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At first, she thinks she’s dreaming.
Because waking up in his arms, Bellamy half-hard against her back, his hand splayed across her stomach, his breath warm on the back of her neck-- she’s definitely had that dream before.
But then her bladder is protesting, her head is pounding, and her mouth tastes like a fireplace, and as soon as she connects those things with being naked in bed with her best friend, she groans and rolls away from him.
“Bell, wake up,” she grunts, smacking him gently in the arm.
“Too early.”
“You don’t even know what time it is,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Did she drink no water last night? How far gone was she?
“Yet I still know it’s too early.” He rolls onto his back, and she can feel the precise moment when everything hits him because he stiffens noticeably. “Why am I naked?”
“Why are you usually naked?”
“Fair point.” He clears his throat. “Do you remember much about last night? Because I’m a little fuzzy on the details.”
So they aren’t talking about it yet. Cool. Clarke can roll with that.
“I don’t remember much after the first casino,” she admits. They’re in Vegas because Murphy somehow got on one of those nationally televised poker tournaments. How he did it is a mystery (as is his way), but Clarke and her friends weren't about to miss an opportunity like this. She'd been looking forward to all of them goofing off on the strip together. Little did she know she and Bellamy would be stripping and goofing off together.
She reaches blindly for her phone, shoving those thoughts away and wincing at the brightness of her screen. “It’s only eight. Raven texted that she wasn’t coming back to the room last night, so we’re probably in the clear for another couple of hours.”
“Swell,” he says, his voice dry.
“We should probably talk about this,” Clarke says, and he heaves himself up on his elbows, looking down at her with a tiny, teasing smirk that’s so familiar it almost sets her at ease.
“I thought that’s what we were doing.”
Clarke rolls onto her side, facing him with a small smile of her own. “We’re doing a great job of talking around what happened.”
“Yeah, but--” His eyes dart down to the not-exactly-heavy-duty sheet covering her, and then away, his neck a mottled red. “Clothes might be helpful? Maybe some breakfast? I’m having trouble, uh-- thinking really clearly with you dressed-- or not dressed-- like that.”
Clarke hums and stretches, gratified to watch the color creep up his neck.
“I could go for some food,” she says, sitting up and bringing the sheet with her. He lets out a little yelp, grabbing the fabric before she can pull it completely off him. His attempt at a glare is admirable, but his eyes catch on the bare expanse of her back and it’s a long moment before he looks away again.
“Breakfast,” he mutters. The smile fades slightly from her face.
“Right.”
She’s shrugging on an oversized t-shirt when he calls her name, something in his voice that makes her stop and turn, finding him staring at a crumpled, folded piece of paper.
“What’s that?” She asks, dreading the answer.
His eyes flicker to hers. “It’s a marriage certificate. With our signatures on it right under the officiant’s.”
“Of course it is.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, not sure if the room is spinning because of her hangover or because of the bomb he just dropped. “Can we add that to our list of things to discuss over food and coffee?”
“Please,” he says quickly, and she has to smile a little. Even though her entire world has just changed, she and Bellamy are still on the same wavelength. Whatever happened last night, it hasn’t changed them. It’s a comfort, really.
It’s also a comfort that they’re up early enough on a Sunday not to run into any of their friends at the hotel breakfast. They load up their plates with the usual amount of easy familiarity, Bellamy grabbing her some strawberry jelly packets while she makes two waffles-- one for each of them. It almost feels like a normal weekend vacation day, except she can’t stop being aware that she got married last night, and to Bellamy, of all people. Her best friend, her co-Mom-friend to the rest of their group. And now, for the rest of her life, she’ll be adding ‘ex-husband’ to that list.
“So,” he says, once they’ve scarfed down half their food. “Divorce.”
Clarke blinks. The word ‘divorce’ is loaded for her. She watched her parents go through an incredibly messy one, and it had a lasting impact on her. Dissolving this-- whatever they did last night-- feels so far from what she considers divorce, it might as well be on a different planet.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice sounding strange even to her ears. “I guess so.”
“You guess so?”
