that it was safe to do so. She was finding that all of the resentment and anger she’d carried over the years was only because she cared about Bellamy so much, because he already occupied a large place in her heart.
“Is Octavia here yet?” Clarke asked.
But Bellamy shook his head, “Not yet, but soon.”
“Good,” Clarke grinned, raising her eyebrows at him in a silent challenge before leaning in for another kiss. His hands anchored at her waist, pulling her body against his, as he kissed her soundly.
Clarke lost herself in the kiss, and Bellamy did too—so much so that they didn’t even hear the front door open, or the footsteps in the hall.
“Ugh!”
Clarke jumped away from Bellamy at the sound of her roommate’s disgruntled voice.
Bellamy kept his hands on her waist, keeping her close, as they watched Octavia, waiting for a reaction.
Octavia shook her head once, eyes blinking rapidly, as if in disbelief at the sight. “I don’t know whether to be grossed out by this, or just say finally .”
Clarke grinned, and looked up to Bellamy, whose cheeks were a little flushed by his sister’s sudden appearance. He was cute when he was flustered too.
So Clarke closed the distance between them and quickly kissed Bellamy again.
But her action only prompted Octavia to make a gagging sound. “Nope, definitely gross.”
Laughing, Clarke tucked herself against Bellamy’s chest for a hug, knowing that Octavia was only teasing, and would relish bugging the two of them for as long as possible—she had learned to tease from the best.
“What’s for dinner, Bell?” Octavia asked, taking a seat at the kitchen counter, and catching Clarke’s eye. “Not that I wanted to see you two making out in our kitchen, but I am glad he’s here, ‘cause Clarke, you can’t cook to save your life.”
Bellamy snorted in laughter at Clarke’s expense, but she didn’t mind. “That’s why I picked him,” she teased, making a face at Bellamy. A face that he quickly removed by pressing a kiss to her lips.
“Ew! Stop kissing in the kitchen!” Octavia called, covering her eyes with her hands. “Your cuteness is gonna make me barf.”
Clarke laughed again, resting her head on Bellamy’s shoulder.
“O, what’s this I hear about a new boyfriend?” Bellamy asked, diverting the subject.
While Octavia finally told her brother about her new boyfriend, Clarke smiled happily, hoping this would be her new normal. She could get used to coming home to find Bellamy Blake standing in her kitchen, making her dinner. She could get used to being his.