Chapter Text
The next Friday, Clarke is heading to a shoot across the city when she her eye catches on a poster on the Subway. It’s Bellamy fucking Blake’s Calvin Klein ad. “That’s helpful,” she thinks to herself. She always knew she was attracted to him, but being reminded of how hot he is wasn’t helping. When she first met him, she thought he was just another cocky hardheaded model. He certainly had that air about him.
He settles into her make up chair with a smirk. “You’re new.”
Clarke tries her best to remain professional. “Hello, I’m Clarke Griffin. You must be one of the models on the shoot.”
Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “I must be one of the models? Do you think I’m handsome?.”
Clarke scoffs. “Well, actually I was thinking that you are a model because you’re sitting in the make-up chair where I apply make-up to models. If you’re not, just know I don’t appreciate it when people waste my time.”
Bellamy’s look of surprise quickly turns into one of delight. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun together, aren’t we, Princess?”
Clarke rolls her eyes. She is not going to fall for his act no matter how cute his face is. “My name is Clarke, which I believe I already told you.”
He smirks again, “that you did, Princess.”
Bellamy’s back in town. She knows he is. Not because the music video shoot is over. She may have asked someone where he was. It’s not a big deal. She is often curious when she hasn’t seen some models for a few weeks. Besides, she was super nonchalant. There was no way Sterling suspected anything. Not that there’s anything to suspect, Clarke reminds herself.
Later, the next week, Clarke is barely dragging herself through basic tasks. It’s not that the day sneaks up on her. Clarke remembers. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to forget. She doesn’t want to forget. It’s been five years since the death of her father, though, and a part of her just thought it would get a little easier. Maybe the constant weight on her chest would be relieved just a bit. She was wrong.
Her friends all remembered. Monty and Jasper dropped off some food, and offered to stay. Raven called and said, “we can sit at your house and cry or go out and get wasted.” Monroe and Harper sent flowers. Everyone was being really nice, but they didn’t understand. Losing a parent isn’t something you can explain. It’s just a part of your life. She didn’t want to cry or forget. She didn’t want words of comfort that were well-intentioned, but empty.
The truth is, she wasn’t surprised that she ended up outside Bellamy’s apartment building. As Clarke went to use the intercom, she was suddenly nervous. She only knew where he lived because he had once mentioned the name of his complex. He might not even be there. He could be busy. But, Clarke was there, and Bellamy was the only person she wanted to be around.
She rang the intercom for "Blake, B" and waited. After a few rings, there is a “hello?” Clarke takes a deep breath, “Hi Bellamy.”
There’s silence for just a moment before he asks, “Clarke? Are you…? One second, I’m coming down.”
Clarke’s voice is quiet when she replies, “okay.”
Barely three minutes pass before Bellamy opens the door barefoot with low slung black sweatpants and what was clearly a hastily pulled on grey t-shirt. Clarke was similarly dressed. She did put shoes on, though. It had felt like an accomplishment. Even in her state, she was not going to ride on the subway barefoot.
Before she can say anything, he sweeps her into his arms. She had held it together relatively well on the way there, but when he holds her with no pretense or question, she just collapses into him. Bellamy gently guides her up to his apartment, and they settle on his couch.
They sit there for a while, not saying anything. She leans against his chest, and he rubs comforting circles into her back. Eventually, she sits up and looks around his place. It seemed colder and much more clinical than she imagined. With that thought, she pushed aside the reminder that it was weird she had imagined it. There was no art on the walls, no sign of any personality. Maybe he moved in recently? She is tempted to ask him about it, but she feels like she owes him a bit of an explanation for arriving at his apartment at midnight crying.
“I thought it would be a bit easier by now. It’s been five years. Shouldn’t I be able to handle it better by now?”
Bellamy sighs, and runs his fingers through her hair. “It doesn’t really get better, Princess.” They sit quietly for a few moments before Bellamy starts again. “But, you can learn how to get through it. You'll still think of them when you hear their favorite song, but eventually it makes you smile instead of cry. Because you get to remember something happy.” Clarke looks at Bellamy with hopeful eyes, then leans into his side.
Clarke thinks back to a few months ago when she ran into Bellamy on a bench near the park where they were shooting that day. He had his face in his hands.
She sat patiently for a few minutes before he said, “my mom was kind of a wreck, so when she died, I didn’t… a part of me thought it would be easier for Octavia. I was 17, so I thought, you know, in a year, I could gain custody, and we could just face the world together.” Bellamy drew a shaking breath. “She was in foster care for seventeen months before I could get her out.” He paused before adding, “Our mom had a lot of problems, but she loved us. I don’t think O even remembers the good times. I try to remind her, but it’s just… it’s just hard.”
Clarke reached over to grip his hand. “Octavia and Lincoln are engaged. I’m happy for them, but I just wish our mom was here.”
Clarke smiled at him. “Bellamy, I… I know that it’s tough, and I know that you feel like you’re not enough for her, but you are. I know how much Octavia means to you, and you will throw your sister the best wedding this town has ever seen.” Bellamy raised his brows at that.
