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Bellamy loves his stupid coffee shop. He loves the way it smells, he loves the way it feels—warm, without forcing it—and he loves his obnoxious coworkers, even if Miller is perpetually snarky and Raven is perpetually smarter than him and smug about it.
He does not, as it were, love it when his cute, blonde regular comes in and keeps refraining from using her real name .
Or, rather, he likes that she comes in. Less that he doesn’t know her name.
He knows it’s never her real name, too, because it’s not like she just uses different, generic names each time. Instead he gets told, on a nearly daily basis, to scrawl the name of a different fictional character on a paper cup. She had a Harry Potter streak last week, names ranging from the golden trio to more obscure characters whose names he doesn’t know how to spell. (Ask him how he feels about Xenophilius.)
The first time she came in, it was Aerith which, he supposes, could be her name, except he wagers the chance of finding someone whose parents named their child after a Final Fantasy character is pretty slim this early into the twenty-first century. As it is, he’s just kind of embarrassingly psyched to find someone who’s into his favorite video game franchise.
He scrawls the name on her cup, without comment—because somehow he thinks that makes him seem cool? He can hear Octavia’s disappointed sigh already—and catches her slight look of surprise at his lack of response. She pays with cash, as he’ll come to realize is her norm, and moves down the counter to wait for her drink.
When her order’s up, she regards the cup—and the correctly spelled name—with a smile. “My life was made when I found out they were doing a movie.”
Her voice is lower than he expected, warm and pleasant.
“I’m not going to lie, I didn’t even play 7 until after I saw Advent Children,” he says, relieved for the chance to make conversation. “I just had 1 and 2 on my Gameboy. Tactics Advance too, I think.” He doesn’t realize that this might be more information than she needed, or wanted , until the words are out of his mouth. Because pretty girls and Final Fantasy are a heady combination, apparently.
She doesn’t seem to mind, though. She just smiles at him, wide, and the resulting pride he feels definitely too strong for a complete stranger.
“Oh man, I loved Tactics. Got me through a lot of road trips with my mom.”
“Yeah, it’s good for passing time,” he agrees, thinking back to days spent entertaining Octavia while their mother was nowhere to be found, his sister watching over his shoulder until she begged him hard enough and loud enough to let her play. “My sister wanted to dye her hair like Ritz for the longest time.”
“That’s adorable.”
They stand there grinning at each other for a beat longer than a normal lull in conversation. She shifts a little.
“Well, thanks for the coffee.”
“Any time,” he says, genuine.
She leaves the shop, and he mentally curses himself for not taking the opportunity to keep the conversation going. When he turns back the espresso machine, Miller’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Shut up.”
“I literally said nothing.”
“Tell your face to shut up then.”
Miller just laughs at him, which is probably fair.
-
She does come back though, fairly regularly, and he tries not to feel too cocky about it. Not that he thinks she’s coming to see him, but still, he didn’t scare her off. That’s something. And having a cute regular who’s into Final Fantasy is definitely not a thing he’s going to be disappointed about.
She doesn’t come in at any sort of usual time, as far as he can tell, so sometimes she catches them during a lull and he’ll stop to chat with her for a while. When it’s hectic, seeing her blonde hair come through the door is definitely a bright spot during the rush.
Still, she supplies different character names for her order every time, ranging from familiar fandom ones—Hermione, Auron, Buffy, Thor, Daenerys—to names he’s never heard before and definitely has to make her spell out for him.
He doesn’t ask for her real name the first few times because, well, he figures if she wanted to tell him, she would.
Then they sort of become friends, and it because simultaneously better and weirder .
Unfamiliar names usually lead to him asking what book/show/movie the character is from, if the shop isn’t too busy, which is how she ends up spending a good half hour one day talking to him about this book that’s basically a retelling of WWI but with steampunk machines and genetically fabricated airships, which is so far up his alley, it’s not even funny.
Mostly, he learns that she likes to sit at the barstools and tease him about being a total nerd. Which, yeah, he can own to, but he’s not exactly sure where that leaves her, since she’s the one recommending him books most of the time. Still, she smiles wide when he tells her to fuck off and she keeps coming back, so there’s really no downside for him here.
She’s an artist he learns, as well as a med student, and though she brushes off his awe at doing both, he can see the pride in her eyes. In exchange, he tells her about getting teaching degree on the side, which she definitely crows over, making him blush.
