Chapter Text
School hallways had pretty much always been the bane of Clarke Griffin’s existence. She hated the crush of students — the boys either gross and sweaty or wearing some disgusting semblance of cologne; the girls prancing around in clouds of perfume that assaulted her sinuses — and she abhorred the incessant chatter surrounding her, making it damn near impossible to hear herself think, let alone carry on a conversation with one of the few friends she had left.
“Hey,” said a masculine voice next to her ear, and she jumped. For a minute she thought it was him — stupid, really, since she’d known this voice forever and she’d only met him last summer.
“Hey, Wells.”
Clarke’s oldest friend frowned at the lackluster tone of her voice. “Everything alright?”
“It was supposed to be a one-summer-only thing,” she said quietly, though she couldn’t quite keep her eyes from scanning the halls. He was a student here, too, after all; it was hardly inconceivable that they’d cross paths at some point. She wanted to be prepared when they did, since he had always been the one to catch her off guard.
Stop thinking about him, she ordered herself, when remembrances of those encounters led to the memory of the smug smirk that adorned his face whenever he surprised her, and the first time she’d gotten up the courage to kiss it off his stupidly handsome face, and the freckles she used to love to trace into constellations — Enough, Clarke repeated to herself. It’s over and done with. You’re done, the two of you.
Wells was still watching her concernedly, so she plastered on a pleasant smile. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine. I’m over him.”
“I hope so,” Wells murmured, an eyebrow raised skeptically. “Because here he comes.”
It was pathetic how quickly Clarke’s head jerked up, her gaze snapping in the direction her best friend indicated, her whole body going on alert. Wells did like to mess with her, she knew, but even he knew better than to joke around about this, about him.
And oh, there he was. Broad-shouldered and curly-haired and freckled and gorgeous, sauntering down the hallways with his guys, smirking like he owned the school, even though he was a new student and should, by all logical reasoning, have been cast out.
But that was just his way — Bellamy Blake had a way of effortlessly ingratiating himself into any sort of situation and absolutely owning the scene. It was, after all, exactly how he’d become a part of their group.
His gaze passed over her, then slid back as his eyes narrowed, his face clearly struggling to maintain its impassivity. He seemed to almost open his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and turned away, leaving without a word.
Clarke exhaled shakily, resting her forehead against the cool metal of her locker door. It’s better this way, she reminded herself, but it was hard to believe it when she thought about the entirety of senior year going this way.
The boys around him were roughhousing, shoving each other into lockers and joking around like fairly typical teenage douchebags. Normally Bellamy would’ve joined them, been at the center of the action even, but today his thoughts were occupied.
He hadn’t seen her since the disastrous end of the summer, and every fiber of his body was on high alert as they made their way down the hall. In a school this small, it was more than likely that they’d run into each other before the day was out, and he’d rather not have that be literally. Not like the first time they’d met — Okay, that’s enough, Blake. He winced at the bittersweet memory — after the initial clash, they’d gotten along quite well, even turned it into an inside joke between the two of them. Then everything had changed, and he really wasn’t sure what he would do if — when — he saw her again.
Speak of the devil.
The first thing he saw was a glimpse of bright hair, and he couldn’t help the way he immediately looked over to check if it was her. It had been weeks, after all, and right now he couldn’t think beyond wondering how she was holding up. (“You’re an absolute mess, big brother,” Octavia had said just the other day. “You need to get over her; and get over yourself too, while you’re at it.” He’d thrown a pillow at her in retaliation, but even then he’d known she had the right of it.)
Yup, that was her, the current bane of his existence. She was talking to Wells, just like she had been when he’d first met her, and it was as if nothing had changed since the start of summer. As if he’d never existed in her picture-perfect, white-picket-fence world.
Before Clarke Griffin, he hadn’t thought that he even had a heart to break. He cared about his sister and his mother, and that was that. Everyone else could go screw themselves. Then she stomped and argued her way past his walls, and he’d never been the same since.
“Really?” Murphy asked, noticing how Bellamy stopped in the middle of the walkway. “Dude, that’s Clarke Griffin. Know-it-all, mom and dad are both profs at the college, scary as hell. She will eat you alive.”
“Yeah,” Bellamy murmured. “I know.”
It was never intended to be more than a summer fling. They were both going to be high school seniors, though they were two years apart — she’d skipped third grade; he’d repeated fifth — so between upcoming college applications and the desire to prove themselves to the world, neither had time for any serious emotional entanglements. So when things between them had escalated, they’d initially agreed: no real feelings; what happens in summer, stays in summer.
Obviously, that hadn’t worked out so well.
Instead of ending with the smooth neutrality of a predetermined agreement, they went out — as all their cynical friends had predicted — with a bang. No-holds-barred fighting, accusations tossed back and forth, plenty of below-the-belt shots on both sides. Everything she’d ever revealed flung right back in her face; everything he’d ever promised dredged up to be mocked and derided.
