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Clarke rarely regrets her life choices. Not because she is perfect and always correct even though she is, but her lack of regret comes from her inability to call for help.
The bags sag from her elbows as her skin slowly turns pink from the pressure of gravity. Despite the soft cotton of the totes, the weight drags marking her with its heaviness. The clanks of everything hitting each other thunder in the hallway as Clarke struggles to find the keys to her apartment. After juggling everything up three flights of stairs, part of her wishes she knew how to give up on things. She knows asking for help is not a sign of weakness, yet she refuses to even consider it.
Too stubborn, her mother would say, and if anything is true in this life, it is that Dr. Abigail Griffin is rarely wrong.
A few more minutes and she would have had it. A few more ounces of strength and she would have opened the door on her own.
But the universe clearly has a different plan for her.
As she blows up a strand of her hair itching her nose, she dutifully swings the bags to her right in an attempt to place the key right about the knob. One inch away and she fumbles causing one of her bags to slip off her tired arms and onto the floor. Peaches roll out and straight to her neighbor's feet.
Maybe she should listen to Harper and take some yoga for her balance and core strength.
Clarke huffs with her eyes fluttering close, “Fuck.” Picking herself up, she breathes in and straights out her frizzy hair. With her hands full with most of her bags, she glances up to see him holding her 2 missing bags and a peach in his hand. She drops everything as she exclaims, “Bellamy! How long have you been standing there?”
Bellamy stands tall and relaxed, hair messy and glasses on the brim of his nose. White t-shirts never look as good on anyone as they look on him. Clarke swears all of his students brag about the hot TA in their history class despite his obvious lack of interest in his own appearance. Glancing down at her own clothes, she curses all that is good and holy for the sweat dripping down her neck and the awkward-fitting trousers she wears to school.
She misses having her mother’s tailor on hand. Being so small has never been an issue until she remembers the measly teacher salary she lives off of now. She never regrets her life’s decisions because they are hers, but at this moment, looking at Bellamy’s perfect jawline and the mess of bags on the floor, she regrets a lot.
Chuckling, his teeth peek through when he smiles down at her, “Long enough.” He crouches down to grab more of her things leaving her with just her personal work bag and a tote full of craft supplies. Still smiling, his eyes never leave her, “I could hear you struggling through the door. I came out to see if you needed any help, and you clearly do.”
Finally opening the door, Clarke widens it to allow Bellamy entry into her apartment, “My hero. How did I function without you!”
Small and lived-in, art supplies litter the breakfast bar located immediately to their right. Half-painted canvases decorate the far-left corner of the open space, and shoes and coats pepper the floor on the left side of the door. The only pristine part of her apartment is the stove. Clean, almost new, Clarke clearly never cooks. Instead, her trash spills over with takeout bins and ready-made dinners.
Despite the modest means of a teacher, Clarke is no pushover. She uses her trust fund as a cushion to the best of her ability. Stubborn and smart, Clarke knows her weaknesses, and she is no chef.
Warm fills her belly when she hears him say, “I really don’t know. Let’s not find out, because that might be the end of you as we know it and what a sad thing for the whole of the universe.”
Clarke gives a grin as she closes the door with a soft click, “I wouldn’t go that far. Most people wouldn’t even realize I burned myself alive or crushed myself under paint buckets.”
Bellamy retorts, “I would!” Placing her bags of groceries on the counter right by the sink, his eyes her kitchen asking, “Um, Clarke, what’s this for?” Pause, “I don’t mean to mean to be rude, but you don’t cook.” He points to the overflowing can of takeout containers, “Clearly.”
Bellamy lives across the hall in a perfect mirror of her own apartment except it’s sparkling and clean. Tidy and somewhat cold in a way he simply isn’t in his daily life. Clarke can be the one that comes off as a cold fish, while Bellamy vibrates with life. He can be a judgmental dick, but underneath it with time, he gives more of himself than anyone else.
Bellamy, and by extension Clarke, blames his father figure for his neat habits. The Kanes took Bellamy and his sister Octavia in when their mother died, and Bellamy emulates Marcus Kane to this day. Bellamy finds pride in the little thing he possesses much like the Kanes taught him.
To say they did not get along at first is an understatement.
Clarke is sentimental, but she is also careless with so many of her more replaceable items. When he first met her, he assumed she was a spoiled brat attempting to do things on her own for the first time. He knows now how self-sufficient and independent she actually is. Then, he recklessly said he thought she would be gone in three months.
He may have been right if she had not overheard him on his phone complaining about her.
Almost four years later, he stands in her kitchen looking at her messy apartment full of life and splashes of color. He glances at her with her sensible white sneakers and hair up in a bun with flyaway hairs peeking through and thinks to himself how he ever thought she wouldn’t bulldoze his life and make him better for it.
