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Clarke is drunk, her head feels like it’s made of bricks and tears won’t stop clouding her vision. She feels miserable, a gut-wrenching feeling because of a startling realization she came across while doing the dishes and which made her reach for the nearest bottle of the shittiest vodka.
Which is, coincidentally (or not – really, there’s no coincidence) why she’s still awake at 2 AM, lying on her bedroom floor and clutching her phone like it’s her only lifeline.
Her fingers feel bloated and incompetent while she scrolls down the list of her contacts, cursing out her blurry vision and pretty much everything that has been going on in her life during these last few months.
Raven’s name just won’t pop up, no matter how many times she scrolls through the list, and she knows that there’s a really stupid wrench and monkey emoji she put next to it because of her friend’s coworker but Clarke-just-can’t-see-it.
Finally, she gives up, another loud sob rippling her throat, and she types in her friend’s number hoping she didn’t mess it up. Frankly, Raven doesn’t deserve to be woken up in the middle of the night but they are friends and Clarke messed up real bad. Raven is smart, she’s a certified fucking genius (she is a rocket scientist) and if she can find solutions for faults in rocket fuel transmission, Clarke is pretty sure she can fix her too.
Clarke hears three (very loud) beeps before there’s a sound signifying that Raven answered her call and she doesn’t even wait for Raven to let out a “huh?” before her tongue is lashing wildly and she’s spilling out everything she’s realized in the last five hours.
“Raven, I am so sorry for waking you up, I know you’re fucking tired, but I need you. I – I’ve been thinking about Lexa and, fuck. Raven – you need to help me. You really do. I don’t love her. I made a huge fucking mistake and she’s- she’s Lexa, she’s great and she doesn’t deserve my shit and fuck, I don’t – what the fuck should I do now?”
She’s breathless when she finally stops talking, mostly because her mind is already spinning wildly and she can’t grasp her thoughts anymore – it’s just her girlfriend’s face, telling her that she cares about Clarke very, very much (in Lexa-speak, it means that she loves her) and Clarke’s stomach plummets every time she remembers it because – she can’t reciprocate.
Lexa loves her and Clarke can’t do that with her. She can’t, she doesn’t love Lexa. She knows she should but it changes nothing.
Raven’s silence lasts too long and Clarke frowns. “Rae?”
The voice on the other side is deep and groggy, distinctively male and – definitely not Raven’s. “I think you should talk to her.”
“Who the fuck are you? Where’s Raven? I need Raven, just – get me Raven, okay? Raven, please. Raven!”
She’s repeating her name way too much but she needs Raven and not this guy. If he’s one of her one-night stands (on a Tuesday, seriously?) he should know better than to answer other people’s phones.
“Raven’s not here,” he chuckles.
“I will punch you! Stop this! Get me my Raven!”
“Over the phone? Also, I don’t even know who Raven is?” he offers, vague uncertainty in his voice. “I’m Bellamy, Bellamy Blake.”
Fuck. She typed in the wrong number. Of fucking course. She swears under her breath as she wipes away the tears pooling in her eyes with the heel of her right hand. She hates this. Clarke fucking hates crying and her shitty decision-making skills.
“Shit- shit, fuck, oh hell. I- wrong number, sorry!”
Her finger is hovering over the red ‘end call’ button before she hears the voice squeak from the speaker. “Wait!”
“Huh?”
“Can I help?”
“Shit, well,” Clarke bites into her thumb. “I don’t know, can you?”
“What’s your name?”
“Clarke. It’s – Clarke Griffin.”
She should end the call right now but she’s still fuzzy and she feels like absolute shit, and – to be fair – the guy does have a nice voice and she just needs someone to talk to.
“Alright then. What’s wrong, Clarke?”
And that’s the cue for the flood of words to start again.
“My girlfriend, Lexa. She’s great, she really is – smart and super-hot. You wouldn’t believe it, it’s insane. She’s a fucking great person and she told me she loved me but – I don’t love her?” Clarke winces at the words. Some things are easier said at 2AM than in the middle of the day but it still hurts. “I made a huge fucking mistake and now – shit.”