“I mean,” she shrugs. “We’re not really married, right? Not in the real sense of the word.”
“The state of Nevada might disagree with you on that one,” he says, but he’s amused, which is nice. They’re already finding the humor in the situation.
“Okay, but-- Can we just call it an undo or something?”
“Sure,” he agrees, with a small smile. As usual, he probably knows exactly what she's thinking. “So how do we go about undoing this?”
“Probably consult a lawyer or something.”
He makes a face. “Shit, you think? That’s--”
“Way more effort than you want to put into an undo?”
“And way more money,” he agrees. “Which is the last thing I need on top of student loans.”
Clarke takes a big bite to stall for time as she mulls her next suggestion over. She almost doesn’t make it, but she and Bellamy have never held back with each other. It seems stupid to start now, when it's something this important.
Plus, married couples are supposed to communicate, right?
“What if we didn’t get divorced?” She proposes, and his eyebrows fly up.
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean-- We should weigh the costs and benefits. Costs: money and time that we don't have right now. Benefits... I mean, I don't know for sure, but I’ve heard it can be better for taxes sometimes. And it might help with your financial aid, right?”
“Right,” he says slowly, and she can’t tell if it’s because he’s considering it or if he thinks she needs to get her head examined.
She purses her lips, thinking it through again, but it seems like a solid plan to her. “It’s a potentially expensive hassle that neither of us really wants to deal with. So... it's like a quid pro quo.”
“I won't be swayed by your Latin usage," he says, his voice still a little off the joking mark. "And that's not really what a quid pro quo is."
“It's got an upside for both of us, doesn't it?” She nudges him with her foot. “So we wait until that's not true anymore. What's the rush?”
“You’re suggesting we just-- stay married.”
“Obviously we should look into it before we do anything drastic.” He gives her a look and she grins. “Well, anything else drastic. I'm just saying, we have more than the one option.”
He eyes her warily, like he’s expecting her to come to at any moment and take it back. But she doesn’t really feel like it’s a big deal, staying married to Bellamy. She could do a lot worse, as accidental spouses go, and she’s pretty sure he isn’t expecting anything from her.
“Do we need to talk about the other thing?” He asks finally.
She bites her lip, a little hesitant. “I’m not really looking for anything right now.”
“Me either,” he sighs, relieved. “And-- I remember bits and pieces of last night… I think there was a clown of some kind involved in the actual ceremony?”
“I think it was an Elvis clown.”
“That would explain a lot.” He pauses. “But anything after we hit the hotel minibar is completely wiped from my brain.”
“Same.” She screws her nose up. “I’d say I’m sure it was great, but I’m… not, really? Like, if we were that drunk, I can’t imagine our balance and spatial awareness were good enough to--”
“I get it.” He kicks her under the table, biting back a smile. “We probably don’t want to remember.”
“Exactly” she agrees, taking a cheerful sip of her orange juice. “I think it’s for the best.”
* * *
Most of the time it’s pretty easy for Clarke to forget that she’s married.
In her defense, there aren’t a ton of reminders. She doesn’t wear a ring, hasn’t changed her name, and is still nominally a part of the dating scene, even if she hasn’t had a real relationship in over a year and isn’t trying particularly hard to be in one.
Really, the biggest reminder would be Bellamy himself, particularly after he moves into the vacant room in her apartment a few months after the wedding.
But even he's not that much of a reminder. First and foremost, he’s her friend and roommate, and those are still the roles he primarily fills in her life. They bicker about who is neglecting more of their chores, they take care of their friends together, they keep their fridge stocked with the kind of ice cream the other one likes in case of emergency. He’s the first person she’d tell if she had a good day, the first person she’d complain to if she had a bad one.
And they don’t sleep together again.
Sometimes when she sees him from a certain angle, or feels his hand on the small of her back as they weave through a crowd, or tucks herself into his side for a hug, she’ll get flashes of that night. Of what it was like to feel his hands other places, to be under him, or have him under her, but they’re fragments. Not a whole memory. She’s glad for it; with as much as she sees him in varying amounts of clothing-- from thick, oversized sweaters that both add to his bulk and soften him, to nothing but a towel when he’s getting out of the shower, to everything in between-- she thinks it would be hard to not jump him again, if her memories of that night were clear and vivid.
