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If he's honest, Bellamy is amazed that he and Clarke have maintained their friendship for as long as they have. It's unbelievable enough that they became friends to begin with, back in kindergarten, completely by chance, just because she liked his hat and told him so. Even as a kid, Bellamy knew they were different. Clarke's clothes were new and clean, brand name instead of sewn by her mother. She had all the extra stuff he didn't, her own giant box of crayons, not the shared class ones, a My Little Pony lunch bag full of fresh food, not just the subsidized meal the school provided, her own books, not just ones she borrowed from the library. She got a ride to school instead of taking the bus. And years later he found out who her parents were, that she was, if not famous, then at least well-known.
He's spent years waiting for her to realize they shouldn't be friends, and she never has. She helped him get into the magnet school, helped him make sure he's applying for all the scholarships and financial aid he can for college, helped him pick the best school he could both go to and afford. It wasn't anything he couldn't have done by himself, but as with everything else in his life, it was easier with Clarke by his side.
They didn't end up at the same school, but they're still in the same city, and she's still his best friend.
It's miracle enough by itself, so he's not getting greedy, hoping for anything more.
"Excited?" she asks. She's bouncing on her heels, her own excitement plain, and he has a surge of guilt and fondness looking at her. The fondness is ever present; the guilt is that it's taken him two months to let her drag him to meet her new college friends.
But, honestly, he's mostly just nervous about the party. Clarke's school is a lot higher profile than his, and it's full of people--well, not like her. No one is like Clarke. But she's one of those people who wears popularity like armor, who knows everyone and gets involved with everything so that no one will think she can't do those things. And he's pretty sure that's why she likes him so much, because he never expects anything from her, never doubts how capable and smart she is, no matter what. When they hang out, they're generally playing video games on his beat-up couch, just the two of them, and Clarke can just be herself. But she's always been more social and popular than he is, at least in the traditional, Hollywood sense. People like Bellamy, but he doesn't really get invited to parties, not like Clarke does. And he doesn't hang out with rich kids. He mostly wants to punch them.
So, yeah, he's not really excited. But she is, because they're the same, when it comes to that. Bellamy can be just as charming as she can, when he puts in the effort, and the two of them together is actually a force to behold.
And, obviously, she likes at least some of these people and thinks he'd get along with them. But at the end of the day, it's still a party, and he's pretty sure her primary motivation for dragging him along is that she wants backup.
"No," he says, grinning, and she grins back.
"There's going to be so much booze, Bellamy. So much."
"You know I have access to plenty of booze, right? This is not a big deal." He pauses. "Do you guys have more expensive booze because you can afford it, or do you just drink Natty Light anyway?"
"Natty Light anyway."
"Rich kids are the worst."
She bumps her shoulder against his, deliberate. "They're not all rich. Raven's a literal genius, she's here on a scholarship. Monty's definitely middle class. The ones I like aren't--"
"I know your friends aren't assholes," he says, putting his arm around her and squeezing. "But I fucking hate parties. Especially with people I don't know."
Clarke snuggles into his side happily, which is also the worst. This has to stop at some point, right? The universe will notice he's not supposed to get this, eventually, and it will stop happening.
"I know. But we'll be drunk and yelling, which brings people together. And I really appreciate you coming. I wasn't looking forward to it, and now I am."
"You're welcome," he says. "I'm looking forward to cashing in on this favor."
"I'm looking forward to this being less terrible than you're expecting and you having to apologize."
"Wow. That's definitely not happening."
"A girl can dream, right?"
"I feel like you could do better with dreams. Maybe just like parties without me. Or, you know. Jet ski."
"What would I do with a jet ski?"
They're discussing which weird transportation Clarke should wish for--she wants a motor scooter with a sidecar for him, he thinks she should go for a helicopter--when they get to the party. And, honestly, it looks just like every other party Bellamy has ever been to. Rich kids apparently also enjoy being loud and drunk and just a messy tangle of sweat and limbs and sexual frustration.
Clarke ducks out from under his arm, but takes his hand to pull him through the crowd, so--he should follow her to parties more often, probably. If this is what happens.
