Work Text:
“I’m going to fail,” Octavia proclaims loudly. She cracks her back and the stretch casts her shadow on the opposite wall, a graceful arch. “I’m going to fail Higher English and Bellamy’s going to kill me.”
Raven scoffs, looking up from her pile of notes, a highlighter in each hand and one tucked behind her ear. “Come crying to me when you’re taking Advanced Higher Maths, Physics and Chemistry, Blake. You don’t even know the pressure I’m under.”
“Raven,” Clarke scolds gently, putting her Biology textbook aside. “Higher’s no joke. Just because you’re some kind of freaky genius girl doesn’t mean O can’t be worried.”
Raven sighs, putting her massive notebook down. She rises up off of the floor awkwardly, crossing the common room floor quickly to sink into Octavia’s armchair and wrap her arms around the other girl in what Clarke thinks is meant to be a comforting hug. Raven doesn’t usually do emotions, so it’s hard to tell.
Nevertheless, Octavia closes her eyes and leans into Raven, her English past paper lying crumpled between them.
“You’ll be fine, O,” Raven soothes, shooting a look of panic over the brunette’s shoulder and scowling at Clarke when all she offers in reply is a grin. “Kyle Wick managed to pass last year, so so can you.”
Clarke laughs, making her way over to the others. She has to do some careful maneuvering to get there, narrowly dodging Monty Green and Jasper Jordan, who've morphed into a feverish mass of worried teenage boy, each sporting massive headphones and flicking through marking schemes. She thinks Jasper has one for Engineering Science, whilst she’s positive that the paper Monty’s clutching in clammy hands is a past paper for Human Biology, and quietly resolves to seek out the younger boy later to see if he needs a hand.
At least it’s study leave, so the common room is emptier than usual. The downside to the lack of sixth years, however, means the Mr Jaha decided to open the common room to fourth and fifth years on study leave as well. Although for the most part, the fifteen and sixteen year old fourth years are too terrified of the senior phase students to even dare come in the common room, leaving it to be occupied by plucky fifth years (such as Octavia, Monty and Jasper) and sixth years like Raven and Clarke who don’t have anywhere else to study.
It’s a special kind of torture, Clarke thinks, to be so close to freedom and still have to take exams. She’s already been accepted into university; the unconditional offer she received after getting all A's at Higher a reminder of that. Her Advanced Highers are just ways to make her seem even more eligible, like icing on top of an already-tasty cake - even though she did pick up Higher History, something she’s sorely regretting now.
It just doesn’t make sense to her. Sure, the past is important, but it’s also ridiculously convoluted. The Russian Revolution makes her head hurt, all the dates hard to remember and the names of the Tsars and Grand Duchesses mixing together into a murky fog.
She confesses this to Octavia in a moment of weakness, just before the prelims, and Octavia offers up Bellamy like a slab of meat, citing his History degree as a prime example of why he could be a great help.
Clarke refuses almost instantly. She and Bellamy have never gotten along, not since they met; when Clarke was thirteen and assigned to be Octavia’s buddy for her first year of High School.
Then she fails the Higher History prelim.
She’s never failed anything, ever, and the shock of it is enough to spur Clarke into asking for help.
Surprisingly, Bellamy’s okay about it - nice, even, and they meet twice a week, and have done every week since the disastrous prelims. Now, there’s two days to go till the History exam, but she’s more confident this time around. Clarke’s got this. Bellamy’s made sure of it.
It’s strange, being friends with Bellamy Blake. Thirteen year old Clarke wouldn’t know what to make of it - scratch that, eighteen year old Clarke doesn’t know what to make of it.
He’s all at once bizarrely different from how she remembers, and exactly the same. The snarky jokes and curly hair haven’t changed, but it feels like everything else has. It’s as if one day she wakes up and Bellamy is a man.
“Griffin!” Raven shouts, snapping her fingers in front of Clarke’s eyes and jolting her out of her daydream. “Come on, we’re going to McDonald’s.”
Clarke laughs half-heartedly in response, clambering out the ancient armchair inelegantly before stretching and then readjusting her blazer, making sure that the ‘Head Girl’ badge is still sitting straight. She doesn’t have much time left to wear it, because as soon as she finishes her last exam, that’s it. She’ll be done with High School forever.