It takes a few months after he moves in for her to figure out that she’s in love with him.
No matter how committed she is to not looking for anything, she’s unable to stop herself from finding him. From realizing how much better her life is with him in it so much. The peace she feels when he’s around, the way he makes her laugh, even when she wants to cry.
How he looks after her-- draping blankets over her when she falls asleep on the couch, leaving her neatly-labeled leftovers in the fridge, making her take a vitamin in the morning (“Because it’s good for you. Shut up.”)-- and how she takes care of him right back. It’s all she wants to do, pretty much ever.
Sometimes she wishes she could remember how she talked him into marrying her in the first place, because if it worked once it might work again. For the most part, now that she’s figured out how she feels, she’s too preoccupied with wanting him, with trying to figure out how to make a move, trying to figure out if he maybe wants her too, to remember that they’re married.
Which explains why it goes over her head when Bellamy comes home one evening with half a dozen cupcakes from her favorite bakery and a bottle of the more expensive wine she only buys for fancy occasions.
“What’s this?” She asks, grinning and moving her feet so he can sit down next to her on the couch. Of course, as soon as he’s settled she sets her feet in his lap, but he really ought to expect that sort of thing by now.
“I figured a special occasion called for a special celebration."
“What occasion?”
He laughs and pinches her thigh, nearly causing her to overturn the box of cupcakes, and she glares at him. She can’t keep it up though, because his face is still open and happy and she doesn’t get to see him smile like that enough.
Even if he did it every day, it wouldn’t be enough.
“You really don’t know?”
She shakes her head, mouth full of red velvet, and he rolls his eyes.
“You sure know how to make your husband feel special on your anniversary.”
She freezes, trying to count back in her head. “No way has it been a year.”
“A year ago today,” he nods, accentuating his words with jazz hands, which really points more to how lame he is and also how great his hands are.
She adores him. Like, insane amounts.
“Huh,” she says, for lack of knowing how else to respond. “Good for us. And they said we wouldn’t make it.”
“Who did?”
“Well, no one. But if we’d ever told anyone we got drunk married in Vegas, they probably would have.”
“Probably,” he agrees with a grin. “Wine?”
“Yes please. I think we’ve earned it.”
“It’s such a hardship, being married to me.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she teases.
They toast themselves regularly throughout the night, watching bits and pieces of all their favorite onscreen married couples-- some Bob’s Burgers, some Jim and Pam, a Holt/Kevin-centric episode of Brooklyn 99 , and then they get halfway through The Incredibles (mostly for that one scene of Frozone and his wife) before Clarke falls asleep on his shoulder.
She stirs when he pauses the movie, expecting him to slip out so she can stretch out like he normally does with this happens. Instead, he slides one arm under her legs and the other around her back, carrying her into her room like he’s the lead actor in a romance movie.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she mumbles, resting her head under his chin. When he chuckles, her whole body buzzes with it.
“It’s a special night,” he reminds her, setting her down and pulling her covers over her with such gentleness it almost hurts. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Love you,” she says, squeezing his hand before he can move away. “Best husband ever.”
He squeezes back and presses his lips lightly against her forehead before disentangling himself. “Love you too, Clarke.”
And even though he doesn’t mean it the way she does, she falls asleep with a smile on her face, feeling content and safe and warm.
* * *
Clarke doesn’t know if they’ll stay married long enough for celebrating their anniversaries that way to become a tradition, but they celebrate their second in mostly the same way (though Clarke brings Bellamy a bouquet of bluebells this time, and her stomach twists with happiness every time she catches him throwing awed looks at the vase).
It’s when their third rolls around that the problem arises, namely that she's been lulled into a false sense of security. She's too used to it, too familiar with their version of marriage, and that’s really their undoing.
“You’re coming, right?” Raven asks as anniversary three approaches, referring to the party she's hosting for their friends to watch the NCAA basketball championship game together. Clarke nods.
