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Clarke shoved her way into the bar with the full intention of murdering Bellamy Blake.
As the door slammed shut behind her, the cool night breeze was cut off, and she soon was made very aware of how warm the bar was. Raucous conversation filled the air along with the undertone of live music from the back of the building. As Clarke maneuvered her way deeper into the crowd, she silently cursed Bellamy Blake and all that he stood for. The next time he went out, she was going to hand him fare for the subway and be done with it.
Her eyes scanned the heads at the drink bar for a fruitless minute before she saw him, head bent over a shot of hard whiskey. She muscled her way over, half-wishing she'd gone home and changed from her date outfit. The black dress, despite only going down to just above her knees, seemed to catch on everything and everyone on the way over.
Finally, she made it to the drink bar, which glowed with a white-blue light that illuminated the faces of those around it. She hoped it shone enough light on hers for Bellamy to realize she wasn't happy with him in the least.
It seemed he was sober enough to maintain some sense of spatial awareness; seeing her move over to the bar, he lifted his head and gave her a lopsided smile. "You took your time, Princess."
Clarke wasn't in the mood. "I was out with Finn, and you knew it. Why couldn't you have called Raven? Or Miller? Or your sister?"
The smile faded a little. He looked down at his shot glass and swirled it around on the bar surface. "If it was that big of a deal, you could have called them yourself. You didn't have to come."
"That's not the point, Bell," Clarke shot back, wondering how much of this conversation was getting through to his inebriated brain. "It's that you did this last time, too. And the time before that. Every time I'm out with Finn, you find a way to ruin it."
He looked down at her outfit, taking in her appearance with a long look. It was probably because he was too drunk to register it, but either way, Clarke felt her heart make a weird skip when he slowly drew his eyes back up to hers. The humor had left his face, closing it off from any visible emotion. "You dressed up for him this time."
"Yeah, because it was a real date this time. We were at a restaurant." Clarke set her phone on the bar in between them and moved closer, making sure Bellamy could hear just how angry she was. "We were just starting on the main course when some drunken idiot calls me up. I didn't even have to look at the number. Do you know what Finn said?"
Bellamy's jaw was clenched, and his grip around the shot glass was getting dangerously tight. "What?"
"Has your roommate drunk himself under the table already?" Clarke quoted at him, tight-lipped.
Bellamy let out a huff of what might have been laughter before his mouth twisted and he looked down at the drink in his hand. "Great guy you got there, Clarke."
"I wouldn't really know. I haven't actually gotten around to dating him yet," Clarke exclaimed, grabbing the shot from Bellamy's hand and downing it herself. She slammed it down on the bar and slid it over to the bartender, saying, "Don't you dare give this man another drink, you hear me?"
"Clarke!" Bellamy got to his feet, looking seriously pissed off. "Stop it."
The alcohol had gone straight to Clarke's head, and there was an angry buzzing in her ears. She looked up at him, glaring into his eyes. "You stop it. I came here to pick you up. You're the one who needed my help."
"I didn't call you for that!" he shouted. Even in the noisy bar, it turned a few heads. He noticed and took the time to regulate his voice, running a hand through his curly hair. In a lower tone, he said, "I didn't call you to come pick me up."
Clarke stared at him, unable to form words for a moment. Then, without thinking, she reached out and slapped him. The impact stung her palm, but she didn't care. "Is this some sort of stupid game to you? Let's see how much we can fuck with Clarke before she blows her top? Do you think this is funny?"
Bellamy tongued his cheek. If he had looked pissed before, now he looked beyond furious. "If I thought this was funny, I would have been laughing by now, Clarke."
"Then why?" Clarke demanded. "Why do you do this to me, Bellamy?"
He stared at her openly for a long second, barely breathing. It was as though the words had struck him dumb, or maybe knocked some sense into him, because when he next spoke, he was barely audible. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's nothing. No reason."