As usual, everyone knows her, but when a girl follows up, "Hi, Clarke!" with "Is that Bellamy?" it still throws him.
"Yeah, this is him!" Clarke says. She's beaming.
"How often do you talk about me?" he asks, leaning in close so she'll hear over the noise.
"How often do you talk about me?" she shoots back, and he considers it. If he brought Clarke to a party, Miller would recognize her in about half a second. Even the people he doesn't like that much, like Murphy and Mbege, would know who she was, and be dicks about it.
"Point taken," he says, and squeezes her fingers. "Let me know which ones I should actually care about."
"Mostly Raven, like I said. I'm not sure Monty will actually show up. He doesn't like parties much."
"So he's going to be my favorite of your friends."
"Raven's great, you're going to love Raven. If she was single, I'd try to set you guys up."
Wouldn't work, Bellamy thinks, way too aware of her fingers in his. What he says is, "Thanks for dangling that one in front of me. I appreciate it."
"Any time."
They make it to the keg and get drinks, and he's sort of assuming she's going to notice she's still holding his hand and let go. Just because--well, it's kind of new for them. They're casually affectionate, happy to lean on each other, but nothing so deliberate as holding hands.
But once they get their beers, she reclaims his free hand with hers and keeps on dragging him after her. He sees a few people whose eyes light up when they see her, and then dim when they spot her hand in his, him following her like--well, he knows what he'd assume, if he saw them together. How can she not know?
They find the girl who turns out to be Raven in what he thinks is the living room. She's drinking and chatting with a pretty girl, and when Clarke says, "Hey!" both of them perk up.
"Holy shit, he's real," says Raven. "I was starting to think you were making him up so you had an excuse to tell me we weren't BFFs."
"He's real, just kind of anti-social. Why do you think we get along so well?" Clarke tugs him to her side and finally lets go of his hand. "Anyway, yeah. Bellamy, Raven and Gina. Raven, Gina, Bellamy. My very real best friend."
"Nice to meet you guys," he says. "And I'm not anti-social, I just don't see the point of taking a half an hour bus ride to get drunk when I can do it in the comfort of my own dorm any time."
"Because I'm here," Clarke says, beaming at him.
"That's the argument, yeah. And I'm here, so--not mythological." He smiles at Raven and Gina, feeling a little awkward. "Anyway, nice to meet you guys. I've heard, uh--honestly a lot about you, Raven, and less about you."
"I'm the girlfriend," Gina says. "So I hadn't heard that much about you either. Just that you existed."
"Awesome," Bellamy says. "So we can hang out, and they can gossip about us behind our backs."
"I like you," Gina declares, and loops her arm through his.
And that part is pretty great. He likes Raven and Gina, which doesn't surprise him from what Clarke's told him about Raven, and in that small, limited group, he's pretty happy. Various people stagger by to say hi to Clarke, and he gets introduced around, with a lot of, "Oh, I've heard so much about you!" which is simultaneously awesome and not really surprising, but they don't stay that long. He drinks and they dance a little, play a couple games of beer pong, and then some guy grabs Clarke's arm and says, "Come on, spin the bottle!"
Clarke manages to get Bellamy's hand as she's dragged away, so he's dragged too.
"Absolutely not," Raven says, and he's a little jealous that she and Gina are abandoning him.
"Are we twelve?" he hisses at Clarke.
"Like you ever played spin the bottle when we were twelve," Clarke shoots back, which is the problem with having a best friend for life; Clarke really does know him too well. "Have you ever actually played spin the bottle?"
"No, I just make out with people."
"When's the last time you made out with anyone?"
"Shut up."
"See? Spin the bottle is going to help."
"Yeah, I love kissing random people."
"And me," she points out, and he trips a little. "You know at least one person who's playing, so don't complain."
It feels like the time for a smooth line, something like We don't need a game if you want to kiss me, but--not that. Something cooler. An actually good line.
Instead, he says, "Yeah, I don't like my odds on that one."
"It'll be fun," she says.
"It really won't."
"You say that about everything."
