Chapter Text
“Bellamy! How about you help a guy out instead of moping over there like a loser?” Miller calls from the other side of the bar.
He’s taking several orders at once and mixing alcohols faster than ever. It’s a busy night, despite Miller getting behind the bar to help out his employees, and although Bellamy came to distract himself from his own problems, he can’t blame his friend for being a little cranky.
He doesn’t really feel like moving, though. He still has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he got fired. He knew Arkadia’s mayor could be kind of a jackass, but he didn’t think he would be that petty … although that might not have been solely his fault. If Thelonious Jaha is annoying, the vice-mayor, Marcus Kane, can be even worse. Whatever – they both tend to forget their positions do not justify them asking for the impossible without any promise of reward. Bellamy doesn’t think they’re the worse men out there though. It’s probably just a sickness of the privileged.
Thinking back on it, Bellamy wonders what made his bosses snap. Was it the repeated visits in Jaha’s office, or the rousing speeches to the employees in the middle of the corridor? In any case, he doesn’t very well see how he could have watched them push their secretaries and campaign organizers to the burn out without saying a word. Roma would seek refuge in his lodge twice a day, leaning her head against the cool cement and holding back tears. Sterling, despite being sick and in obvious pain, was refused paid leave multiple times. Mbege carried a resignation letter in his jacket at all times and even Gina, always so resilient, looked two midnight calls away from a breakdown. Bellamy had been on the security team of that building for over three years, and none of the town officials who worked there had been half as bad. When they announced the town hall was moved there, he’d been wary – and he’d been right.
It’s all behind him now. It stings, because that job paid well and he almost had enough to really start his business.
Well. He’s spent the past 30 years putting off his dreams – for his mother, for Octavia. He can probably stand to wait a little longer.
It would be nice to finally have something of his own, though.
Downing his warm beer with a grimace, he ponders about going to help his best friend. That's when a new patron settling on the stool next to his catches his eye. He’s very handsome – tall with wide shoulders, smooth, dark brown skin and long eyelashes – however that’s not what gets Bellamy’s attention. No, it’s the suit: deep blue, thick, perfectly cut and clearly very expensive.
No offense to Miller’s establishment, but it’s not exactly the kind of place where people would go all dressed up.
The man probably just really needed a drink, though. He doesn’t look too happy, eyebrows frowning and jaw tense, which seems to have nothing to do with the bar and everything with the conversation he’s having over the phone: “Dad, I understand that this is important to you. I do. You know I’m willing to help you. … Look, I can go on TV, I can do charity, but I don’t understand how me marrying Clarke will help. … The Griffins may be famous in their respective fields but they don’t have the economic and political ties that –” He cuts himself off and closes his eyes, probably hoping to shield his brain from the nonsense his father is spouting.
Arranged marriages. Could the elite get any more cliché?
There’s something familiar about the newcomer’s face, but Bellamy turns his attention away from his conversation. Listening any further wouldn’t be decent. Still, as he tries to let himself be distracted by the drunken antics of a bunch of students in a corner, the former chief guard can’t shake the feeling that he should know that rich guy from somewhere.
In the end, it’s the name he mentioned that helps him remember. Clarke Griffin. A fair-skinned blonde woman he’s met in the city hall a few times. Their encounters never went well. He doesn’t know much about her except that she irritates him, and that whenever she came by she was always with …
… the mayor’s son.
That’s where he’s seen this guy.
He’s Wells friggin’ Jaha, Arkadia city’s golden boy, adored by television hosts and charities alike.
(So they say. Bellamy hasn’t owned a TV in a long time.)
He’s just come to that realization when one of Miller’s barmen drops a whole bottle of hard liquor in front of Jaha. “Thanks. I need it” the latter says, nodding for emphasis.
Bellamy can’t help it.
He snorts.
And because he’s got a big mouth, he can’t help but add: “Getting drunk on a Thursday night? Must be tough being a rich, handsome boy.”
The former guard expects outrage but Jaha simply quirks an eyebrow at him, unimpressed: "Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself."
The answer catches Bellamy off guard, and he considers the other for a while. Jaha doesn’t falter under his gaze and the former security guard allows himself a little smile. This guy is cooler than he would’ve thought.