Closed off or not, Clarke cares deeply and without much effort. She may never open up to them, never show them the truest parts of herself, but she’s good to her core. Hurt and betrayal have made her afraid yet she feels more than Bellamy knows how to process.
Sighing, Clarke marches to the breakfast bar and drops her tote bag and craft supplies, “I’m trying to turn a new leaf here. I can’t be frivolous, and the more I spend the more I hear my mother taunting me about my life’s choices.” Blonde hair sticking to the nape of her neck, Clarke folds her fingers into the back of her head to separate the two, “I am not particularly fond of her reminding me that I turned down Georgetown’s medical school to work as a kindergarten teacher for a fancy private school. Her shrill voice going ‘Just because it’s private doesn’t mean it makes up for the fact that it is absolutely wasting your potential. You don’t even like kids.’ She’s never seen me with children, Bellamy! How would she even know!”
Leaning in on the counter, Bellamy pushes himself off and begins removing her groceries from her bags, “Your kids love you. Harper says all her kids wish they can go back to kindergarten to be with Miss Clarke again. Harper is starting to get offended that they like you so much more.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.”
Fumbling through things in an effort to help, “Your mom is an asshole for making you feel like your bad at your job. Harper complains to Monty all the time and Monty tells Miller who tells me how Harper doesn’t get what you do but she wishes her kids loved her as much as all of them seem to love you.”
Slumping over the bar with her head in her hands, they muffle her response, “It’s the art projects.” Shaking her head, she stretches and arranges her breakfast bar for her work, “I think it’s the art projects. Kids just want someone to let them be and find their thing. I remember how my mother would force me to read and I hated it. But when my dad...when he let me draw with him, I don’t know. It made me feel important. Kids want to be themselves and hear an adult tell them they’re amazing. I give them an hour to do any kind of art they want and after no matter what I tell them it’s perfect.”
A small smile grazes his face and turns to witness her sincerity. She says such big remarkable things without realizing how big and remarkable they are. She simply means what she says.
He lets her know all the time, “That’s kind of amazing. You know that, right?”
Waving him off, she walks around the bar to help him with her own food. Placing things in the pantry, she deflects the compliment, “I’m just doing my job. I’m not a saint.”
Taking a hint, Bellamy grabs a few items and heads to the refrigerator, “Teachers practically are saints, and you’re a great one. You care so much, and some of those kids are statistically not getting that kind of support from home, and you just give it to them without thinking twice.”
“Well yeah...”
Bellamy reiterates, “So, again, your kids love you. You’re kind of a badass at teaching. Your mom is an asshole.”
A blush rushing to her cheeks, she arranges things on the breakfast bar: paper, scissors, plastic bags, pens, and markers all organized in a particular fashion, “Thanks.”
The silence settles as they navigate around one another. They finish with the groceries when Clarke acknowledges the hour that passes by them, “Oh my god! Bellamy! I totally interrupted your evening! I’m sorry! I know you have that paper coming up, and it’s near Valentine’s Day. I’m sure you have better things to do.”
Head back, Bellamy laughs, “Doing what exactly? I turned my paper in early, and if I wasn’t here with you, I would be alone in my cold apartment. I’m pretty sure you made my evening better.”
Clarke chews on her lip unsure of his honesty. Bellamy has a way of making her feel so important she often forgets he has other people in his life. Besides him, Clarke has a strained relationship with her mother, a single ex-girlfriend who does not hate her, and Harper. Her social circle is small much of it by design, but Bellamy is everything she isn’t. He has a family and friends since childhood. People who love him and want to be with him.
Clarke wants nothing more than for Bellamy to be around her all of the time, for everyone else to matter less to him than she does. She wants nothing more than to be the center of his whole world, but she isn’t. Despite what some of his friends think of her, she knows how selfish it would be to keep someone like Bellamy to herself.
Fidgeting with her necklace, a Christmas gift from Bellamy, Clarke utters, “Are you sure? I don’t mind finishing up by myself. I’m just going to make some pasta and work on setting up some crafts for my kids. We are going to make Valentine’s tomorrow, and I want to decorate the classroom with some examples.”
Pointing to the number of supplies, Bellamy says, “That can’t be it?”
Smacking him on his gut with the back of her hand, Clarke puffs, “No! I also make them each their own Valentine from me with candy and everything. You didn’t think I was going to eat all of this by myself, did you?”
Shrugging, Bellamy exclaims, “I thought maybe you would invite me to some at the very least!”
Giggles escape Clarke as her blue eyes sparkle, “If you stay and help, you can absolutely have some. I always buy a bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for myself anyway. We can share.”
