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You can’t stand on a rooftop wearing nothing but American flag printed shorts and eat hot dog after hot dog without looking like a total tool. Bellamy understands this, but it doesn’t stop him from doing it.
“You look ridiculous,” Clarke tells him while she eats pasta salad out of a tiny plastic bowl with her fingers. She has no right to talk. It’s her rooftop and she’s wearing frayed cutoff shorts and a bikini top that matches his shorts perfectly. She’s got no leg to stand on in this standoff.
“So do you,” he tells her and she rolls her eyes at him, as she’s so inclined to do in his presence.
“You love it,” she says slowly, enunciating each word and it takes everything in him not to focus solely on her lips.
He smirks and takes a step toward her, whispering in her ear. “So do you, princess. So do you.”
Clarke huffs as he walks away and Bellamy forces himself not to look back at her.
This is a game they’ve been playing for months now. It all started on that very roof, on the first warm night of the year. There was Bellamy and Clarke, Raven, Monty, Jasper, and Miller. There were a lot of Bud Light cans scattered at their feet, either empty or well on their way to being empty.
Jasper was drunker than the rest of them—as was the way of the world since Maya had moved across the country to start a new job and a new life—and when he got drunk, he got mouthy. First, he started in on Clarke because she told Maya that she should go and if she and Jasper were meant to be, they would be. Bellamy put an end to that real quick, though.
“Maya asked you to go with her. You decided not to. That’s not Clarke’s fault,” he’d told him and Jasper glared at him with an intensity Bellamy had never seen before.
“And it’s not my fault that the two of you aren’t fucking yet, like we all know you both want to,” Jasper said—growled, really. He kicked a half empty beer can and left the rest of his friends staring after him, but Bellamy and Clarke just looked at each other.
Ever since that night, things have been different. Jasper apologized and slowed down on his drinking. But things were different between Bellamy and Clarke, especially.
He was so used to watching her when she wasn’t looking. He was used to the sensation in his hand every time she grabbed it to drag him somewhere. He’s still not used to finding her already watching him when he looks at her. He’s not used to her touch lingering and her fingers tightening around his.
But he likes it, so he continues walking away from Clarke and goes to the speaker where Raven is set up with her iPhone, DJing their Fourth of July festivities.
“Have you two gotten over yourselves and made out yet?” she asks without even looking up. She puts on a Prince song, causing raucous cheers across the roof, and smiles at him.
“Working on it,” he tells her—vague. Raven barks out a laugh and Bellamy smiles to himself and sits next to her on the towel she’s on.
“Please,” she scoffs, nudging him with her pointy elbow, “you’ll never make a move. You haven’t yet.”
“I’m laying the groundwork,” he explains and she shakes her head, unconvinced. He is. If something happens between him and Clarke, it needs be done right. All of their intense looks and lingering touches mean something. Hell, as far as Bellamy is concerned, they mean everything. He just needs to figure out how to use that and move their relationship forward.
He’s also okay with where they are now, though. The back and forth. The flirting. The slow burn. It’s good because he knows it’ll be worth it. And why not have some fun with it first? Rushing things could ruin things. That’s the last thing Bellamy wants.
“You have ketchup on your chest.
He looks down at his bare chest where there is, in fact, a drop of ketchup, and then up at Clarke where she’s standing over him.
“Saving it for later,” he tells her, squinting at the sun just starting to set behind her head.
“He’s saving it for you,” Raven chimes in and Clarke gags, kicking her foot. She sits down on the other side of Bellamy and pulls a napkin out of her pocket, handing it to him.
“Thanks.”
He wipes the ketchup, but keeps his eyes on Clarke’s face. She’s watching Monty trying to get Miller to dance with him and she’s smiling softly. Bellamy can tell she’s happy. It’s her favorite holiday. They’ve been outside, above the city, for hours—just eating and dancing and forgetting the rest of the world exists. In a few more hours they’ll be watching the fireworks and she’ll be even happier.
Bellamy only looks away from her when Raven elbows him in the ribs. When he clears his throat and glares at her, he feels Clarke lean against his side and there are a lot of thoughts and feelings running through his mind.
