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“You don’t understand, Bellamy. If I fail this test, I can pretty much say goodbye to med school,” Clarke sighed, dropping her forehead onto the kitchen counter.
Bellamy shook his head fondly at her. He’d been listening to her vent since she stormed into his apartment unannounced, flinging herself dramatically onto his old couch, cursing her Organic Chemistry professor for making the final cumulative. It wasn’t like it really mattered. Clarke had been studying like crazy the past couple of months, always asking Bellamy to quiz her with the color-coordinated flashcards she’d spent hours making, or falling asleep using her textbook as a pillow.
Opening the fridge, he grabbed a carton of eggs, butter, and milk. At the sound of eggs cracking into the bowl, Clarke raised her head.
“I can already see my mom’s face.”
She sat up straight, pressing her mouth into a fine line. Bellamy rested his hands on the counter, waiting for her incoming Abby Impersonation.
“Clarke, honey, you know maybe if you had studied more you could’ve been a doctor’.”
Bellamy bit back a chuckle at her attempted impersonation. She was horrible at them.
“She wouldn’t say that,” He said.
Since meeting Marcus, Abby had relaxed considerably. She even started calling him ‘Bellamy’ instead of ‘Professor Blake’. Which, let’s be honest, was progress.
“She would say that.” She dipped a finger shamelessly into the chocolate batter. Bellamy frowned at her. She ignored him. “What are you making again?”
“Brownies. I thought that was obvious from the batter. The batter you just dipped your finger into like you’re some kind of heathen.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but why?”
“Because you’re stressing out even though you have no reason to be, and every time you’re stressed you make brownies. But,” he exhaled, “the fact that you’re here means that you can’t step into your apartment without crying, so I’m making some for you here.”
A brief silence descended over them in the kitchen, and Bellamy felt his cheeks heating up. Clenching his jaw, he mixed the batter with extremely careful precision and care. He didn’t really want to look her in the eye and see the same look of pity every single one of their friends gave him every time he was around Clarke. He’d been pining over her since his second year of college, after they’d bonded over helping Octavia get through a bad break up.
He sighed. Literally everyone, except for Clarke of course, was aware of how stupid in love with her he was.
“You’re making brownies. For me.” Clarke stated, interrupting his thoughts.
He shrugged, desperately aiming for a look of purely platonic nonchalance. “Yeah.”
“Thanks.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I—Thanks, Bellamy.”
Fighting a blush, he turned around and grabbed a spoon from the utensil drawer. He held it out to her.
“You can taste the batter,” he said, pulling the spoon away when she tried to grab it. “But only if you use a spoon. Deal?”
“Am I at least allowed to double dip?”
“Of course not, Clarke, what—” He groaned, seeing the mischievous glimmer in her eyes. “You’re going to anyways, aren’t you?"
She grinned, her first real smile all night, and Bellamy thought (not for the first time) that he was totally, utterly screwed.
“Fine.” He relented. “But if I get sick and die...”
She grabbed the spoon from his hands, smile still stretched across her face even as she rolled her eyes at him.
“You’re not going to die because I double dip, Bellamy.”
“I might,” he muttered.
**
While the brownies were in the oven, Bellamy set out some plates and grabbed the whipped cream from the fridge. Clarke was perched on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs.
“Bellamy, would you still be my friend if I fail this test?”
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
She sighed. “Yeah, but would you?”
“Clarke.” He walked over to her, resting his hands on the counter beside her thighs. She stared down at him with her impossibly blue eyes. Bellamy softened his voice.
“You’re not going to fail this test. And yeah, I’d still be your friend. I’ll always be your friend.” He swallowed, ignoring the pit in his stomach.
Even if he wanted to be something more, he would always just be her friend. But Bellamy would take being “just” her friend over not having her in his life at all.
Clarke smiled shakily at him. She put a hand on his shoulder.
“I know, Bellamy. Thank you.”
They stayed like that, just looking into each other’s eyes for a few moments. Clarke leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his, her hand still resting on his shoulder. Bellamy tentatively moved one of his hands to rest on her thigh. His heart was thudding in his chest, and he let himself hope, for the briefest of seconds, that maybe this was it. Maybe this was going to be the moment that would change everything.
She pulled away slightly, and Bellamy swore he felt his heart stop. This moment could change everything, but that didn’t necessarily mean it would change for the better.
But then her eyes dropped to his lips, and Bellamy leaned forward slowly, thinking now or never.
“But what if I fail this test?” Clarke breathed, and the moment was shattered.
Bellamy stepped back, collecting himself. He grabbed the can of whipped cream from where it sat on the counter next to her. Shaking it, he took the top off, and waited.
“Seriously, Bellamy, what if—”
Bellamy sprayed the whipped cream directly into her mouth.
Her eyes widened.
“Hey!” She yelled, her muffled protest making him laugh.
She jumped down from the counter, reaching for the can in his hands. Bellamy skirted around the counter into the living room, spraying whipped cream into his mouth and in her general direction. He should’ve known not to underestimate Clarke though, and his amused expression fell when she lunged at him.
They both toppled onto the couch. Clarke was relentless, her arms snaking around him to grab the can. In an effort to stop him from squirming beneath her, she threw a leg over his waist, straddling him. Bellamy immediately stilled beneath her.
Her fingernails dug gently into the flesh of his wrists where they were pinned above his head. Her face was inches from his, golden strands of hair grazing his cheeks and making him shiver.
“I surrender.” He breathed.
Clarke let go of his wrists and grabbed the can from his hand, sitting up. She was still straddling him. Bellamy focused on recreating the genealogical tree of Greek gods in his head instead of their compromising position.
Clarke had victory written all over her features. She pointed the nozzle directly over his face.
“I’m sorry, what was that? You surrender?”
He put his hands on her thighs, squeezing them gently.
“I’m not saying it again.”
“We’ll see about that,” She whispered. Bellamy tried to convince himself that he hadn’t imagined how breathless her voice sounded. “Don’t start something you aren’t prepared to finish.”
Before he could talk himself out of it, Bellamy pulled her down to him.
“I won’t”
Clarke wet her lips. “Promise?”
He kissed her, softly, gently, taking his time to feel her lips on his.
“Promise,” he breathed.
Clarke surged back down towards him, kissing him like he had wanted to kiss her for years. She kissed him deeply, hungrily, like it was the last thing she would ever do.
They only broke apart when the oven timer beeped loudly.
Clarke laughed into his shoulder. Her cheeks were thoroughly flushed. He was pretty sure his hair was even messier than before, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
His fingertips grazed her sides, and he turned his head, kissing her temple.
“Brownies are done,” he breathed, but Clarke didn’t move. “They’re going to burn, Clarke.”
She sighed, rolling off of him. Holding out a hand, she pulled him up, standing on her tiptoes to press another kiss to his lips. Her tongue swiped his bottom lip teasingly. She pulled away far too soon, squeezing his hand.
“Can we take them to your room?” She asked, looking up at him through her dark lashes, pupils blown.
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Of course.” He answered. “Just…just don’t get crumbs everywhere.”
She rolled her eyes at him, smiling.
**
Clarke did get crumbs everywhere, but he couldn’t really bring himself to mind as she kissed him senseless. The next morning, as he pressed lazy kisses to her shoulder, he made a mental note to thank Octavia.
The brownie recipe had been hers.