Bellamy’s voice is much softer now than when he’d first answered. “Did she expect you to say it back?”
The thought makes Clarke chuckle and whoops – there it goes again, the tears because she really shouldn’t be chuckling when she’s being such an awful person.
“No, Lexa would – never, ever do that to me. It’s just – I don’t think I can love her, ever. She’s great but there’s something missing and – now I just feel like the world’s biggest bitch for leading her on.”
“Okay,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know you, obviously, but I don’t think that bad people actually worry about someone else’s feelings. So you’re good.”
“I’m not good!” Clarke protests, falling to her knees as she searches under her bed for the vodka bottle. There’s bound to be some left.
“Breathe, Clarke. And yeah, you’re not. You will be, though. Just – wait, let me think.”
While he’s busy thinking, Clarke unscrews the cap and takes a long sip. Vodka is disgusting but she still drinks it, everything is pretty much horrible right now and this is no change.
The silence lasts for quite a while and Clarke is nearly done with what was left of the liquor when Bellamy speaks up. She jumps a little because – yeah, she knows she’s pressing her phone to her ear for a reason, but she sort of forgot about him and it’s weird.
“Alright, so-“
“Shit! Fuck, Bellamy, you can’t scare me like that!”
He laughs, but it’s kind of amused, not mocking. “Be honest with me, how drunk are you?”
“Not at all! How dare you – honestly, like, how do I know you’re not the drunk one? Huh? And you’re trying to throw me off -“
“On a scale from barely tipsy to ‘I think climbing the Empire State building naked is a good idea’?”
She huffs. “Rude. ‘Lying on the floor and licking what’s left of the vodka from the cap’ - drunk.”
“Pretty bad, Clarke,” he says, but there’s mirth in his voice. “I still think you should talk to her. Figure it out. If you want to be with her, do it. If you don’t, tell her. Seriously, just tell her because breaking up is way better than seeing someone shut themself off from you.”
“I can’t be with her if I know it’s not going to lead anywhere,” she sighs. “It’s not fair.”
“Yeah, it isn’t. But think about it first. Then go talk to her.”
“Okay. Yeah, that’s probably smart. Good thinking, Bellamy Blake.”
“Aww, she knows my name,” he coos and then erupts into a laugh. Clarke feels a shit-ton lighter and can’t help rolling her eyes.
There’s no vodka left anymore and she sort of planned to keep drinking until morning so she wouldn’t have the world’s worst hangover.
“Yeah, whatever, Be-lame-y. What-ever.”
“Come on, no need to be mean.”
“I don’t have any vodka left,” she pouts, knocking the bottle from one knee to the other, just a bit of liquid sloshing on the bottom.
“So you should go to sleep.”
“No, I- shit, you’re probably right. Why are you so smart?”
She can practically hear his grin. “That’s what everyone asks me. It’s a secret.”
“You gonna tell me your secret?”
“Maybe. If you go to bed right now.”
Clarke huffs and rolls her eyes but she still gets up and crawls over to her bed. “Fine, Mom.”
“Good night, Princess.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I- shut up, Clarke,” he adds when she starts giggling. It’s going to be another two minutes of fuzziness and unbearable lightness, and then it’s the nausea. She can enjoy it a bit. “Good night.”
“Night, Bellamy.”
Clarke was so wrong last night. This is not only the world’s worst hangover, this is the mother of the world’s worst hangovers, and she can’t move an inch without hissing because there’s a sharp pain stabbing through her frontal lobe and she could kill a man.
She doesn’t do it, though, just stumbles over to the kitchen, swears (and then yelps because – damn, that’s too loud) when she stubs her toe on the coffee table, and drinks as much coffee as possible.
When she’s through with her third cup and her third Advil, she has a plan. It’s a shitty plan, at best, and includes inviting Lexa to a restaurant (to make sure that she doesn’t kill her – although Lexa would never and whoop, there goes the billionth reason why Clarke is absolute human trash), breaking up with her and then – well, she didn’t think of that far, but she’s pretty sure Raven and vodka are involved.