So yeah, by the time a month goes by, they’re friends, he thinks. Except for the not-so-trivial fact that he doesn’t know her name. And it’s reached the point where it’s gone on far too long for him to ask her without feeling like a dick. Because she definitely knows his name; it’s right there on his nametag.
It’s his birthday the following week and Octavia gives him this truly epic painting of Auron that she bought from a street artist, which he obviously has to hang behind the registers. He’d say it’s because it might attract more of the fandom crowd, but the argument is weak and, honestly, he just really loves it. It’s awesome.
“Such a nerd,” his sister says fondly, watching him hang it.
“You literally just gave it to me, you can’t turn around and make fun of me for it,” he admonishes, stepping back to cuff her on the shoulder and make sure it’s hanging straight.
“I can and I will,” she quips. “It’s healthy for someone to tease you every once in awhile.”
He’s about to say that someone’s already taking care of that, but he then he’d have to explain the name thing, which is just… really sad, at this point, so he lets it slide.
“Yeah, probably.”
“Happy birthday, big brother.”
-
He’s simultaneously anxious and excited throughout his shift the next day. Excited, because he’s definitely looking forward to a certain person’s reaction to the painting—it’s really, seriously epic , and she’d just used Auron as her name the week prior, so . And anxious because he really has to find a way to ask her name without it being weird.
A suicide mission, really.
She comes in just past noon, and grins at him before her eyes flick up to the painting behind him. Something like shock flashes across her face but when she turns to him again, her smile returns.
“Nice painting.”
He lights up, momentarily forgetting his crisis. He knew she’d like it. “Right? The art for the game is awesome, but this is like, next level.”
A flush runs up her cheeks, but he can’t imagine why. The shop must be warmer than usual.
“Hey,” he says, after he’s taken her order, rolling with the good feeling he’s got going.
“Hey back.”
He leans his elbows on the counter. “Have you decided if you’re going to tell me your real name yet? Or is the jury still out on that one?”
She just… blinks at him for a second and he immediately regrets trying to be smooth about it. It’s entirely possible she doesn’t want him to know her name at all. In which case, he’s being a persistent ass.
“I’m not—I wasn’t…” she gives a huff of laughter, half amusement, half frustration. “God, would you believe me if I said that I honestly forgot I never told you?”
He keeps his face neutral, with effort. “Of course. I mean, it’s not like you’re obligated to share your personal details with random baristas.”
“It is kind of protocol to share that sort of thing with your friends though,” she says, with a grin, easily catching his implication and flipping it on its head.
“Yeah?” He should not be this excited about being friends with someone. He’s so screwed .
“Yeah,” she says, grin matching his. “So, hi. I’m Clarke.”
“Hi Clarke,” he parrots back, only feeling a little lame about it. The name feels familiar somehow, but not really in a way he can place. Probably just because it fits her so well; kind of unexpected, but in a good way.
She gives him a discerning look that he can’t quite interpret, but she must find whatever she’s looking for, because it melts into a smile. “Hi, Bellamy.”
They chat aimlessly then, the way they always do—except they’re friends now, his brain keeps supplying, annoyingly giddy—until she glances down at her watch.
“Oh shit, I’m going to be late for my shift. See you tomorrow?”
He nods, “Tomorrow. See you, Clarke.”
She leaves him with a grin and a wave.
“So if that’s how long it took you to get her name, how long is it gonna take you to ask her out? A year?”
“What the fuck Raven?” he flinches, nearly jumping out of his skin at his co-worker’s sudden voice at his shoulder.
“That’s not an answer.”
He glares at her for another few seconds and she looks back, wiping down a glass, face neutral. Unfair.
Finally, he gives in, slouching back against the counter. “A year sounds about right.”
Raven thumps her braced leg against his. It’s not at all comforting.
-
“Morning!” Clarke calls the next day as she walks through the door.
Bellamy smiles. The shop is mostly empty which means he definitely has time to talk to her. It’s awesome.
“Morning, Clarke. What can I get for you?”
“Decaf mocha for Tidus.”
He grins as he jots down the name. “Nice.”
“I thought you might like that.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know,” she says with a small smile. “You’re just a Tidus kind of guy.”
“Should I take that as a compliment? I’m gonna take it as a compliment.”
She just shrugs, then smiles like she’s trying not to. It’s kind of great to watch. “I didn’t play through the entire second game to bring him back because I hated the guy.”
He has to work to hide his own smile. “It is comforting to know you can bring your boyfriend back if you complete enough missions.”
She laughs. “That might not actually apply so well to real life.”
“Well, I’m willing to give it a try.”