“I’ve got work the next day and I don’t particularly care who wins, so I might duck out early. But I should be there for most of it.”
“When is it again?” Bellamy asks, a few stools down on Raven’s other side.
“Not this weekend but the next.”
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s this weekend,” says Jasper, frowning. “That’s what I put on my phone.”
“No, it’s definitely the next weekend,” says Clarke, scrolling through her own calendar app. “‘Cause Bellamy and I have anniversary stuff this Saturday, but I didn’t have any conflicts for the date you sent me, so it’s got to be the one after.”
And that probably doesn’t help either that she’s not paying enough attention, because the words are out of her mouth before she can process and filter. It takes her a moment to realize that everyone has paused at this, and then Raven goes, “What anniversary stuff?”
Clarke’s eyes find Bellamy’s immediately, relieved when the annoyance on his face (hopefully more in anticipation of their friends’ reactions than at Clarke’s slip of the tongue) is overshadowed by amusement.
“Uh, you know. We celebrate when he moved in,” Clarke says quickly, but Monty’s brow furrows in confusion.
“That doesn’t make sense. He and Nate moved right before the school year started. That’s not for a while still.”
Clarke looks at Bellamy again, whose lips quirk at one side as if to say, it’s about time. She shrugs in response, everyone’s heads following her gaze, turning to look at him.
He clears his throat, and his voice is carefully composed when he says, “Clarke and I are celebrating our wedding anniversary this weekend.”
No one says anything for a long moment, and then--
“What.”
“Are you kidding?”
“I knew you guys were together."
Clarke smiles ruefully. “We’re not exactly together. We’re mostly just broke and lazy.”
“You’ve been married for a year and you’re just now telling us?” Monty says, and she winces at the hurt in his tone.
“It’s not a real marriage,” Bellamy protests, and Clarke tries not to wince again. “I mean, it’s legal and everything, but we sort of stumbled into it accidentally, and then it was just-- not worth it to try to get out of it right away.”
“And actually, it’s three years,” Clarke adds, her voice quiet. “Remember that weekend we went to Vegas?”
They’re all silent again, digesting this, and then Raven cackles.
“You idiots.” She pauses, her breathing too uneven to get the words out. Monty and Jasper even crack smiles, watching her. “You got married. In Vegas.”
“Drunk,” says Bellamy, cracking a smile of his own.
“In front of a clown Elvis,” Clarke adds, and that sends Raven into another spiral.
“I was going to say I didn’t know whether I should laugh or be offended,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “But then I thought about it and I definitely did know.”
“Sorry we didn’t tell you,” Clarke says, looking between them. “It’s a little bit--”
“Ridiculous?”
“Shameful?”
“Embarrassing?”
They all speak at once, and Clarke finds herself grinning. “All of the above? It’s been our not-so-dirty secret. But really, we probably should have told you sooner.”
“As long as I’m invited to the real one, I’m not mad,” Raven says, waving a hand. “Even if you guys want to go back to Vegas for it.”
Clarke averts her eyes, unable to look at Bellamy in that moment.
“Don’t worry,” she hears him say. “If that ever happened, we’d definitely tell you first.”
Her stomach sinks a little at his phrasing, but it’s probably a good reminder. She’d been getting a little too comfortable in her secretly sort of married life. Reality checks are a good thing, even if they aren’t all that fun.
“And you’ll buy the rest of the rounds tonight?” Jasper adds, hopeful.
“Yeah,” Bellamy sighs. “I guess it’s the least we can do.”
* * *
“You guys really aren’t together?” Monty asks her at the end of the night, as the two of them work on maneuvering drunk Jasper into a car. He took full advantage of not paying for the rest of his drinks.
Bellamy is waiting with Raven for the Uber the three of them are going to split, but Clarke’s shoulders still tense like she’s afraid he’s going to overhear.
“We’re really not. We slept together the night we got married, but-- we’re really just friends.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Okay, and spouses. Technically.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” He crosses his arms, his expression thoughtful. “You know that you and Bellamy haven’t ever been ‘just friends,’ right?”