Then her phone rings and she picks up without looking at the caller ID.
“What?” she groans.
“Hi, so – uh, I don’t know – this is going to sound pretty fucking weird but, you called this number at like 2AM last night and we talked about some pretty heavy shit. You remember any of that?”
She does remember crying, drinking, rinse and repeat, and then trying to call Raven and –
“Bellamy?”
He sounds relieved. “Oh, thank God – you do remember. I was worried you were dead in a ditch or something so – yes, anyways, how are you?”
“Christ, Breathe,” she groans. She has no right to complain, seeing that she was talking mile a minute last night but still. Hangover. “I do remember. Unfortunately. And I’m deeply sorry about that.”
In the light of the day it seems like a really bad decision to keep talking to someone who you misdialed. And to make matters worse, she was talking about her love life and the fact that she made a mistake when she started dating her girlfriend of six months.
“No need – I’m used to that sort of stuff,” he laughs. “My best friend has a pathetic schoolboy crush on one of his bar’s patrons, and my sister thinks kicking someone’s ass is a certified way of flirting. You’re good.”
“I think I love your sister.”
Bellamy huffs. “Everyone does. She’s awesome. So is her brother, by the way.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Clarke sticks her tongue out but then realizes that he can’t see it and – that sucks. “Anyways, I came up with a plan. Wanna hear?”
She tells him about the plan as she scrambles around the kitchen to make some waffles, and then all through actually eating them. He never stops her, only when he’s making fun of her chewing noises, accompanied by words “Princesses usually have manners” (to which she can only respond “Fuck your patriarchal bullshit”).
When she’s finally done it’s already noon and she’s going to be late for her class but she still sticks around, talks to him while she brushes her teeth.
“It’s a good plan,” he finally says. “I guess you decided you didn’t want to be with her?”
“Doesn’t feel fair,” Clarke sighs. “I mean, she’s great. I think I’m going to try and stay friends with her. You’d probably like her, she’s all wise and shit.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, “I probably would.”
She hears him brewing coffee, asks him about it – to which he replies that he’s working in a coffee shop but the shift’s going a bit slow. That’s when she realizes that she doesn’t know the first thing about him, except that he’s considerate, has a kickass sister, pretty pathetic best friend and – works in a coffee shop.
“So, I’ll text you when I’m done?” she offers, finally, worrying her lower lip because of course this is weird and why the fuck would he care.
But he just says “Sure”, wishes her good luck and that’s it.
Pre-med sucks.
Okay, not really, she loves it, but she’s still glad when the classes are over – except that there’s a nagging feeling in her stomach, butterflies fluttering about because she has to see Lexa and tell her.
It never felt worse to do the right thing.
She meets Raven for lunch, and her friend is not impressed.
“So, let me get this straight,” Raven cocks one eyebrow at her, crossing her arms at her chest, “you got drunk as fuck yesterday, cried on the phone to a total stranger and now you’re breaking up with Lexa?”
“No, that’s not-“
“Clarke, I get it. I mean, Lexa is great and everything, I guess,” she grimaces, “but are you sure you don’t need more time?”
“That would be a no.”
Raven sighs, leaning back into the chair with a tired look on her face. “Fine. You do you, babe. Let me know if you need vodka.”
Lexa is surprisingly not surprised. They are sitting in a little Thai place round the corner from Clarke’s apartment, talking about their day.
“So,” Clarke starts, “you’re not going to kill me?”
Lexa frowns at her, severely unimpressed. “Clarke, I still care about you. I do not kill people I care about.”
Figures. Still, Clarke shrugs and continues devouring the food on her plate. It’s weird, of course it is, to just keep on eating and talking to your now ex-girlfriend, but it’s also Lexa – and if she’s anything, she’s not rash and aggressive.
Sure, that frat boy who groped her at the party they met did see her aggressive streak but, apart from that, Clarke was definitely the more turbulent one in their relationship.