"Bellamy," Clarke warned, stepping closer. She had a brief flash of worry that he was going to collapse or pass out, but then she realized she was near enough that she would have smelled the stench of alcohol emanating off of him if he was really as drunk as he'd sounded on the phone. And he didn't smell like alcohol at all. He just smelled like Bellamy.
He didn't look at her, instead turning his head up to look over her and across the bar. "Just go home, Clarke. I won't call you again. I'll change my speed-dial."
"No, Bellamy, tell me," she instructed, a learned tone after having to deal with him for the past three years as a roommate.
He finally looked at her again, and it was as though he'd given up. In a monotone, he said, "I don't like him."
"Finn?"
His lip curled a little at the word. "Yeah. I hate him. I really, really fucking hate him. And I really hate seeing him with you, because. . . ."
After a second, Clarke said, "You'd better finish that sentence, Bell."
He swallowed tightly, like the words hurt coming out. He ducked his head, hiding the words in his shirt. "Because you deserve better."
It was Clarke's turn to be struck speechless. She tried to formulate a real answer, but all she managed to say was, "What?"
He repeated it, louder. "You deserve better than him."
When she didn't say anything, he sucked in a deep breath. Then, it came out in a rush of words: "I'm better, Clarke. I'm better than him, aren't I?"
Clarke couldn't comprehend what she was hearing. But apparently thought was unnecessary, because between one blink and the next, Bellamy's hands were on either side of her face and pulling her closer, and their lips met.
His mouth was hard, like he hadn't wanted to kiss her, like he wanted her to pull away. For a second, Clarke considered doing just that, but then something snapped inside of her and instead of moving away, she stepped in closer, feeling her body align with his. Bellamy let out a sigh against her lips, and suddenly the kiss changed. His mouth moved against hers, his arms wrapped around her to pull her closer. The bar faded away.
That was when Clarke realized: she was kissing Bellamy Blake. Dependable, history-major, bad-joke-telling, waffle-making, morning-person Bellamy Blake. The man who'd made her promise to never tell another soul that he wore reading glasses when he got tired, and who wanted a dog more than he wanted a good night's sleep, and who had sat up with her all night for a week when her father died, even though all his classes were morning ones.
And suddenly, Clarke became aware of something else.
She drew back suddenly, leaving her arms looped around his neck. Her heart was pounding in her chest. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to know when a person liked her. More importantly, she was supposed to know when she liked a person back, preferably before getting into an argument with said person.
Bellamy misread the expression on her face as doubt and the breath rushed out of him. He nodded, starting to take his arms away, but Clarke reached behind her in a flash motion to hold them there. She shook her head. "You're not going anywhere."
His eyes searched her face for a moment, looking vaguely uncertain with the turn of events, before a wry look appeared on his face as it dawned on him. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a grin. "You're a very oblivious person, Clarke Griffin."
"Maybe you're not as obvious as you think you are," Clarke said lightly. She was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had just kissed Bellamy. And she really wanted to do it again.
He shook his head at her. "Nah, I'm pretty obvious. Octavia knew from the beginning. In fact, she started a pool to bet on when you'd finally realize it."
Clarke frowned at the comment about one of her best friends. "What?"
"Yeah," Bellamy continued. He counted out on his fingers. "Now, it's June, so that makes it almost three years now. I think that was Raven's bet. Or maybe Monty's. I can't remember."
"They were in on this?"
Bellamy smiled at her, then pressed a quick kiss to her lips before pulling back. "Like I said, oblivious."
"And you're drunk," she replied. She glanced down at her watch. If she had stayed on her date with Finn, they would probably have been having dessert right about now. She didn't even know what they would be talking about - they'd never made it through a full date uninterrupted.
She was very, very glad they hadn't.
Bellamy grabbed her phone and slid it into his pocket. His arm circled her waist, and she felt his lips brush against her hair. She didn't need to see his face to know that he was smiling.
"Come on, Princess," he said. "Let's go home."