He’s used to this, too—Clarke by his side. She’s been in his life for as long as he can remember, in some role or another. It wasn’t until her freshman year of college, though, that they became real friends. And now, almost seven years later, he doesn’t remember life without her by his side. He doesn’t want to know a life without her by his side.
“Did you reapply your sunscreen?” Bellamy asks and Clarke grunts into his shoulder, making him laugh. “I’m not going to bring you aloe vera and ice water when you get sun poisoning.”
“Yes, you will,” Raven says, pushing herself to stand. “Don’t lie to the girl, Bellamy.” Then, she’s gone and it’s just Bellamy and Clarke sitting against the wall.
“She’s right,” Clarke says, resting her chin on his shoulder. “You would do exactly that.”
Bellamy huffs. Because they’re right. Of course they’re right. “Well, I still would rather you just put on some sunscreen so we could avoid it.”
“Will you get my back?” she asks, her low voice even huskier than normal and he shakes his head until she smiles.
“Is that a pickup line?”
“Only one way to find out.”
--
Bellamy did help Clarke with her sunscreen, but it did not lead to anything. As he’d expected.
All that happened was a plethora of red, white, and blue margaritas, fireworks lighting up the night sky, and Bellamy’s walk home—phoneless.
It’s why he’s walking back to Clarke’s apartment only a few hours after leaving in the first place. The sun is barely shining from behind the clouds, but Bellamy still has his sunglasses on, like they’ll cure his hangover. It’s not a terrible hangover, but the closer is gets to thirty, the more he realizes his body isn’t the same as it was when he was in college.
He stops short just outside her building when he sees Clarke literally twirling out of her front door. She’s got on a white, flowy dress that really brings out the red on her skin. Her hair is braided in a crown around her head and she looks downright chipper.
“I hate you,” he says and she twirls—again—to face him. Her smile is bright and the few pieces of hair falling in her face sway in the breeze. As does her dress and Bellamy can’t help but rake his eyes over her legs.
“Why is that?” she asks, walking toward him and he forces himself to look her in the face.
“You would never know you were dancing on a table last night, drunk out of your skull,” he explains and she laughs. “If only we could all be twenty-four years old.”
“Chill out, grandpa. You’re only twenty-eight,” she reminds him, her hand slipping into her purse. She comes out with his phone and he smiles. “I was just on my way to your place.”
“Thank you,” he says and she smiles again. “Did you dress up for me?”
“Can I let you in on a little secret?” she whispers and he nods. He loves being in on her secrets. He likes being the one she trusts with them. “When I wear a dress, outside of, like, some fancy party, it’s mostly because I don’t want to put pants on. And the hair? I didn’t wash it this morning.”
Bellamy can’t help the laugh that rumbles out of him and he doesn’t want to. She looks proud of herself and he just feels this surge of affection for her that’s always there but suddenly amplified.
“Do you have plans for the rest of the day?” he asks and she almost looks surprised. Which is ridiculous, because they hang out alone all the time. But, he guesses, it’s been a while since the last time. Maybe since before the night on the roof with Jasper.
“Not really,” she tells him. “Want to walk? Or is the sun too harsh on your old man eyes?”
“Shut up.”
She giggles and they start walking toward downtown. They talk about nothing consequential—the weather and Miller’s late night soliloquy sparked from three margaritas and a shot of Jameson. They bump shoulders every few steps because they’re walking so close to each other, but neither of them moves. They dodge cars and people so they never have to stop walking.
And then Bellamy feels it. The wet trail of a raindrop down his face. One. And another. Until it’s coming down in sheets—out of nowhere—and Clarke is giddy. Her arms are spread wide at her sides while Bellamy looks for someplace to hide.
He grabs one of her hands and pulls her under the entry of the museum and she laughs, falling against his chest. “You’re no fun,” she tells him, wiping the rain off her face. “But the museum is. You interested?”
“Yeah.” He smiles and she takes his hand again to pull him inside, but then she stops and turns toward him. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you have a shirt on under that flannel?” she asks.
Bellamy looks down at his shirt that’s soaked through, and he nods. “Why?”