Clarke huffed a laugh. Bellamy squeezed her hand, and whispered, “thank you.”
It’s been almost an hour since they’ve spoken, but the silence seems comfortable. He’s leaning back on the couch with his fingers in her hair, and she’s laying in his lap. "I've been meaning to talk to you about your show next weekend." Clarke looks up at him. Apparently, they weren't going to address the weirdness from her birthday party.
"Octavia's fiancé, Lincoln, is an artist. He uhhh... mostly does sculpture, but it might still be good to meet him.
Clarke's eyes light up, and she stumbles out a "yeah, that would be wonderful."
Relief washes through Bellamy's eyes, and he adds, “I would’ve introduced you earlier, but I didn’t realize until your birthday that you were serious about pursuing art. You told me you draw and paint, but I’ve never seen it, and… I don’t know.” Bellamy shakes his head and laughs awkwardly.
Clarke feels the beginnings of a smile stretch across her face. “I guess you’ll see my art next weekend.”
Bellamy smiles at her, and replies, “I guess I will.”
Clarke starts to stand, and says, “I should get home. I appreciate you letting me come by unannounced and take over your evening with my sobbing.”
“It’s really no problem, and it’s late. You should stay. I’ll take the couch." He must sense her hesitation because he adds, "it’s not a big deal, and I would feel better knowing you were okay tonight.”
Clarke makes to resist, but she’s so tired. And, her next shoot isn’t until the afternoon. So, instead she smiles and thanks him. Bellamy guides her to his bedroom, and points out the bathroom. They stand there for a moment before Bellamy says, “I have a sunrise shoot tomorrow, so just lock up when you leave in the morning.”
Clarke gapes, “you should have told me! I kept you awake half the night!”
Bellamy shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, seriously. Plus, if I look bad in the photos, I can just blame it on you,” he says with a smirk.
She rolls her eyes. “Good night, Bellamy.” He smiles and says “sweet dreams.”
They see each other at work the next week, and they still tease each other. It’s patently clear, though, that something has shifted. Each smile has meaning, each careless touch as Clarke does his make-up holds something. They don’t talk about it. And when Roma and Bellamy are at the same shoot, but just exchange polite hellos, Clarke tries to calm the swooping in her chest.
She thought she’d be working until the last minute with wet paint on her canvases, but the morning of the show, she feels ready. She is calling the collection: “After the Apocalypse.” It’s a mix of barren wastelands, empty cities, radioactive creatures, and overgrown forests. She recognizes it’s a bit sad, but she can’t help but see hope that even after humans are gone, there may be lush forests with two headed deer and luminescent butterflies.
Raven, Harper, and Jasper all take the Friday off to help her set up. It takes her hours to decide which painting to put where, whether one should be a few inches higher, or a foot to the left, but none of them complain. They’re excited for her. She thanks them a million times before they all separate to get ready for the opening that evening. Clarke slips into a purple sheath dress, puts on smokey make-up, and pins her hair up all to attempt a professional but daring artist look. She takes a few deep breaths, gives herself a mirror pep talk, then heads back to the gallery.
Jasper and Raven are waiting at the door when the show opens, but Clarke had to shoo them off after a few minutes because Jasper couldn’t “play it cool.” Clarke was starting to relax. The show was going well, people seem interested in her pieces. Many are asking her about her inspiration, and some even talk to her about commissions. She’s talking to a slight woman in all black when Clarke sees Bellamy walking toward her with a huge grin on his face. Clarke thanks the woman (Judy? Jane?) who heads to explore more of the gallery.
“Hi,” she greets him shyly.
Bellamy looks at her work, then back at her. “Clarke, this… you… you are incredible.”
She stumbles over her words as she thanks him, and tries to explain her inspiration while he continues to beam at her. It’s distracting.
After a few minutes, a throat clears behind them. “Sorry to interrupt,” Octavia says with a smirk on her face.
“Of course. Hi, sorry! It’s good to see you Octavia. You must be Lincoln.” Lincoln nods to Clarke as he peruses her paintings.
“These are impressive,” Lincoln finally says to no one in particular.
Octavia grabs Bellamy’s arm to pull him away as she says, “Come on, let’s let them talk shop.” Bellamy offers Clarke a half-smile, and follows his sister.
The first evening of the show is winding to a close, and Octavia and Raven are deep in conversation about Krav Maga. Monty and Miller arrived together, which would’ve made the night a success regardless of her show. Currently, they’re walking around with Jasper pretending to be art connoisseurs. Harper and Monroe headed out early, but their presence did help subdue Jasper for a couple hours. Octavia walks over to Clarke, and says, “let’s go get you a drink.” Clarke looks over at Bellamy who is with Lincoln talking with various art critics who come by. He sees her and shrugs his shoulders with a smile.
Clarke turns back to Octavia, and says, “that sounds lovely.”