“I’m just saying, this doesn’t look like your scene" he says, turning to truly face him for the first time, and recognition flashes in Jaha’s eyes.
“Uh. You’re the city hall’s chief guard.” Bellamy raises his eyebrows as some sort of mocking confirmation.
“I didn’t recognize you without your trademark hairstyle. Quite an exploit, I must say – not many can pull off the slicked-haired douchebag look.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. And I was chief guard, yeah.” Bellamy replies with a bitter twist of the mouth. “Your father had me fired yesterday.” It’s meant to be vindictive, but Jaha’s uncomfortable grimace doesn’t bring him as much fun as he expected, so he adds with a playful smirk: “Apparently, I’m an agitator.”
“Yeah?” It’s clear Jaha doesn’t quite know what to do with him, half-amused and half-confused. It also looks like he’s checking Bellamy out discreetly. That’s something Bellamy always likes to have fun with. Smirking seductively, he leans towards the other man: “Well … I won’t deny it.” That has the desired effect, and for the first time Wells Jaha looks slightly flustered. Pressing his lips together, he pours himself another glass of whiskey and downs it in one go, before pouring one for Bellamy as well. “It’s on me. I think you need it more than I do.” There’s a pause, then he adds: “I heard about the whole thing, but I had no idea he’d fired you. I’m sorry.” His face is open and earnest, dark brown eyes shiny under the warm yellow lights of the bar.
Bellamy hesitates a little, but ends up accepting the drink. “I mean … you didn’t do it” he concedes. “I won’t lie and pretend I don’t hate you a little bit, but …“ Bellamy pauses and drags a hand over his face.
He’s suddenly so tired.
“This is just very bad timing. A year down the road and I wouldn’t have cared.” Wells watches silently as Bellamy downs his drink, then refills both of their cups. It’s silent for a while, and a little awkward, until Wells says carefully: “Not sure it’ll make you feel better, but you almost drove him crazy. I swear he probably dreamt of you, scared as he was you’d show up in his office. I’m pretty sure I heard him mutter 'damn Blake' a few times.”
That gets a surprised laugh out of Bellamy. “Really?”
“Yeah. Honestly, I was impressed.”
“Why, thank you Jaha.”
“Just call me Wells. Please.” Jaha gives him a real smile then, warm and steady. There’s a glint in his eyes too, as if he can see much more of Bellamy that the latter is willing to show. The former guard’s throat suddenly feels dry. Not answering his last request, he clears his throat and states instead: “I’m not really here for a pity fest or to pat myself on the back, though, so … why don’t you tell me what’s got you swallowing whiskey like water in this hole?”
“… Are you really going to act like you didn’t hear everything?”
Bellamy grins. “I meant to give you an out in case you didn’t want to share your novel-like life with a jobless stranger, but if you insist…”
Jaha laughs out loud, his shoulders relaxing under the cotton of his button down, but it’s with a bitter sort of amusement that he tells his new drinking partner about how he’s supposed to marry his oldest friend to help his father’s reelection.
“Clarke is – she’s one of my best friends. Always has been. It’s just not exactly what one expects from a wedding, you know? The worst might still be that my father and her mother have probably been thinking about this since that time we mistakenly hooked up in high school.”
“Mistakenly?”
“It was an experiment. It lasted a week. No comment.”
Bellamy snorts. “Yeah. Well, no offense but I wouldn’t marry her either.”
“She can be cool. Really!” Wells exclaims when Bellamy raises his eyebrows doubtfully. The latter grabs the bottle and fills up their glasses again – “to cure you from your poor judgement, Jaha.” “Wells.” “Yeah, right. Wells.” – and they talk until the crowd in the bar settles down and starts leaving. Miller’s joint is popular, but it is a Thursday night after all.
“What do you even do? I mean, aside from playing mascot for your father?” It’s a little mean, but Bellamy is still a little bitter, and it’s the truth. Wells simply shrugs. “I’ve got my own business. I founded it with a friend, so I can afford to take a little time off it come campaign season.”
“Sounds cool” Bellamy muses. That’s something he’d like to have too.
They’re on the parking lot, getting some fresh air. Together they emptied a bottle of whiskey and half a bottle of vodka, and they’re trying to clear up their heads. Miller eyed them suspiciously as they went out, asking ‘his highness’ to call a driver and half-threatening Bellamy not to drink and drive.