“I know how I feel about him, if that’s what you’re asking,” she sighs, slumping against the car.
“You should tell him,” Monty advises, putting one arm around her shoulder and pulling her close, all fondness and a touch of exasperation. “I’d bet all the money in my bank account that it will go well. And apparently gambling really sets the mood for you guys, so--”
Clarke laughs and pushes him away. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.”
And she does think about it, all the way home. The whole time Bellamy’s thigh is pressed against hers in the car, the “Later, Mr. and Mrs. Blake,” that Raven tosses over her shoulder when she disembarks at her place, when he doesn’t nudge her to move from the middle seat but puts his arm around her instead, his fingers stroking her shoulder.
“That went better than I thought,” he says when they’re in the elevator.
“The longer we went without telling them, the harder it seemed like it would be.”
“I know. But it’s not like we’ve been hiding it. Not really.”
Her stomach churns, her heart threatens to burst from her chest. She knows Monty is right-- at least, that she has to say something. It's been years at this point, years she could have been moving on, or happy with her husband. She’s not as confident as her friends seem to be that it’ll end well, but if it does… she thinks it’s worth the risk.
“Do you ever wish it was? Real, that is.” She steals a glance up at him. He’s gone very still, a little pale. Much like the morning after their wedding, actually. “I do,” she admits softly. He starts, his eyes dark and full when he looks down at her.
“You do?”
She nods, gets the lock open so they can finish this conversation in privacy. For a second she wonders if she’ll have to physically pull him inside, but he comes on his own, standing hesitant in the entryway as she wilts against the door behind her.
He looks at her again, waiting for her cue. And that's just so Bellamy, always waiting for her cue. He would've gone through with the divorce if she hadn't suggested staying married. He didn't say a word to anyone until she let it slip. She guesses it makes a lot of sense that if he feels anything more for her, he'd be waiting for the word from her.
Well, if words are what he's waiting for, she can give him that.
“I--” She clears her throat. “I hate coming home to an empty apartment. With all the roommates I’ve ever had, that’s been the dream, you know? To have all the space to yourself for a few precious hours. But when you’re not here, it’s like it doesn’t really feel like home.”
He doesn’t move, which is frankly a little terrifying, so she just keeps talking.
“Did you know you’re my favorite person in the whole world? You’re my best friend. My person. For everything. And I want to come home to you for as long as you’ll have me.” She pauses. “Probably the rest of my life, but that seems like a lot to say since we’re not even--”
And now she knows for certain it’s a good thing she didn’t remember this, because she knows kissing Bellamy has got to be a thousand times better when they’re both coherent. She’ll never be able to forget the weight of him pressing her back against the door, the shape and feel of his hands at her waist, the happiness and the back-and-forth and the grounding quality to his kiss that makes it feel as if he’s pouring all of himself into it.
“I love you too,” he tells her, when the roaring in her ears has quieted some. She laughs, giddy.
“I never said I love you.”
He bites at her chin, reproachful. “Yeah, but you do, right?”
“Yeah.” She drags his lips back to hers, insatiable for him. “That’s pretty much the gist”
* * *
For their second wedding, they’re much more sober, though not completely. They did go back to Vegas, partially because the travel meant they could keep the guest list small without offending anyone, partially because Clarke likes winding her mother up, and partially because their friends still feel a little cheated about missing out the first time around.
And partially because it’s nice to feel like they’re coming full circle.
This time she gets to remember the look in his eye when he sees her, she gets to remember the promises she’s making to him, and the thrill of knowing they're choosing each other. This time it's real, so real her heart might burst. She's fully aware that she's got a sappy, lovestruck smile on her face, but she can't bring herself to care. This is her wedding. She's supposed to be like this.
“Sorry I couldn’t find the Elvis clown,” Bellamy says under his breath when she reaches the end of the aisle.
“It’s okay,” she whispers back, magnanimous. “I’ll marry you anyways.”
“What a relief.”
He grins even wider, her best friend, her person.
Her husband.
“Yep,” she says, turning to face the officiant, ready to be married to him for real. “You don’t know the half of it.”