Dazed, his throat dries out. Licking his lips, Bellamy nods, “Sounds kind of awesome actually. I was going to just watch a new documentary tonight on the new dig where they found tools, but this is absolutely better.”
Licking her lips, she stares at her hands and asks, “Are you sure? This is kind of boring.”
Mirth hugs his every word when he says, “And my night of takeout and documentaries doesn’t scream boring to you? I promise hanging out with you with some arts and crafts is a way better use of my time.”
“Alright then, I’ll get that pasta ready and you can set it up in the living room. We can still watch that documentary. We’ll just move all this stuff to the coffee table.”
“You don’t mind?”
Smiling and shaking her head, Clarke reassures him, “I’m having you fill baggies with candy and making paper hearts for 5-year-olds. I think I can watch the fifth documentary Netflix has made about Ancient Rome. Just please memorize how I set it up. I have a system, and it’s a perfect system.”
Mouth open, Bellamy looks at her with reverence. Everything about her shines through at that moment. She is so clearly his favorite person, and she’s so beautiful and unapologetic. She is not just colorful. She is color.
He wonders if she knows how much he wants to be around her. If she realizes how his whole world shifted when they met. After bad breakups and disastrous relationships on both ends, Bellamy wonders if she is the last person to recognize how much he loves her.
Clarke, oblivious to the thoughts swirling in Bellamy's mind, begins working on the pasta.
Taking it as a sign, Bellamy diligently moves all her supplies from the breakfast bar to the coffee table. Nothing out of place, he replicates it to near perfection. Satisfied, he sits on the couch and turns on the television. As he scrolls through everything, he finds the documentary and waits.
Not ten minutes pass by of him looking at his phone, Clarke walks in with a bowl in each hand. Nice and warm, Bellamy reaches for his and stares. Smelling delicious, the food is arranged beautifully with garnish.
He remarks, “For someone who doesn’t cook this looks amazing.”
Fork in her hand, Clarke laughs, “An artist is an artist in all parts of her life. I can’t make something and not at least try to make it pleasing to the eye.”
Mouth full, Bellamy chews through his amazement saying, “It’s actually delicious. Have you been a secret chef this whole time?”
Clarke throws her head back in pure joy. Once she controls her laughter, she responds, “Absolutely not! Pasta is one of the few things I know how to make. It practically was my only meal during my senior year of college after I told my mother I wasn’t going to medical school. It’s the only thing that made me feel less bad about me being an adult in the real world. I may not have my mother’s approval but I can make a mean pasta.”
After three more bites, Bellamy replies, “Your mother is missing out.”
Sliding into her seat, Clarke takes her shoes off and crosses her legs, “I hope that’s true.” Reaching out to his side, she snatches the remote and presses play, “Now let’s watch old people explain tools and how they changed history!”
They slip into the quiet with ease and familiarity they often search for other people but never find them. Bellamy breathes comfortably, absolutely engrossed in the documentary without shame. Clarke echoes him with one significant difference. She watches him enthralled by his unbridled enthusiasm. With small quirks of the lip and serious eyes, Bellamy loses himself in history, and Clarke’s fingers ache to capture it on a canvas.
She memorizes the shapes of him and imagines the combinations of colors to paint him perfectly. She pays no mind to the screen as she simply eats her pasta and stares at her favorite muse, her only muse really. Most of her art encompasses all of her feelings for him and about him without her intending for them to have Bellamy splashed all over them. He buries himself in her deepest truths, the kind of truths only art can express.
She busies herself so thoroughly she misses time pass. She doesn’t notice the end of the documentary until Bellamy’s lips move and startle her out of her fantasy, “It’s incredible really! The fact that these tools mean human evolution might be wrong. Everything we know about homo sapiens has completely changed because this sight has tools more advanced than we thought we would find. Incredible! To have been there for this discovery must have been awesome!”
He shifts to look at her and sees her staring straight at him. Shaken and unsure, he stills and licks his lips. Sucking in a breath, he asks, “Am I being too much?” He places the plate on the side table to his right, “I’m sorry. I told you this is super boring, and I know I’m weird.”
Elbow resting on the head of the couch, Clarke shakes her head, “No, you aren’t ever too much. You just love it so much. Your students must love you. I mean you make history exciting.”
He puffs, “I doubt that, but I love it. I know Kane wanted me to be a career military man, but I’m just glad it gave me the chance to do this. I mean I’m getting my Master’s in Museum Studies from George Washington. I wouldn’t have been able to do that without him and the military but I’m not a lifer.”
Her smile covers her whole face, “I think it’s rather beautiful how much you love it.”
Flushing, Bellamy ducks his head and scratches the nape of his neck, “I can’t help it. I’m just hoping it’s enough to get a job here. I like D.C., and I rather not move after I graduate in May.”