“White dress.” Clarke shrugs innocently and Bellamy swallows hard as he begins to unbutton is shirt. He hands it over to her and she puts it on quickly, buttoning it up some and tying it at her waist. “Thank you.”
When she kisses him on the cheek and turns toward the ticket counter, Bellamy stands—too shocked to follow her. The press of her lips against his cheek was a kind of wakeup call. Like they’re standing on this precipice and one of them needs to make a move before one of them falls and the other is left behind to pick up the pieces. Her lips on his cheek makes him realize that she’s the one who’s going to fall—away from him or for someone else—and he’ll be left the pick up the pieces of his broken heart.
Maybe how things are between them are fun and flirty, but they’re also unreliable and faulty.
“You coming?” Clarke calls to him from the ticket window where she’s holding up two tickets. He kind of wants to run home, make a plan, and deal with it later. But then she smiles.
“Of course.”
She shows him all of her favorite pieces and he listens to her while he looks at her instead of the art. Even with wet hair falling out of her braid and ruined makeup, she’s still Clarke. And Clarke in an art museum is art in it of itself. She glows. She’s free.
They eat sandwiches and drink fancy coffees in the café overlooking the sculpture garden. They’re safely inside, behind massive floor to ceiling windows, but they can see the rain still falling. It’s lighter now, though, and Bellamy thinks he sees the sun trying to come out again. It doesn’t matter, though. He’s good where he is. For now, at least.
They sit there for a long time before the rain stops and they decide to walk back toward Clarke’s apartment. It’s humid and heavy feeling after the rain and Clarke takes off Bellamy’s flannel. She doesn’t give it back, though. Instead, she ties it around her waist and links her arm through his.
“I’m glad we did this today,” she tells him as they near her apartment, but she’s looking across the street at a young family laughing with a faint smile.
“It was fun,” he agrees and she looks up at him, all soft and affectionate. He smiles at her like it’s the easiest thing in the world and it is.
“So, what are we going to do now?” Clarke asks and the smile falls from Bellamy’s face. She’s way too serious to be talking about what they’re going to do next in their day. No, she means something else completely.
“I’m going to see you on Friday, right?” he asks and she nods, but she looks confused.
“Yeah, but that’s not-“
“I know,” he says, low and serious so that she knows he means it. “Friday, okay?”
“Okay…”
“Okay.”
This time, he kisses her on the cheek. But he lingers and his fingers trail over the side of her neck as he pulls away. Her breathing’s a little erratic, but she doesn’t let anything show on her face when he smiles at her.
“Friday,” he says as a goodbye and she nods.
“Friday.”
--
“You look way too pissed for someone about to spill his guts to the woman he’s been in love with for seven years,” Miller tells him as they walk to Clarke’s on Friday night.
“I haven’t been in love with her the whole time,” Bellamy argues and Miller only laughs. “And I’m not pissed.”
He’s not. He’s terrified. Even though it’s no secret how he feels about her, even to her at this point—it’s going to change everything. For pretty much everyone.
“What are you so afraid of? If she didn’t feel the same way, things would have ended much differently the other day,” Miller reminds him. He nods because his best friend is probably right, but still. It’s a lot. “How is this going to happen? You made her wait all week, so how is it going to go down?”
“I made her wait because I needed to wait,” Bellamy says. “For my sanity’s sake. I could have just kissed her right then and made everything so much easier, but I couldn’t. Flirting with her and teasing her is one thing, but actually telling her how I feel? That’s a lot. That’s more than I’ve ever needed to do. I just needed a few days to figure it out and calm down.”
“You’re not very calm.”
“Shut the fuck up, Miller.”
Miller laughs again and Bellamy ignores him. When he looks up from his feet, he sees Monty and Jasper waiting for them outside of Clarke’s door and he and Miller walk faster to meet up with them.
They walk up the four flights of stairs to the roof where Clarke is with Raven, Lincoln, and Octavia, and Bellamy’s breathing becomes a little labored.
He’d like to think he’s not a little chicken shit, that he can deal with his emotions and not run away from things that really matter. But, it turns out, he is a little chicken shit and he’d really like to run away.