Ridiculous. Just because Bellamy’s pissed about getting fired doesn’t mean he’ll turn into a teenager again. And he didn’t bring his car.
“So all that parade with the charities, all the interviews, they’re purely for your father’s benefice?”
“I want to help.”
“You think he’s doing that good of a job?”
“I think others would do much worse”, he answers, leaning against the hood of his car, “and how cool would it be if I could influence the city’s policies?” Laughing softly at his own joke, Wells looks up at the dark sky. “Damn. I’m drunk. It’s been a while”.
“Don’t like drinking? You didn’t look like it in there.”
“’Can’t afford it. Too many eyes.”
“Wow.” Bellamy thinks about it for a while, but decides not to resist his urge to give unsolicited advice: “Look, I can’t imagine what it’s like, being out there before the public’s eye, but … you need to live for yourself a little bit. We all do.”
Wells shakes his hand like he’s heard it all before. “Then what? Let myself be humiliated in the press? Mess up my father’s career? Get myself shunned? Sounds less like fun and more like total chaos.”
“Your dad’s an asshole" Bellamy claims. Wells' eyebrows and mouth twist like he's not sure what's his position on that. "But I'm pretty sure he wouldn't do that. And what’s wrong with a little chaos?” It’s not the best answer right now but it sounds good. Wells seems at least partially interested. Somehow, in his half-drunken haze, Bellamy feels it means he should insist. “Look. I’m not saying you should throw everything away. Let’s be real, we’ve only been talking for a few hours and I don’t really know you. But loosening up from time to time always helps. And don’t tell me you don’t know how.”
Wells smiles wistfully. “I used to.” He looks over to Bellamy. “So … if I wanted to temporarily go crazy, what should I do?”
Bellamy smirks excitedly. He knows just the place.
Half an hour later and they’re in Wells’ electric sports car, off to Light City – also known as Casino City. They’re responsible adults, so they actually called Wells’ driver so he’d drop them off there. The man didn’t seem happy. Bellamy can’t blame him: it’s already 11pm, and Casino City is two hours away. It’s an actual trip.
Bellamy hasn’t actually been there often. For all he tells Wells to loosen up, he himself hasn’t led a carefree life. His first time getting really drunk was actually in Casino City, at age 23, when Octavia was old enough to handle most emergencies by herself. Or rather, when she was old enough that he wouldn’t feel like he was a failure for being unavailable and incapacitated for a whole night.
There’s also the fact that Wells has to get to work the following morning, or that someone might recognize the “prince” of Arkadia even if they’re out of town.
They’re too drunk to care.
Light City is soon into sight. When they get there, they’ve sobered up a little. Now neither of them knows what to expect from this excursion and from each other. It doesn’t last long – Bellamy really needs to take his mind off things, and Wells actually knows how to have fun. He’s a little rusty, but the alcohol helps. They fall in the same dynamic they had at the bar, an easy banter punctuated with moments of raw honesty. They try out a casino, where they stick to the machine games. Then they go through a few pubs and … a bunch of other places.
Truth be told, after a while, it gets fuzzy. Really fuzzy.
Bip bip biiiip.
Bip bip biiiip.
“Hrmm … what the hell.”
A strident beeping noise brutally pulls Bellamy out of the dreamless slumber he’d been enjoying. Reality is much less comfortable: a serious headache and nausea welcome him to the land of the conscious. He shifts in bed, the sheets sticking to his sweat-damp body, and notices with a groan that he slept in his jeans. He slaps his hand on his bedside table, looking for his cellphone even though the ringtone sounds unfamiliar. When he finds it, Bellamy cranes his head to the left to look at it. It’s not ringing. There are a few unidentified papers there though, sitting on top of a large envelope. However, Bellamy’s attention is caught by another detail.
This is not his bedside table.
Bellamy lifts his hand to pat the headboard. That is most definitely not his bed. Rubbing a hand over his face, Bellamy finally sits up and tries to blink away the darkness of the room. Sunlight is filtering through thin wooden shutters, covering what looks like a hotel suite in stripes of gold. As he wonders how in the world he could ever afford such a place, he remembers who he was with last night.