They part amicably and just in time for Clarke’s phone to let out a loud beep, signaling a new text.
You alive?
Clarke doesn’t know a lot about Bellamy but she’s pleasantly surprised that he cares. These days, everyone cares just a little bit too much about her, but it’s a welcome change from the last year – when she had one acquaintance and a whole bunch of people who ignored her.
p much
How did it go?
she was v considerate. wants to stay friends w me and idk?
i feel like im the worst and shes so nice
ugh
Isn’t that good?
it is!!
What’s wrong then?
im such a bitch
I’m calling you right now, before you do something stupid
like drink to much vodka and talk to strangers.
whatever
She’s standing on the street corner while she waits for her phone to ring. Not that she’s even sure why she’s still talking to a guy she misdialed instead of calling Raven, but he’s nice and whatever, she’s in college. Her life can be a little bit messy.
It’s not even a full minute before her phone starts ringing and she picks it up instantly.
He sounds worried. “Clarke?”
“Hi,” she huffs, leaning against the wall behind her and watching the cars pass by on the street. It’s barely even dark but it’s autumn and she loves everything about the way Boston looks this time of the year.
“You okay?”
“I could lie but you did ask. No.”
“Ok,” he says, suddenly resolute. “Where are you?”
Clarke frowns. “Why?”
“Ok, don’t tell me. Just come over if you can. Wait, are you even in Boston?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll text you the address, it’s the coffee shop I work in.”
She worries her lower lip as she tries to think of all the ways in which this is so wrong but comes up with a blank. “You sure you don’t mind?”
“Nah. Just get your ass over here, Princess.”
“I’m gonna need you to stop calling me that,” she warns him, but there’s no vitriol to her words so it just comes off as a side note as she walks down the subway staircase, skipping a step or two at a time.
“Well, if the shoe fits.”
She tries to be annoyed but can’t. “Fine, see you there.”
Clarke is already on the train when she realizes that she doesn’t even know what Bellamy looks like. She knows his name, it’s a very – uh, hot name – she’s definitely maybe expecting a hot guy, but she’s not certain. Besides, how is she supposed to recognize him in a coffee shop full of people?
ok so i just realized sth
What?
how am i gonna know who u r?
Shit. Yeah. I forgot we haven’t met.
thats some serious serial killer shit.
should i be doing this?
Sssh
Ok
I’ll be behind the counter
The curly haired one, not the hot blonde girl
ok
if the blonde is hot tho can u get me her number?
Rebound much?
messing w u
see u in 10
How will I know who you are?
think a big ass scarf and
caramel latte macchiato
The coffee shop is definitely not giving her any serial killer vibes when she comes to stand in front of it. Instead, it looks just like a place she’d choose for her late-night study sessions that require constant influx of caffeine. It’s warm and brightly lit, along with comfortable looking armchairs and enough outlets meaning she wouldn’t have to fight anyone for her spot.
She pushes the doors, absent-mindedly toying with her scarf as she makes her way to the counter. There is a hot blonde girl there, but Clarke never went for blondes. Not that she wouldn’t make an exception – she doesn’t have a type per se, but she’s oddly drawn to long-legged brunettes.
Next to the hot blonde currently whipping up a smoothie is a tall, lean guy with curly hair.
Clarke did suspect that he’s hot. There was something about his voice, and it definitely wasn’t a product of her drunken mind, that hinted at that. But this guy, with his dark, messy curls and a smattering of freckles on bronze skin, biceps that would probably allow him to lift her up without any straining and a plaid shirt that no one should look so hot in – well, she definitely wasn’t expecting this.
Then he laughs at something the blonde says, and dear God he has dimples abort mission abort m-
“Something I can help you with?”
She’s forced to snap out of it as the guy – wait, Bellamy – turns to her with a polite enough smile on his face, but definitely without the brilliance of the one he had when he was laughing at his coworker’s joke.
“Yeah, um,” she manages to stutter out, still fiddling with her scarf and feeling like a preschooler, “caramel latte macchiato?”
He blinks at her.