She blinks rapidly and sinks down with her mouth open. Eyes big, words stumble out, “Staying? I thought you would want to move back home. I mean the Midwest has some wonderful museums, and you would be closer to Vera and Octavia. You’re staying?”
Swallowing more than his salvia, he replies, “Yeah...I hope anyway. If my current museum keeps me on, I’ll definitely stay. I really like the staff there, and I know everyone and I like the exhibits they have. So... I mean, yeah staying is the plan.”
Twisting herself to look straight forward, Clarke’s mind races so she settles for a simple and stupid, “Oh.” She continues to blink shrinking with the new awkwardness. She kneels in front of the coffee table saying, “That’s good. It’ll be nice for you to stay. If you want to put something else on, I can walk you through this and we can get crafting.”
Sinking to his knees, he picks another documentary about art and pays close attention. They spend the next couple of hours between peaceful lulls where no words were shared and fits of laughter. The documentary ends, and they carry on filling goodie bags full of candy and chocolates. Bellamy compliments all the little origami figures Clarke makes for all her kids. Clarke thanks him for not only the compliments but for taking her seriously
Shrugging, he says, “It’s literally the easiest thing, Clarke.”
Gently pushing him, Clarke refuses to allow him to shake it off, “It means the world.” Finishing up the last of the pop-up hearts, she sighs, “You know how you asked if you were too much earlier? I know I can be a lot. I’m freaky organized, and I hate chaos. Ironic, I know given I spend most of my day with little demons, but I’m a lot. You’ve never really made me feel bad for it not really. Not even at the beginning when you hated me. It means more than you.”
Bellamy blurts, “I never hated you.” Clearing his throat, he clarifies, “I thought you were annoying and totally spoiled but I never hated you.”
Smiling, Clarke hands him the last paper heart, “Here’s the last one, and we are done. I can release you from your Valentine duties.”
Cleaning, they gather everything. Bellamy places the plates in the sink as Clarke separates the trash from the recycling.
After rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, Bellamy laughs, “Well thank you for this. It’s the best date I’ve had in years.”
Clarke stiffens and repeats, “Date? This was a date?”
Struck with his own words, Bellamy straightens and backtracks, “I mean...it’s just the day before Valentine’s Day, and I haven’t been out for it since before I left for the military, and I...”
He stops speaking uncertain of what to say to make this better, so instead, he unwraps a peanut butter cup and takes a bite.
Taking his lead, Clarke does the same. They chew in silence with their hearts pounding in their chests. Both are desperate for honesty and some sort of release, but neither are willing to step into the unknown.
Scared, Clarke inhales and fidgets with her hands, “Are you really trying to stay in D.C.?”
Thrown by her question, Bellamy’s heart instantly slows, and he nods, “Yeah, why would I leave D.C.? It’s home.”
Sliding closer to him, she continues, “Was this really the best date you’ve had? Hypothetically, I mean.”
Swallowing nothing, his throat and mouth dry from both the peanut butter and anticipation, “Yeah, I watched documentaries and ate paste and chocolate with someone that makes me laugh. I mean doesn’t it sounds kind of great?”
Closer now, Clarke asks her final question, “Do you want it to be a date? Do you want to date me?” Looking down to the floor and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Clarke whispers, “You’re kind of my favorite person, so if you want this to be a date...”
She never finishes her sentence before Bellamy kisses her, his hands on either side of her face. The kiss tastes of all the best parts of Valentine’s Day, of chocolate and peanut butter and future promises. It’s everything both of them wanted.
Clarke’s hands wrap around his back and push him into her desperate for him to be as close as he could possibly be. Bellamy moves his hands from her face, one to the nape of her neck and the other to her shoulder blade.
Pulling back for some air, Clarke’s eyes remain closed, but Bellamy whips them open to see her face. Lips swollen and face flushed, she’s more beautiful than before.
He laughs, “You’re my in fact my favorite person, and this was the most perfect first date, one of many I hope.”
Eyes fluttering open, Clarke shines, eyes big and bright and smile wide, “Bellamy, if I had my way, you’ll be the only person I date for the rest of time.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Standing in her kitchen, they smile at one another basking in the bliss of certainty. Bellamy reaches for her hand and intertwines their fingers, and he picks up the bag of the remaining Reese’s cups, “Okay, let’s go.”
Walking back to the couch, they wrap themselves around each other surrounded by Clarke’s paper hearts and listening to the soft voices of a random movie playing.
Dropping her head to his chest, Clarke says, “I hope you know I’m never letting you go back to your apartment. You better get used to the messy life of an artist. I’m a woman of great contradiction.”
Bellamy laughs, “It actually sounds perfect.” He kisses the top of her head and settles into the couch and into his new life.