He turns around and sure enough, Wells Jaha is on the other side of the king size bed, in his slacks and rumpled dress shirt. He’s sleeping quietly, long eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks. Bellamy observes him for a moment, but is soon taken away from his gazing by the ringtone that’s still blaring loudly. It’s Wells phone, vibrating madly over his own bedside table and making Bellamy feel as if a bunch of madmen were pouncing on his skull from the inside. Happy to have found the source of his grief, Bellamy leans over Wells and turns it off. The relief is instantaneous but the sudden motion makes him dizzy. He loses his balance and his arms give in.
Two hands come up against his chest to stop his fall.
“Whoa, there.”
Wells is staring at him. He’s not pushing him away, simply holding him in place. He looks very alert for someone who just woke up, although Bellamy has to admit his own senses are now sharper than ever, nerves blazing with the feeling of Well’s hands against his skin. It would be weird if it was any different. The mayor’s son is very attractive.
The world stops spinning around Bellamy and he pulls away, the tips of Wells’ finger accidentally raking over his chest and brushing against his nipples as he goes. Swallowing hard, Bellamy lays back down on his pillows, holding back a shudder. When he speaks, his voice is weak and rough: “You awake, your Highness?” Wells doesn’t answer right away. His eyes haven’t left Bellamy, hands still up in the air like if Bellamy had stayed on top of him a little longer, he might’ve done something about it. Bellamy dismisses it as wishful thinking and nudges Wells with his foot. The latter shakes his head, focusing back on his words, and laughs as he looks around the room like Bellamy had: “Jesus. How did we even end up here?”
They lounge in bed for another hour, chatting and trying to recall what happened after they left the second bar, then they gather enough courage to move. After calling to get their clothes picked up and ironed – “We’re already here, anyway. How did we even end up in a suite?” “You’re paying. You tell me.” – they order room service. It feels like the end of a too-short vacation; one they could’ve enjoyed more if they hadn’t been drunk the entire time. However, it’s time to get back to reality. They both need to get back to their complicated lives, although it’s two different kinds of ‘complicated’.
They shower one after the other and slowly get ready, Bellamy wondering what happens after such an unlikely adventure. Was it a parenthesis? Will they meet again? Bellamy normally wouldn’t care either way, but somehow, that’s all he can think about. He likes Wells. He’s attractive and Bellamy likes hanging out with him and talking with him. Even now that he’s sober.
Bellamy’s sitting by the bay window, eating the last of their toasts and trying not to ogle at Wells as he puts on his shirt. He looks impeccable, but anxious.
“You okay?” Bellamy asks. “Still hungover?”
Wells glances back at him with half a smile and goes back to fixing his tie, something Bellamy’s never managed to do properly even once. “A little, but I’m more worried about our little jaunt last night. If any reporter caught us, I mean.”
“Wells. This is Light City. I’m sure Light City paparazzi have bigger fish to tail than the son of the next town’s mayor. I know you’re not used not to matter, but still.” They both know it’s a joke, and it gets a grin out of Wells. Bellamy is quite proud of himself. Wells smooths the lapels of his jacket, and it’s when he mutters absently about the ton of things he’s got to do that Bellamy remembers the incessant phone calls earlier in the morning.
“By the way” he calls over his shoulder as he rinses his mug in the mini-kitchen sink “Someone tried to call you this morning. Insistently.”
“Yeah?” Wells looks around for his phone. “Damn, I didn’t even check my e-mails this morning. But they didn’t call back …” He finds it on his bedside table.
“Huh. Yeah. That’s because I turned it off.” When Wells does nothing but stare at him with raised eyebrows, Bellamy feels his face getting hot. He definitely overstepped his boundaries. He smiles sheepishly. “It was ringing like crazy and … hangover, you know?”
Wells snorts with a twist of the mouth that looks like it means “Fine, but don’t do it again” and turns on his phone. As he scrolls down his missed calls history and checks his texts and e-mails, his expression melts into one of confused terror. Bellamy feels worry settle in his stomach, and the pessimistic in him starts supplying a whole lot of reasons why Wells must be looking like that. Bankruptcy. Sickness. Car accident. Dead relative. Bellamy tries to shut down the little voice in his head making all these lovely suggestions; it’s hard, even after a lifetime of it. He walks up to Wells.