She’ll be done with Bellamy forever, too, she guesses. There won’t be an easy way for them to see each other any more, not if Clarke’s halfway across the country at university. Not too long ago, Clarke would be ecstatic at the prospect of never seeing Bellamy Blake again. Now, however, it makes her heart feel a funny sort of hollow, like she’s missed a step going up the stairs. Bellamy’s been a part of her life for so long that she can’t really imagine it without him.
“Clarke!” Raven hollers from outside, her voice bouncing off the walls of the corridor. “McDonald’s breakfast closes at eleven, hurry up! Don’t think we won’t leave without you!”
“I’m the only one with a car!” Clarke calls back, hoping her voice isn’t as shaky as it feels. She sighs, looks around the common room, and nods to herself, turning on her heel and leaving the room.
‘Moving on is good. You can’t stay here forever. Now go eat a McMuffin and cheer the fuck up.’
*
The exams pass so quickly, that looking back, Clarke can’t remember how she did on any of them. She thinks they went well, but that’s like saying she thinks the moon landings were faked. She can believe all she wants, but she doesn't have any proof.
What Clarke finds hardest to stomach is the waiting. There’s an agonising wait between actually sitting the exams and getting her results, and since she finishes school in late May, she’s left with three months of not knowing how she did. Her university course doesn’t start until September, either, so Clarke’s left to rattle around her empty house.
She ends up spending a lot of time with Bellamy; with Octavia still at school and Raven off doing God-knows-what, they end up alone together all the time.
Clarke’s spending the day at the Blakes’ house the day before her results come out, just like she has every day for the past week. She and Bellamy are in the middle of a Game of Thrones marathon - ‘to take your mind off things,’ Bellamy declares - and they’re approaching the beginning of series three when she notices the time.
“Shit,” she hisses, scrambling up off of the Blakes’ tattered but comfortable sofa. “It’s past midnight, results come out today.”
Bellamy smiles reassuringly in response, leaning further back into the cushions.
“Clarke, relax. You’ll have done great.”
“It’s easy for you to say,” she snaps irritably, before softening when she sees a flash of hurt in Bellamy’s eyes, almost imperceptible. “I'm sorry. I’m just nervous.”
Bellamy just shrugs it off, getting up off of the sofa to envelop her in a patented Bellamy Blake Hug. Clarke sighs and sinks into the embrace, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and breathing deeply. It’s times like these when she struggles to remember why she hated Bellamy in the first place, when all she can think about is his warm skin and the tight grip he’s holding her in, making her feel safe, secure, protected.
“It’s fine, Clarke,” he murmurs, and the reverberations of his voice on her skin sends shivers down her spine. “Go home, get some rest. You can tell me about how you passed with flying colours tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Clarke breathes, before pressing up on her tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on Bellamy’s cheek. He withdraws in surprise, and she flushes bright red.
“Shit,” she fumbles, detangling herself from Bellamy and grabbing her bag. “I’m just going to--”
Bellamy catches her hand before she can move, and when Clarke looks up, she’s struck all of a sudden with how very close they are.
“Hey,” Bellamy reaffirms. “You’ll do great. If not, you can blame it on me.”
He looks down at her, his eyes undecipherable, and Clarke can’t breathe. This isn’t the first time she’s felt like this about Bellamy Blake, and she’s certain it won’t be the last. They’ve always been a little bit more than just friends, the two of them, swinging rapidly from hating each other’s guts to never spending a day apart. She stares up at him, and he stares back, and Clarke’s sure her feelings are written all over her face; the unsurety, the nerves, the unbridled affection. She takes a deep breath, steady and slow, but then her phone rings, the harsh beep of the tone shattering the fragile silence.
It turns out to be Abby, demanding that Clarke spends at least some time at home for once, so she reluctantly says her goodbyes, leaving Bellamy and resigning herself to a night spent sleepless with nerves.
She’s done this before, is the thing, has waited for her results for three years in a row. It doesn’t get easier, not at all, but Clarke thinks that Bellamy’s made a difference, made the wait less torturous. He’s going to be the first person she tells, whether she’s passed or failed or anything in between. Bellamy deserves it, after all he’s done to help her prepare.