“Got some boyfriends that need saving?”
“Not yet, but you never know, maybe someday.” He considers, “Or girlfriends who need saving. Or gender non-conforming lovers. I’m pan.”
“Cool. Bisexual.”
“Nice,” he says, offering his fist. Clarke bumps it with a grin.
She grabs her drink and heads over to what’s become her normal spot on days she sticks around to work on her laptop, and Miller throws a balled up napkin at the back of his head.
“Dude. Why.” Bellamy glares, leaning down to pick it up.
“I didn’t understand half of what you two just said, but she definitely compared you to a guy in a videogame that she likes. I can’t believe you didn’t turn it into a pick up line.”
“I’m not a smarmy dick, Miller. I’m not gonna use a girl’s genuine enjoyment of a video game to fail at picking her up.” He doesn’t want to be single handedly responsible for ruining Final Fantasy for Clarke. No one should have Final Fantasy ruined for them.
“Okay, so we’ve got two points of contention here,” Miller says. “The first being, you’re definitely a smarmy dick.”
Bellamy throws the napkin back at him. He dodges it neatly.
“The second being,” he continues smoothly, “the fact that you wouldn’t have failed, no matter how smarmy. Because she totally wants you to pick her up.”
Bellamy stares at him a second, then chances a glance at Clarke before turning back to roll his eyes at Miller. They’re just friends, he’s fairly sure. And he can see how someone could read it as flirting, but… he doesn’t think that’s what she’s doing, as much as he might wish she was.
That doesn’t keep him from heading over to her table during his break.
“Hey,” she says when she notices him, looking up with a sunny smile that doesn’t do good things for his heart. “I was just thinking, I’m glad I met you.”
“I’ll try not to let that get to my head.” And he does try. Just, you know, not very hard.
She rolls her eyes to hide her blush. “It’s just, the first time we met, I kind of thought you’d tear me apart for only liking the movie, and then you didn’t and I—I don’t know, I’m glad you didn’t turn out to be a dick.”
“Oh my god,” he says, sudden realization hitty him. “You wanted me to be a gatekeeping douchebag so you could yell at me.”
“I didn’t want you to be,” she says indignantly, but she’s laughing. “But you didn’t say anything about the name, and I couldn’t be sure if you were being cool or just like, silently judging me.”
He can’t help but laugh at her. “You were totally looking for a fight.” She’s kind of a dick, it’s cute .
“Maybe,” she says, failing to hide her grin. “But then you set me up to be a gatekeeping douchebag instead.”
“Yeah, thanks for not following through on that.”
“Didn’t you know? Not being as much of an asshole as I could be is kind of my specialty.”
“And you’re so good at it!” he quips, sarcastic.
“It’s a gift.”
And yeah, he’s really glad he met her too.
-
His trip to work the following Monday should be a normal one, by all accounts, except that he takes the opposite way around the block for a change of scenery, because it’s basically the same distance either way. And then suddenly, there’s Clarke, standing behind a table on the sidewalk, a few people gathered around the other side.
He heads toward her, smiling. It’s not every day he gets to see her outside of work. He should really work on that.
When he gets closer, he realizes that she’s selling her art, which makes him that much more excited, because he’s never had the chance to see any of hers.
She’s talking to a customer when he gets to the table, and she shoots him an apologetic grin. Which is ridiculous, she’s busy, he’ll survive. He waves her off with a smile.
As she talks, he surveys her canvases, all filled with ridiculously awesome paintings of countless characters… who are familiar in a kind of eerie way.
Two things slot nicely into place in his brain, like perfect cogs in a lock.
First, he totally knows where the names where her coffee orders come from now.
The second, slightly more jarring realization is that he has seen Clarke’s art before, judging from the way the style, and feeling , of these paintings matches the one currently hanging over the counter of his coffee shop in a way he can’t fully explain.
He sees her appear at his side out of the corner of his eye a moment later.
“It’s yours,” he says, looking up, a little dazed.
“I was going to say you need to be more specific, but that seems like kind of a dick move, at this point.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew!”
“How could I have known?”
“My name’s literally on it! I assumed you’d figured it out and were waiting to drop it on me, honestly.”
It shouldn’t be news to him. Artist sign their paintings. He can’t say he remembers looking at the signature when his sister gave it to him, but now he’s got a pretty good explanation for why her name sounded so familiar the first time he heard it.
“Okay, yeah. I’m an idiot. And the names?”