“But if you don’t have that, I’ll just-“
Then he’s frowning in disbelief and- uh, that’s him checking her out, definitely. “Clarke?”
“Bellamy?”
He lets out a hearty laugh, rounding the counter to stand in front of her. She feels silly, in a sort of good, fuzzy way. The day has been weird enough as it is and so she just lets go, joins him with her nervous chuckle.
“I’m Bellamy Blake,” he finally says, his laughter dying down but she can still see it in his eyes. He offers his hand and she takes it, shaking.
“Clarke Griffin. Or, you know, human mess.”
“You’re fine,” he says. “Anyways, I’ll get you your snobby order, Princess, and if you can wait – my shift is over in five.”
She nods. “Sure.”
She’s sipping on her coffee and texting Raven (who is absolutely not impressed with the fact that she just went off to see a stranger but she’s also amused, if her text “Get some, girl” is anything to go by) when Bellamy comes over to her table, a cardboard cup in his hands.
“Is this seat taken?” he nods towards the armchair next to her.
“Actually, yeah. I’m waiting for this guy, it’s a funny story, really – I sort of got really drunk, accidentally called him and he talked me through a breakup.”
“Sounds like a catch,” Bellamy grins, flopping down in the chair. “So, you good?”
She is. It’s weird and she definitely still blames herself but – Lexa is okay with it, everyone is, and maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to cut herself some slack.
“Yeah,” she finally nods after a long pause, and then turns to fully face him. “So, tell me about yourself, Bellamy Blake. You talk to drunk people often?”
Clarke is not expecting to become friends with Bellamy but she does it anyways. She learns that he has a younger sister, Octavia, that his mom died when he was eighteen and he’s been taking care of Octavia since then. He’s in grad school, wants to become a history teacher, his favorite color is green and he’s definitely a dog person.
He is also funny, laughs at her stupid puns – especially the Latin and history ones (she might be googling them), reads way too much - his eyesight is shit, he tells her one day, and he has to wear reading glasses which – ok, Clarke is not actually sure that anyone can look that good with reading glasses on. She teases him mercilessly.
ok so
?
a roman walks into a bar
Not again.
and he asks for a martinus
the bartender asks him “you mean a martini?”
Clarke no
(Clarke yes )
the roman replies “if i wanted a double i wouldve asked for it”
You’re the worst.
get it get it ??
because martini is plural
and he wanted only one
also latin
After they’ve been hanging out for two months, they figure it’s time to melt their friendship groups into a huge one, and that’s how they all end up at Clarke’s place one Friday. It was supposed to be a fun movie night, but it turns out that there is no such thing.
Raven is fighting with Bellamy’s friend Wick on faulty science in most of the movies anyone has suggested up to this point and when she finds out that he’s an engineering major, shit hits the fan.
“Wow, you’re an engineer,” she blinks, mock-amazed, back to scoffing in a beat. “Figures. You dipshits always leave a mess for us mechanics to fix.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know that I’m a good engineer!”
“That’s true,” Bellamy chimes in. “He once got drunk and made a draft for a plane.”
Clarke wants to laugh, really does, but she bites it back because Raven looks even more unimpressed after Bellamy’s said that.
“What a waste of paper.”
On the other hand, Monty and Miller get along surprising well. When Miller found out that Clarke is friends with Monty, who is the one Miller is harboring the most pathetic crush for, he was two steps from asking her to be their maid of honor.
Bellamy and she smirk in unison when the two hit it off, or seem to – seeing that there’s virtually no space between them on the couch and Monty’s legs are in Miller’s lap.
Jasper has taken to trailing after Octavia who is definitely even more awesome than Bellamy has been letting on, and she and Clarke start having brunches every weekend. Apparently, good looks run in the Blake family because it’s almost unnerving to see Bellamy and Octavia next to each other – they look too good to be true and it kind of pisses her off.
Or, it would piss her off if they weren’t slowly getting to the top of her favorite persons list.