*
Clarke signed up for the the text alerts as soon as it was made an option, but she’s alternately cursing and proud of her past self come the next day, because it soon becomes obvious that it’s a massive struggle to not look at her phone for the entirety of the morning. She made the decision last night to look at the results with Bellamy, though, so she’s got no one to blame but herself. She wants to share her success with him if she does well, and Clarke knows he’ll be there to comfort her, should worst come to worst.
It’s easy to dodge Abby’s questions, claiming her phone died and she left her charger at Bellamy’s last night, so her mother doesn’t have any complaints when Clarke skips breakfast to jump in her car.
The journey to Bellamy’s - and when did she stop referring to the house as the Blakes’? - takes longer than usual, she’s sure of it. There are stop signs at every corner and people wanting to cross the road every time she turns her head, so when she finally pulls up outside after a drive that felt closer to a century rather than ten minutes, Clarke wastes no time leaving her car and practically sprinting to the door.
She doesn’t even bother knocking; she’s spent enough nights here over the years that she’s intimately familiar with Bellamy and Octavia’s sleep schedules, and she knows that whilst O is unlikely to rise until noon at the very least, Bellamy’s probably been awake for hours.
Sure enough, when she bursts into the kitchen Clarke’s greeted by Bellamy, sitting at the table and drinking coffee out of a mug that probably holds at least a gallon.
He looks up sharply when she enters, and Clarke abruptly realises the picture she must make. She didn’t even bother to change out of her pajamas: a pair of leggings that she’s pretty sure have a hole in them somewhere and a navy blue jumper that she realises, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, is Bellamy’s.
“You alright?” He asks, raising an eyebrow when he notices what she’s wearing. “Get your results?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Clarke gasps breathlessly, bending over to hug her sides briefly before straightening back up again. “I wa-- wanted to find out with you.”
Bellamy’s lips quirk up in a grin, and he kicks the chair next to him out from underneath the dining table, gesturing for her to take a seat.
“Go on then,” he nudges, and Clarke sits down with trembling hands, pulling her phone out of the pocket in her jumper.
“I can’t do it,” she realises, pushing her phone, the screen still dark, towards Bellamy. “You need to look, I can’t do it.”
He chuckles, the warmth of his laughter helping to make some of the tension in Clarke’s shoulders dissipate. She doesn’t make a move to take her phone back, though, and watches as Bellamy keys in her password and - presumably - taps the messages icon.
She suddenly can’t take it any longer, covering her eyes with her hands. What if she’s failed History and all Bellamy’s hard work is for nothing? Clarke knows how he’ll look at her, and she can’t stand it, can’t stand the thought of disappointing him, even though she’s sure Bellamy will be anything but.
Clarke’s so deep in her inner panic that she doesn’t even hear Bellamy calling her name, only jolting out of her thoughts when he shakes her arm, a stupid grin stretched across his face.
“Clarke,” he begins, “You--”
“Did I pass?” She interrupts, feeling a matching smile begin to form. Clarke reaches for her phone but ends up falling nearly into Bellamy’s lap, and her breathing is already quickening when he nods.
“Flying colours.”
It takes every little bit of self-restraint Clarke has not to scream, suddenly conscious of the fact that Bellamy’s face is less than inches from her own. She gasps quietly, but Bellamy still hears it, and his grin turns smug.
“Obviously my amazing tutoring skills, right, Clarke?” He asks, and she swallows harshly.
“Sure,” Clarke breathes, moving inestimably closer. Bellamy seems to catch on to her plan before she even realises it herself, and when he swoops in even closer to close the gap between them, Clarke feels her breath catch in her throat.
Bellamy reaches and cups her jawline in his hand, rubbing a thumb over her cheekbone, and Clarke’s eyes flutter closed. Because of that, she doesn’t see him lean in closer, until she registers the feeling of his breath ghosting hot against her skin and her eyes snap open.
“Easy,” Bellamy whispers, and before Clarke has a chance to reply, he leans in so that their lips brush gently.
Clarke sinks into the kiss, bringing up a hand to wind into the dark curls at the base of Bellamy’s neck, and she doesn’t realise the soft whimper that echoes between them came from her until she hears Bellamy’s soft laugh.
“What?” She smiles against his mouth, drawing him impossibly nearer. “Am I not allowed to be having a good time right now?”
Bellamy laughs again, louder this time, and breaks the kiss to nuzzle into the soft skin at the junction of Clarke’s jaw.
“By all means,” he says, and she shivers. “Carry on."