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As a general rule, Bellamy despised crowds. They were loud, stifling and he hated being surrounded by sweaty bodies with no immediate exit. It irked him and made his skin itch, his senses sharpened nearly to the point of being raw, like a screeching sound that he could hear but couldn’t turn off no matter what.
And the rally – despite it being over – well, it was making everything ten times worse.
If it was up to Bellamy, he wouldn’t even be here; it was just that he had pulled a double shift following an all-nighter, and at this point all he wanted was to slip into his bed, close his eyes and blissfully welcome the sleep. But Octavia has insisted on at least witnessing the final march and Bellamy didn’t have it in him to refuse her, not when they both supported the clause vehemently, having personally suffered from the twisted up illusion Soulmate Act IV imposed upon the citizens of Arkadia.
Sometimes staying with your soulmate was way worse than living without them, but divorcing your soulmate, let alone leaving them, was seen as a sin worse than murder, and many people suffered, trapped in relationships they didn’t truly want.
And with the increase of domestic violence and murder recently, following the latest update on the Soulmate Act, Bellamy was happy to see the people come together and stand against the government and the Act.
He sighed heavily and let Octavia tug him closer to the moving crowd, falling into step and smiling tiredly at his sister when she waved her little flag in support, grinning widely up at him. He focused on her and ignored the crowd, mentally calculating the time until he was back home.
“Cheer up, big brother. We’re making history.” Octavia bumped his shoulder with hers and he mussed her hair in retaliation.
“Yeah, yeah, and our grandkids will praise our bravery and wit.”
She rolled her eyes and was about to answer back when she was interrupted by another girl.
“With that frown on your face it definitely won’t be your looks that they’ll be swooning over.”
It was like somebody had kicked him in the chest and then electrocuted his heart back to life. His ribs burned where his words were, where those specific words were, in that slanted, loopy handwriting he had come to known nearly better than his own.
He heard Octavia coughing next to him, but Bellamy was busy taking in his soulmate – from her messy blond braid, to her startling blue eyes and the little beauty mark drawing his eyes to her lips. She was shorter than him, but not by much, and she had a presence that seemed to draw him in and warn him at the same time.
Across her black shirt, with big neon pink letters, it said – SOULMATES DON’T FIX PEOPLE #FREEDOMFORLOVE
“What?” She narrowed her eyes at Bellamy’s prolonged look. “Can’t take a joke?” Then she glanced down at her shirt, and her stance turned defensive. “Don’t tell me that you’re one of those Act supporters.”
Bellamy licked his suddenly dry lips and carefully thought over his response, aware that whatever he said next would either be the girl’s soulwords or not (it wouldn’t be the first time that one soulmate had another for their soulmate). But fuck, let them be hers if only because the way she was puffing up as an angry kitten as she was getting ready to start her tirade was making him smile.
“So,” he nodded towards her shirt, “no coffee then?”
He heard O’s quiet oh my god and winced at his poor choice of words.
“Why would that- you’ve got to be kidding me!” She was fuming, having put together the pieces, her cheeks red with anger and Bellamy fidgeted under her hot gaze. “That’s what you came up with? Coffee? Couldn’t you be at least a bit more original?” She shook her head before he could interrupt her, her finger jabbing rather painfully into his pectoral muscles. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that line?”
They had stopped in the middle of the street and the people around them were giving them curious looks, dissuaded to butt in further by his – his – soulmate’s outraged look.
“Well?” she said at last, folding her arms under her chest. “Let me see.”
Bellamy, feeling off-balance ever since she opened her mouth and said his words, lifted his shirt with no complains and let her see where the tattoo curled around the right side of his ribs and disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. Then, before he could react, she pulled his jeans down just enough to trace with her thumb the harsh curve of the final letter.
“Woah.” He pulled back and let go of his shirt, pulling his jeans up from where they had slid down his ass.
“That’s my handwriting alright.” She said sullenly and he tried not to take offence at her lack of enthusiasm.
“Sorry.” Bellamy cleared his throat; he definitely hadn’t envisioned this when it came to meeting his soulmate, but then again Octavia loved to tease him about his lack of brain-to-mouth filter in nerve-wracking situations so that might be it.
Those blue eyes rolled and she tugged the collar of her shirt aside, showing the beginning of his words, the rest hidden by her sleeve. He recognized the handwriting with just a glance, guiltily taking notice of the speckle of moles that teased over her cleavage.
“I’m Clarke.” She righted her shirt and arched an eyebrow expectantly.
“Bellamy, and this is my sister Octavia. And no, I’m not an Act supporter.”
Clarke nodded at O and turned to face Bellamy once more.
“Good to hear that.” She pulled a flier out of the back pocket of her jeans and pushed it into his chest. “Let’s see what you have to say about all of this and then I’ll think about that coffee.”
Bellamy broke into a small smile and let Clarke quiz him, tiredness long forgotten, and eager to make up for the rocky start they had.
(And maybe if there was something like butterflies jumping in his stomach only he had to know.)