Was it any wonder they could hardly stand to be around each other anymore?
“Back-to-school party at your place later?” Raven suggested at lunch, glancing over wistfully to the table where Bellamy and his guys were sitting, studiously ignoring their existence. Among them was Wick, though he was having less success keeping his eyes off them. Or, well, off Raven. “It won’t be the same without them, but we’ll make do. Who’ve we got left, anyway?”
“Us,” Clarke said morosely, then glanced around their table to take a quick headcount. “Wells. Finn, I guess. Monty and Jasper. Maya.”
“So, seven? That’s enough for a halfway decent gathering. Won’t be as wild without the Blakes, but I’m guessing wild isn’t exactly what you’re looking for right now.”
Clarke cast her own glance over to the other table and sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Octavia had been shooting him furtive sidelong glances ever since they left the school parking lot, and Bellamy had finally had enough. “What, O?”
She blinked. “Can I turn on the radio?”
He shrugged, though he was secretly pleased that she’d actually remembered his my car, my music rule for once. “Go for it.”
When a recognizable guitar opening came on, he immediately regretted the words. Immediately he reached over to change the station, but she caught his wrist. “Bell, stop being weird. You can’t just avoid everything forever.”
“Watch me,” he grumbled, but returned his hand to the steering wheel and refocused on the road, gritting his teeth as the painfully familiar lyrics began to play.
That night, I still remember…
“You know, it’s really not such a bad idea.”
“Oh, shut up, Wick. Raven, can’t you come control your boyfriend?”
“He’s not —”
“Sure he’s not. I mean, yeah, you’re not official, blah blah blah, but we can all tell that both of you are totally head over heels for each other.”
“Yeah, well, so were you and —” Raven froze, clapping a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.
They all froze, in fact. They’d been doing so good, ignoring the Blakes-shaped hole in the room — Bellamy and Octavia were the life and soul of the party, as they’d discovered that summer, and it was far too early on to try and replace them — but it was really inevitable that this moment would come. And now it was here.
“Shit, Clarke, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —”
Clarke lifted a hand to cut off the stream of apologies — a gesture that she’d picked up from a certain somebody over the summer, not that any of them would point it out now. “No, it’s okay, I know.” She scuffed the toe of her Converse against the grass and sighed. “Sorry I’ve been such a downer lately. It’s not like I’m the only person in the world who’s ever been through a breakup.”
“It’s not your fault,” Monty insisted, bounding over to hug her tightly. She relaxed into the familiar comfort of his embrace, trying not to think about somebody else who also gave great hugs. “We’re all still trying to figure out what happened.” Clarke remembered suddenly about Miller, who was sticking close to Bellamy’s side these days, and felt a stab of guilt.
This was on them, her and Bellamy. (And yes, it most definitely hurt to even think his name. That was exactly why she repeated it in her head, over and over and over — she deserved the pain, the agony of remembering how stupid, how careless, how thoughtless she’d been. They’d both been.) Everyone had had an amazing summer, a made-for-the-movies idyll that had brought them all closer together.
Until they’d happened, and blown everything they’d built to smithereens.
Clarke shook her head, trying to clear it. (I can still hear you thinking, princess. Oh traitorous memory.) “I think I’m gonna head up to bed. You guys are welcome to stay over; both my parents are out of town.”
Even the sound of soft footfalls and the added weight to the sofa couldn’t pull Bellamy’s eyes from his game. He did, however, gesture to the controller he’d purposefully left on the coffee table in hopes of this very occurrence. “Wanna play?” She picked it up, as he’d known she would. This was their thing, late-night video game sessions that left them both tired but happy.
Bellamy had long since gotten used to the weird looks he got when people found out he’d repeated a grade — the judgmental once-overs, the attempt to reconcile this rather clever nerd with their mental picture of the kind of kid who didn’t pass elementary school on the first try. What most of them didn’t realize was that it had been deliberate.
Six years was a major age gap, especially when you were little. Your sister, your responsibility, their mother had constantly reminded him, and it had pretty much become his main philosophy in life. So when the time came for timid, painfully-shy Octavia to start thinking about kindergarten, he’d made sure he’d still be in the same school so he could be there for her.
He’d do anything for her. It just made sense.
“You’re still a wreck, Bell. You know you can’t hide anything from me; I’ve always been able to tell when something’s wrong with you.”
“Yeah? Your form’s off, too.” As if to punctuate his point, he snapped his wrist and sent the ball spiraling past her on-screen avatar.
Grinning genuinely for the first time in a while, he turned to her and found her scowling. “You cheater.”
He shrugged. “Not my fault you can’t stay focused on a simple game.”
“Oh, you are going to eat those words.”
“Make me.”
“I plan to.”
As they launched into another round, Octavia briefly rested her head against his shoulder, and Bellamy gave silent thanks for understanding siblings who didn’t feel the need to drag everything out into the open.