“Hi, big brother,” Octavia calls, bounding across the roof to kiss him soundly on the cheek. She’s already had a few drinks, he can tell, but she’s happy and that makes him feel a little at ease.
Until he looks up and sees Clarke watching him, her face serious—a little nervous, maybe.
“Hey, O,” he says to his sister, focusing his attention on her instead. She grabs him by the elbow over to the outdoor couch Clarke has on the roof and pulls him to set next to her. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks, wrenching his arm out of her grasp.
“I’ve heard you’ve got something planned for tonight,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows and he narrows his eyes at her.
“Where did you hear that?” he asked and she snorted, like anything is a secret among their group of friends. “Okay, actually, I don’t want to know where you heard that. It’s better for my ego if I don’t know who’s talking about me behind my back.”
“It’s everyone,” Octavia says with a shrug. “All of the time.”
“Awesome,” he says, deadpan, and Octavia giggles.
“You know you have nothing to worry about, so calm down.”
She leaves him alone and runs and jumps onto Lincoln’s back. He catches her easily—like it’s nothing—and hitches her further while Bellamy looks on. Lincoln was talking to Clarke when Octavia pulled him away, but now she’s nowhere to be found. Everyone else is pouring drinks and eating food. Raven is doing both while, somehow, also setting up her phone to the speakers.
The Fourth of July has passed, but now they’re celebrating Lincoln’s birthday. The red, white, and blue margaritas from the week before have been replaced with vodka and whiskey. Everyone is fully clothed and there isn’t an article of clothing that looks like the American flag in sight.
“So, what are we going to do now?”
Bellamy squeezes his eyes shut, but turns to face Clarke standing over him behind the couch. When he opens his eyes, she smiles softly and comes around to sit down next to him. He takes her hand and fits it easily in his. It’s so small and slight, but he knows it’s strong—like the rest of her.
“You want to do this now?” he asks and she squeezes his hand. “I mean, we have a whole night to get through with our friends. You don’t want to wait until we’re alone?”
“We’ve been waiting long enough, don’t you think?”
She’s right. Clarke is almost always right, even when Bellamy refuses to admit it. But this time? This time he can’t help but nod.
Yes, things are going to change. And they might not be easy. But it’ll be worth it. It’s been worth it the whole time he’s been falling for her. He only wishes he’d known she was falling for him, too, because things might have been simpler earlier on, before they got to this point in their friendship.
“Too long,” Bellamy says and Clarke’s smile is slow, but—damn it—it’s breathtaking.
He trails his fingers over her cheek until their tangled in her hair and she leans forward, clutching his t-shirt in her palm. He closes the last remaining space between them and kisses her. It’s a soft, slow kiss that she reciprocates immediately, clutching his shirt even tighter.
Bellamy doesn’t care that their friends are most likely watching them share their first kiss. He doesn’t care that one of them is no doubt taking a picture—if not a video—of it. All he cares about is Clarke kissing him back, making these tiny little sounds that are driving him crazy.
He lets go of Clarkes hand so he can pull her closer—almost onto his lap—and kisses her harder. Her hands find their way into his hair and she pulls herself so she is actually in his lap. And he still doesn’t care that they’re not alone because it’s Clarke in his lap.
Eventually, they have to stop. They have to breathe—heavily and erratically—but they don’t let go of each other. Clarke doesn’t leave Bellamy’s lap. They stay there, holding each other, forehead pressed together, breathing each other in.
As terrified as Bellamy had been, he’s never felt more calm or at ease as he does with Clarke smiling in his lap, pressing a wet, playful kiss to his cheek.
“Way too long,” Clarke laughs and Bellamy smiles, running his hand up her thigh until it’s under the hem of her skirt. Clarke’s breath hitches and she kisses him again—hard and fast—and he squeezes.
Someone coughs and it’s then that Bellamy cares that he and Clarke aren’t alone. There is so much more he’d like to do to her—with her. But he can wait a little longer for that. He’ll have to.
He removes his hands and she slides off of his lap and stands up, reaching her hand out for him to take. He does and she pulls him to stand. Unlike all the times before she’s grabbed his hand, this time she doesn’t let go.