She introduces him to the circle with a simple, "My best friend, Bellamy," and he can tell that some of them have heard about him, and some of them are just excited that they might get to make out with him.
Seriously, Clarke is going to owe him for months.
"Have you ever played this before?" he asks, low, as the circle populates with other people who think this is a good idea, or who like their friends enough to do it even though they know it's a terrible idea.
"Just a couple times."
"And you actually like it?"
She worries her lip, looking thoughtful. "I'm bad at being casual, I'm not in a relationship, and I like kissing. So this is a good way to do it."
"Dating seems easier."
"You would think."
The first person to spin the bottle is across the circle from them, and she hits Clarke. Clarke crawls across the floor, presses her mouth against the girl's, laughs as the girl chases her mouth when she pulls back.
She comes back and settles against Bellamy, but it keeps happening. It's like the bottle has some sort of magnetic pull towards Clarke; she gets kissed more than anyone else, always to good-natured jeers and amusement. He's not jealous, really, it's just--it seems so improbable, that Clarke's getting hit so much.
Bellamy's first spin hits a guy a few seats to his left; the guy rolls his eyes like kissing Bellamy is a huge burden, and says some no-homo shit that rubs him the wrong way. Bellamy might slip him some tongue, and he's gratified when he comes away a little dazed. Not to brag, but Bellamy's a pretty good kisser.
Clarke hits a different guy on her spin, kisses him and snuggles back against Bellamy.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asks.
"Don't be jealous I'm getting more action than you."
"I'll try not to be."
His third spin, he hits her, and it feels inevitable, even though it really wasn't. There are at least fifteen people in the circle, and they're just going around in order, so it would have been easy for the two of them to never hit each other, he's pretty sure. But the bottle does love Clarke.
She gives him a smile. "Told you. Making out with someone you know."
"Lucky you."
"Get a move on!" someone calls, and Bellamy lets his eyes flick down to her lips.
He kissed her once before. They were ten, and Alex Parkinson bet him five whole dollars he wouldn't. He told Clarke, she agreed, he kissed her, and they spent the money on as much candy as they could afford. He'd been a little fluttery about it, but it had mostly just been--kissing Clarke. He'd liked it fine, but in the years to come, he mostly remembered it as something he wished he'd been able to appreciate more, when it happened.
"Get a move on, Bellamy," Clarke says, soft, and he leans in to press his mouth against hers.
She tastes like lip strawberry lip gloss and alcohol, and she smells like sweat and skin and warmth. Her mouth is soft, and he realizes he's cupping her cheek only when he realizes her skin is soft too, and when he swipes his tongue against her lower lip, she opens for him, whimpers a little as he presses closer, kisses her deeper.
He pulls back in shock as soon as he notices she's kissing him back just as thoroughly.
Clarke is staring up at him, eyes wide, mouth red, and he nearly drags her back, but he can see her coming back to herself, shaking her head, turning back to the group.
She takes the bottle with her left hand, but her right finds his again and squeezes. He can't tell if she's telling him that it's not a big deal, or she's telling him it is.
She kisses another girl, quick and brief, and then she's back by his side.
"Does this game end?" he asks her, three people later. She's still holding his hand.
"Eventually. Usually people get distracted making out and everyone wanders off."
"Huh."
A girl hits him for the second time, and when he pecks her, she grins and says, "Come on, I want a kiss like Clarke got."
He flushes, because--what can he say to that? He's proud of his skills, but he can't kiss a girl whose name he doesn't even know like he was kissing Clarke. He shouldn't have even kissed Clarke like that.
"Nope," says Clarke, pulling Bellamy back to her. "No way. Sorry."
The girl laughs and goes back to her own seat. "Worth a try."
Bellamy puts his arm around Clarke again, not quite territorial, but definitely a signal. And she leans right into it, stays until she has to kiss someone else, and comes back when she's done.
When her next spin lands on him, everyone jeers, and someone says they should just get a room, so they don't slow everyone else down.