Especially Bellamy who, after Clarke hints at being ready to start dating again, starts setting her up with awesome girls. Harper is amazing and funny, a preschool art teacher, and they have a lot in common but – something doesn’t fit. Then comes Monroe, who is totally kickass – not Octavia-kickass, but kickass with her intricate knowledge of firearms and the world’s second-best amazing smirk. The sex is great, but Clarke still doesn’t feel sure about it.
When she realizes what the problem is, she’s washing the dishes again and she has to laugh out loud because of that. She should probably steer clear of washing up.
There’s vodka in the cupboard and she pours herself a glass, blasts Taylor Swift on the speakers and sings along to it. There isn’t anything else to do, really, she reasons – because the last time she had a crisis, she called Bellamy. Accidentally, yes. But then she started calling him regularly when faced with problems she would usually solve with vodka, they started hanging out and now he’s right up there with Raven on the list of people Clarke calls when she needs help.
She can’t call him now because her crush is even worse than she’d thought. And he obviously doesn’t want to do anything with her, even if she swears that he flirts a bit and definitely smirks a whole fucking lot.
And you know what they say, if a character in a book smirks – they are a love interest.
Still, that’s books and she’s sort of messy again, but doesn’t feel like crying. Just feels very stupid and pathetic. It’s easy, forgetting about her crush when he’s nice and kind and feels just like a friend should, but every now and then she sees him shirtless and she’s gone again.
Not that her crush sums up to his attractiveness. She likes how passionate he gets when he’s talking about history, likes him mother hen-ing the hell out of everyone, likes his freckles and the way he sounds when he laughs and –
She’s a total fucking goner.
Raven Reyes is a fucking genius, she’ll help, so Clarke dials her number – makes sure it’s hers.
“Raven?”
The girl sounds confused. Probably because it’s one AM. “Clarke?”
“I need your help.”
“You need me to come over? Bring a shovel? A body bag?”
“No, no need to kill anyone just yet,” Clarke chuckles because this is exactly what Raven does – you call her in the middle of the night and her first guess is you need help burying a body. Which is something she would definitely help you with – it’s only a little bit scary.
“What’s up, then? Shit – shut up, Wick!”
Clarke hears Wick’s voice on the other end and she frowns at her TV. “Why is Wick with you?”
“Uh, yeah, good question. Well, he’s an engineer and needed my help, you know how it is. They can’t do anything right.”
“She’s lying! We’re hooking up!”
“Wick, I swear to everything that is holy that I will bash your head in with a wrench,” she hisses, and then sighs into her phone. “Ok, Clarke, what’s up?”
“I’ll let this one slide, but we’re having a talk later,” Clarke warns her. Raven mutters something but doesn’t seem to mind it. “Anyways, you ever think about why Bellamy doesn’t like me?”
“What?”
“Yeah, you know – boy meets girl sort of liking.”
Clarke can practically hear Raven frowning. “Why wouldn’t Bellamy like you?”
“What is she talking about?”
“She thinks Bellamy doesn’t like her,” Raven tells Wick who – apparently – is now a part of their conversation.
Clarke can hear Wick laughing, and then a muffled yelp.
“Is Wick alright?”
“He’s being a little bitch,” Raven hums, and then Clarke hears another muffled yelp. “He’ll live.”
“Oh, Bellamy likes you alright!”
“Okay, he does, we are friends. I’m just saying, I’m hot, right?”
Raven and Wick exclaim “Yes” in unison and Clarke grins, even though they can’t see her. “So, what’s wrong with me then? He’s hot, I’m hot, and we like each other.”
“Give me the phone.”
“Wick, no-“
Wick apparently manages to get a hold of the phone. “Hi, Clarke.”
“Hi, Wick,” she sighs. This conversation is going to take twenty years from her life, she knows.
“So, Bellamy definitely likes you. He has this stupid crush where we can’t get him to shut up about you – Clarke is talented, Clarke is amazing, ‘Ahaha what a good Latin joke Clarke just sent me’, Clarke this, Clarke that. No offense, you have an okay name, but I’ve been hearing it so much it makes me sick when I say it.”