“What’s wrong?”
“That’s – wait.” Wells stammers. “I’ll just – Yeah? Raven?” He puts his phone against his ear and starts pacing nervously in front of the bed. Bellamy’s not standing that close to him but can still hear faintly the feminine voice on the other end of the line. “Look, I don’t know what happened. I don’t remember everything, okay? … No, I did go to Casino City, I did let out some steam with …” Wells hesitates, glances at Bellamy. “With a friend. Maybe we got a bit rowdy, but I can assure you, no matter what the press is saying, we did not get married.”
Wait a minute.
What?
Heart beating faster, Bellamy mouths “What the hell?” at Wells, and the other raises his hand, asking him to wait a little longer. Confusion and the most displeasing kind of worry fill Bellamy’s thoughts. Something is going on and he’s part of it, but he doesn’t know what it is, his exact involvement and the extent of it all. He’s about to demand Wells ends his call and gives him an explanation when he suddenly remembers the stack of papers on his bedside table.
Could it be … ?
Just the thought makes him feel like he’s been drenched in cold water, and it’s with shaking hands that he picks them up.
There’s a copy of a filled-out application form for a marriage license, bearing both their names and signatures. Then there is an actual marriage license, completed and signed by the city clerk. In the top left corner of each paper, there is the town’s herald. Bellamy’s heart is beating so hard he feels like it might break out of his chest, shaky fingers fumbling with the documents. He picks up the last paper and reads it as well.
Light City Town Hall
July 15th, 2016
Marriage Certificate
I, Adriana Ndoumbe , clerk of the city of Light City and officially capacitated to authorize and officiate marriages, hereby certify that on July 15th 2016 , at the Light City 7th district city office , Bellamy Augustus Blake , born in the city of Arkadia, and Wells Alexander Jaha, born in the city of Arkadia, were united in marriage.
This ceremony was witnessed by:
Aiden Grindburgh and Mi Yeon Park.
The first thing that Bellamy thinks is that he has no idea who the people who signed as witnesses are. No matter how hard he tries to remember, he can’t attach faces to their names.
The second thing is that Wells might be very, very wrong, and unless this is a very elaborate prank, they did get married.
Ignoring the brown envelope sitting under the papers, he pulls out his phone and checks the Arkadia Daily’s website. It doesn’t disappoint: they’re featuring in the day’s star article, right at the top of the main page. The title reads: “Mayor Jaha’s son Wells has married an unknown face in Light City.” Bellamy stares at the big, bold letters for a while before scrollling down. He doesn’t read the article – the simple thought makes his throat feel tighter – but cannot ignore the picture sitting in the middle of it : it’s a selfie of him and Wells. They’re looking up towards the camera, eyes unfocused and smiles overly dumbstruck, the light blush on Bellamy’s neck definitely caused by alcohol. Wells left arm is around Bellamy, his hand cradling the side of his head, fingers deep in his hair as he presses his cheek against his. Right underneath the picture is another one, where Wells is kissing Bellamy’s forehead, with their marriage certificate in Bellamy’s hand, title easily readable.
Apparently, both pictures were uploaded on Wells’ Instagram account, captioned “Meet my husband” and “We’re official!”.
On each picture, they’re both wearing a golden ring.
Oh, God.
Bellamy turns back towards Wells. He’s done talking and is now sitting on the bed, ignoring his phone vibrating madly in the sheets. When he notices Bellamy watching him, he wets his lips nervously.
“… I’ve got a thousand notifications popping up and calls coming in. Can I use your phone? Raven said to check my Instagram account…” he asks quietly.
Bellamy shows him the Arkadia Daily article without a word, and waits as Wells confirms that, yes, he did upload the pictures himself.
The poor man looks so petrified that Bellamy is distracted from his own panic for a moment. He wonders if he should show him the rest. Sadly, it’s not like he has a choice.
“Uh, don’t faint now” he mutters, scratching his eyebrow. “You still have to see this.”
Bellamy hands over the marriage papers to Wells, and watches him pale as he reads through them. When Wells raises his head back up, he looks like he’s truly about to pass out.
They totally, completely screwed up.