She's so close she can probably feel the way his heart stops and starts again, beating wildly, and she says, "Yeah, you know what? I think we're done." She stands and pulls him up with her, tugs him down by his shirt for a very brief kiss. "There, kiss done. We're leaving."
"I thought making out with people you know was the good one," Bellamy manages, as she tugs him back through the crowd.
She doesn't respond until they're outside. "We don't have to talk about it, if you don't--it doesn't have to be anything."
She's not looking at him, and her voice is shaky. It makes hope rise in Bellamy's throat, and he manages, "What would it be if it was something?"
Clarke lets out a surprised laugh. "Wow. Way to not commit," she says, but it's amused, teasing.
"It's a lot to commit to."
"Yeah?" Her voice is way too light, deliberate, and she's still not looking at him, so he takes her hand, pulls her in and kisses her again.
Her response is instant and unrestrained, throwing her arms around his neck and actually knocking him back a few steps with the force of her enthusiasm. He makes an involuntary noise, something soft and relieved, and pulls her closer, tangling his hand in her hair, and lets her take the lead, because--Clarke wants to take the lead. Clarke really wants to make out with him immediately, and he's more than happy to let her prove it.
When someone wolf whistles, she pulls back, and he has no idea how long it's been, but his ears are getting cold and her cheeks are flushed and he loves her.
"We should talk about it," he says, and her smile is huge.
He's the one who takes her hand as they walk back to her dorm. He's been there a couple times, met her roommate, whom she doesn't like, and her RA, whom she does, but he's never followed her home like this.
"You know, as master plans go, taking me to a party so we could play spin the bottle and maybe get to make out is the worst one ever."
"You're giving me way too much credit." She squeezes his fingers. "I brought you to the party because I wanted you to come to the party. I didn't know we were going to do that." She traps her lip in her teeth, and he has a vivid flashback to sucking on her bottom lip earlier. He's going to do it a lot more. "I would have made you come to a party way sooner."
"Yeah, uh, just say we're going to make out and I'm there."
She ducks her head. "Bellamy, that's been the subtext of everything I've asked you to do since, like, eighth grade."
"Yeah, I'm bad at subtext." He can't quite breathe. "Eighth grade?"
"The summer after. You were on the soccer team and starting to get in shape. We went swimming, you took off your shirt, and--" She laughs. "I realized you were incredibly hot."
He laughs too, tugs her in against his side and puts his arm around her. "Wow, shallow."
"I already loved you, Bellamy," she says, soft, and it's not news.
But at the same time, he had no idea at all.
"Seventh grade," he says. "In the locker room, some guys were talking about how you were getting boobs."
"And you say I'm shallow."
He snorts. "I got detention for a week because I punched one of them in the jaw."
"Wait, that was why? You said someone was bullying Octavia!"
"I didn't want you to know. But, yeah--that was when."
"Fuck," she says, laughing. "Six years?"
"Five."
"If you'd told me, I would have said yes."
"Yeah, but--I'm amazed we survived high school as friends. Trying to date probably would have been too much."
"You think?"
"No idea. But how many people do you know who started dating in seventh grade and actually make it?"
"You think we're going to make it?" she asks, sounding--happy. Not dubious at all.
"I love you," he tells her. It feels impossibly easy, after worrying about it for so long. "So, yeah. I think we're going to make it."
She unlocks the door of her dorm, and he follows her up to the second floor, into her room. He's not nervous at all, somehow, and he's even less nervous when she loops her arms around his neck and kisses him again as soon as they're in private. He lets his hands slide under her shirt, over the smooth, soft skin of her sides and back.
"I told you spin the bottle was fun," she murmurs, mouth warm and smiling against his.
"I bet we can have more fun," he tells her, lifting her up and carrying her toward the bed.
She laughs and tangles her hand in his hair. "We always have more fun. But you definitely enjoyed that."
"Parts of it, yeah. But let's never do it again."
"Never?"
"Not when we could just do this instead," he says, pressing her into the bed, kissing her long and deep. He's going to have trouble ever wanting to do anything but this.
"Yeah," Clarke says, breathless and already pulling him back in for more. "It was fun, but it doesn't come close to this."