“Stop being rude to my friends, Kyle!”
“So she’s calling you Kyle now?” Clarke teases.
“Apparently. Anyways, back to the question at hand. He likes you. Has a huge fucking crush on you. Probably wants to marry you and have 2.5 kids, white picket fence and a dog named Sparks with you. It’s that bad.”
Honestly, Clarke is just stuck on the part where Bellamy said something good about her jokes. That would be enough. Everything else is just an add-on.
But she still doesn’t want to hope if nothing is going to happen, so she thanks Wick and Raven, and returns to her bottle.
It’s not until she’s drunk half of it and splashed her face with water cold enough to sober her up a little that she decides to actually talk to Bellamy. She hails a cab and she’s in front of his building soon enough.
It might be a bad idea to appear at his door unannounced in the middle of the night, but she’s pressing the bell nevertheless, trying to stop herself from swaying as she waits for him to answer the door.
She sobers up as soon as he appears in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep and eyelids heavy. He’s so fucking amazing and she thinks that she should be so lucky for him to have a crush on her.
“Clarke? What’s wrong?”
Bellamy frowns at her, growing more alert with each passing second he spends eyeing her up and down, like he’s trying to find nonexistent wounds or any hint as to what’s wrong.
Seeing that she has absolutely no filter, she just blurts it out. “Whydontyoulikeme?”
“Um, can you repeat that? I don’t think-“
“Well, it’s just that – okay, so we are friends. That we are and we are definitely going to keep being friends but- I flirt with you. All the time. And I’m pretty sure you flirt with me so I don’t understand – and, also, Monroe was great but that didn’t work out – ok, anyways, the thing is, I know I’m not ugly, right? And I’m pretty sure you like me as a friend but I have this-“
“Clarke,” he huffs. “Breathe.”
She does, trying to compose herself. Her heart is beating so loud she can hear it in her ears, and Bellamy just looks confused, leaning on the door like he doesn’t even understand the first thing about all of this.
“Wick said you have a crush on me.”
She thought that was a good way to start again but it apparently wasn’t because Bellamy looks like he’d just been hit with something very heavy.
“Which, you know – he’s Wick. But I was actually here because I wanted to ask you if I was imagining what we,” she gestures to the space between them, “do. I know we’re friends and everything. I love being your friend but I would also like something more.”
She feels her cheeks burning up as she ducks her head, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.
He, on the other hand, seems frozen in his place. It suddenly strikes her how stupid this was – risking their friendship because she’d been feeling mopey and Wick told her that Bellamy talks about her. Everyone talks about their friends.
“Okay, so I shouldn’t have done that,” she finally says. “Just forget about it.”
“No, just- wait a second,” he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing. “So, you’re bi?”
She can’t help it if she just stares. She told him. She had to have. Except-
Oh fuck.
“Really, really bi.”
That elicits a hearty laugh from him, the one that doesn’t stop until he has to brace his hands on his knees to get to his breath.
“I thought you just liked girls, that’s why. You never said anything about guys and - I should have asked, I know. But Wick is right, which is something I thought I’d never say. Don’t tell him though because he’ll be ins-“
Clarke doesn’t let him finish because he’s blushing and stammering, exactly how she likes him best, so she comes to stand on her tiptoes and presses her lips against his.
There is a moment in which neither of them move and she’s worried that she fucked up but then he wraps his arms around her waist, lifts her a little off the floor, and smiles into the kiss. Their teeth clink together and smiling isn’t the best thing you can do when you’re kissing but it’s still perfect because –
It’s Bellamy.
It takes them what feels like hours to stop and they stand there, foreheads leaning against one another. His lips are swollen and red and she giggles because she did that.
“So,” she breaks the comfortable silence between them, biting into her cheek to stop herself from smiling, “wanna hear a joke?”
Bellamy groans but he looks fond and she flicks his nose with her finger. “Stop it. I know you love my jokes.”
“Wick?”
“Wick.”
Fucking Wick. Now she’ll have to get him something.
But it was totally worth it.