“Yeah, uh.” She looks nervous, like she’s the one who’s been totally oblivious about all this. “Coming into the coffee shop is my reward for selling something.” She brushes past this, like it’s not at all significant. “So it seemed appropriate to order with the name of the character I was currently working on, the first time, and it sort of stuck.”
“That’s why you never come in at a regular time,” he says, processing this information while still rolling the reward comment over in his mind.
“Yeah.”
“These are seriously amazing, Clarke.”
He looks down again, eyes scanning the table until he comes across a painting that doesn’t seem to fandom related; a pair of freckled hands, one offering a steaming mug. It makes his breath catch, like he’s standing on the edge of something and he’s not quite sure what’s on the other side, but he really wants to find out.
“In the interest of being transparent, they’re yours,” she says, hesitant, following his gaze. “The hands.”
He’s definitely blushing. “I’m flattered.” He looks up. “I should be flattered, right?”
There’s a flush at her cheeks as well. She’s very, very pretty and he really wants to kiss her.
“Or creeped out. It’s your choice.”
“I’m definitely flattered.” The words come out more gravelly than he intends.
She doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Yeah? Good.”
His heart is beating faster than is healthy and he doesn’t want to screw this up, now that he thinks he might actually have a chance . So, of course, he just says the first thing that pops into his head.
“I really thought I was winning some points with you with the Auron painting.”
She lets out a surprised laugh. “You were, just not the way you thought. You did say it was better than the original art.”
He grins, but she still looks worried, and before he can ask what’s wrong, she takes his arm, leading him a few steps away from the table and the people checking out her art.
“You’re really not mad?” she asks, biting the side of her lip.
“Why would I be mad?”
She laughs, humorless. “I lied to you about my name, and about my art, so our entire friendship is basically based on lies.
“Neither of those were actually lies , Clarke. And I mean, yeah you could have told me the painting was yours, but I get why you didn’t.”
Somehow she still doesn’t look convinced, which is honestly ridiculous, because he’s basically the opposite of mad.
He desperately wants to make her feel better, and she did paint him—or his hands, whatever. That has to mean something, he thinks.
“Hey, remember when you said I was like Tidus?”
“Yeah?” she says, looking surprised at the change of subject.
“What was the reason behind that again?”
She grins, a little wolfish. He really wants to kiss her. “You know, kind of a cocky, show off-y asshole, but also really caring and little overprotective.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. Because yeah, he should have seen that coming.
“Don’t tell me you’re offended by that,” she says, glib, patting his arm.
He takes a breath. “I was kind of hoping you were going to say ‘Yeah, except you’re not blond,’ and I was going to make some witty comment about how that’s not the only difference between us,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Because, uh, you know, Yuna’s cute, but I prefer blondes.”
“That’s a lot of necessary dialogue to get to a pick up line,” she says after a second, a slow smile inching across her face. “You should have given me a script.”
“Yeah, I’ll make sure I type one up next time I try to hit on a girl,” he grumbles, unsure of how to gauge her response.
Her smile widens. “No you won’t.”
“I won’t?”
“Nope. Because there won’t be a next time,” she says, reaching up to tangle her fingers behind his neck.
“Okay, wow, that was really good,” he laughs, his smile mirroring hers as leans into her.
“Yeah well, someone’s gotta be the smooth one in this relationship.”
She pales a little when she realizes what she said, and he lets his hands settle at her waist, reassuring. Because yeah, a relationship sounds really good.
“Thanks for taking one for the team.”
Relief fills her features, and she grins up at him again. “Anytime.” And then, finally, she pulls him down for a kiss.
It doesn’t last nearly as long as he’d like, because suddenly there’s an old woman poking at Clarke’s shoulder with a question about her art.
She pulls away from him with a reluctance that makes him never want to leave her side and a soft smile on her lips. Her hair is slightly mussed and he realizes belatedly that it’s because of his hands. He probably shouldn’t be smug about that.
By the time she finishes with the woman, he really needs to be getting to the coffee shop.
“Hey,” he says, dropping his hand to her waist and a kiss to her hair, just because he can. “Come in later even if you don’t sell anything, okay?”
She smacks his chest, playful, turning into his touch. “Do you really think I’m not going to sell anything?”
He rolls his eyes. “What I meant was, if these heathens on the street don’t appreciate the true genius of your art, and by some horrible chance no one sees the value and happiness in taking one of your masterpieces into their home, please still come by the coffee shop so I can see you.”
She grins like the sun. “And so you can praise my art some more?”
He presses a quick kiss to her mouth. “That too.”