They’re walking back, drinks in hand, when Octavia stops, and turns to Clarke with a focused look on her face. “Thank you for getting Bellamy’s head out of his ass about the wedding.” Clarke looks at Octavia in surprise. “No, he didn’t specifically say you, but, he said ‘someone from work,’ and if it had been Miller, he would have just said Miller.” Clarke struggles for something to say before Octavia adds, “don’t worry. I’m not trying to put you on the spot or anything. I just wanted to say thanks, so thanks.”
Clarke smiles back at Octavia before saying “I should probably get back. You know, people might want to ask me about the art that I made.” Clarke cringes, and Octavia rolls her eyes before they both walk back to Clarke’s ‘art that she made.’
Everyone’s saying goodbye, when Bellamy comes back over to her. “You did great tonight, Clarke.” She just smiles back at him in response. “So, I have an evening shoot tomorrow, but I’ll see you on Sunday?” Clarke is slack-jawed. She feels like that a lot around him lately. “What?” he asks confused.
“I just didn’t realize you were going to come back.”
He chuckles, “someone has to babysit Lincoln while he talks you up. I’m afraid Octavia will have to do tomorrow. Don’t worry, she can get her lawyer face on.”
Once again, Clarke struggles for something to say. She just gives him a hug, kisses him on the cheek, and says, “thank you, Bellamy.”
The third day of the show, the Met announces that she wins the “Choice Breakout Painter” award. Her friends' cheers drown out the polite clapping from the critics and other artists. Clarke is delighted and overwhelmed. Raven and Octavia seem almost competitive in their celebratory drinking. She’s fielding calls for publicists, other showings, and pieces to commission. She’s so thankful that Lincoln is helping her with this process because she feels utterly out of her depth.
After the success of her show, Clarke takes the dive and stops scheduling shoots. Her last day is two weeks after the show, and of course, Bellamy is one of her last models. It’s the end of the day when he heads back over to her. “I’m glad it’s working out.” He pauses before adding, “I’ll miss you here.” Before Clarke can process what he meant by that, he starts again. “Octavia said you used her to model for one of your pieces.”
Octavia is such a blabbermouth, Clarke thinks to herself.
Despite the disgruntled expression on Clarke’s face, Bellamy continues. “It’s weird that you asked her instead of, for example, her brother-- who is actually a model.” Bellamy smirks at her and winks, but she knows him. She can see the disappointment behind his eyes.
“Well, would you mind giving me a ride home before the party tonight?” He looks taken aback, but pleased with her offer. Bellamy stands off to the side, as she says goodbye to the photographers and some of the other models.
When Roma hugs her, she whispers, “you two may not be together, but it seems like that’s not by choice.” She winks at Clarke before heading out the door.
She walks up to Bellamy, who asks “ready?”
She nods, and then says, “this party is going to be terrifying. I think it was probably a bad idea to introduce Raven and Octavia.”
Bellamy laughs and leads her out with his hand at the small of her back. On the way back to her place, she talks about the gallery opening and ideas for her new studio. They laugh about how his agent (incorrectly) assumed he would want to model for Trojan condoms because he likes history.
When they walk up to her apartment, she asks him to wait for a minute, and leaves him standing confused by the door. When Clarke returns to see him awkwardly staring into space, she loses a bit of her nerve. When she clears her throat, he looks over to her. His eyes go wide when he sees what she’s holding.
She’s gripping the edges of the canvas of a painting of Bellamy and Octavia. It’s from Octavia’s law school graduation. A day that Bellamy has said many times was the proudest day of his life. There are dozens of pictures from that day, but his favorite (the one this painting is based off of) is blurry. It’s from right after the ceremony, and Octavia was making fun of Bellamy because he’d been crying. In the picture, they are laughing when one of Octavia’s law school friends snapped the shot.
Bellamy gapes at Clarke. He blinks rapidly before saying, “this is wonderful, Clarke. I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”
She puts the painting on the table, and with renewed conviction says, “I know we only worked together for like a year, but you’ve been a big part of that time. I guess we still don’t know each other that well, but I appreciate you being there for me a few weeks ago and everything with Lincoln. I just… I’ll miss you. I wanted to give you something to remember me by, you know. And, also, to decorate your ugly ass apartment.”
Bellamy laughs, but then his face softens. “We’ll still see each other, Clarke.”
She looks up to him with so much hope in her eyes. “Will we?”
He takes a step closer to her, then another. He runs his fingers in her hair. He slowly leans down, and stops just a breath away from her. She wraps her arms around him, and kisses him fiercely. He moves his hands to her hips and lifts her onto the table, as she wraps her legs around him. As she pulls him closer and presses their bodies together, Bellamy lets out a small groan. She chuckles against his mouth, and he pulls back.
He looks at her in amazement. “You never… I thought it was just me.”
At that, she rolls her eyes, and says “you clearly have not been paying enough attention” before recapturing his lips.
As he starts to kiss down her neck, she says, “we really should go to my farewell celebration.”
He sighs, “I guess so. But, how am I going to bring my fancy new wall art home?”
Clarke shrugs her shoulders as she grabs her purse, “you can just bring it back to your place in the morning.” Bellamy’s eyebrows shoot up before she winks and drags him out the door.