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Living in college apartments is… not glamorous. Walls are thin, pipes are thinner, and working air conditioning is a luxury. But it’s not terrible, Clarke finds, as long as you have excellent roommates to share in how much it objectively sucks. Raven and Anya fit that bill, so she considers herself lucky.
Plus, their windows open into an alleyway between their apartment building and the next. Which might not sound like a plus, but when the alternative is street facing windows that do nothing to stop the sounds of drunk college students when you’re trying to sleep the night before a midterm—the difference is staggering.
So, suffice it to say, Clarke largely likes her apartment. It’s great, for what it is.
Until it betrays her.
The first thing Bellamy Blake says when he comes in for his shift at the bookstore—the Monday morning shift, that, unfortunately, she shares—is, “Nice moves last night, Princess.”
Most of the time, Bellamy is full of shit, but as he shucks off his jacket the smirk on his face says he’s getting away with something, so she quickly runs through the events of the previous night, searching for any instances of embarrassment he might have been privy to.
…and comes up with nothing. She didn’t go out after she’d come back from class, and she and Raven didn’t get drunk, precluding any chance that she’d sent out some drunken snapchats he might have seen. (She has him on snapchat for bookstore-related emergencies, alright?) In fact, she spent most of the night working on her chem lab assignment, finally finishing around midnight, so really, there’s nothing for him to have seen.
So she scoffs, dismissive, and keeps working, only mildly interested in what kind of scheme he’s running.
“What are you talking about?” she asks, clicking through their schedule to see if they have any deliveries scheduled today.
He grins at her, wide, just when she spares him a glance, and she has to physically force it to not affect her. Because Bellamy Blake might be a snarky asshole, but that doesn’t make him any less… well, hot. Which is a whole other level of unfair.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone needs to jam to Taylor Swift once in a while. It’s a good de-stressor. I’m not judging.”
His words send her back to the night before. To a part she’d skipped over. After she’d finished her assignment and before going to bed, when she had, in fact, been jamming to Taylor Swift… and singing along at the top of her lungs.
She’s about to tell him he’s an irritating dick, until she remembers why she’d skimmed over that part before.
Because she’d been alone. In her room. When no one else was home.
With a quick glance to see that Monty has the register covered, the blood draining from her face, she drags Bellamy to the back, out of sight of any customers.
“What the fuck, Bellamy? Are you stalking me?”
It’s a fucking terrifying thought—and certainly not one she’d ever thought she’d have to accuse him of. Because for all Bellamy’s a pain in the ass, he’s never stepped past the line of mildly-abrasive. She’d always kind of… liked him, underneath all the bravado and teasing. She knows he makes good grades, and that he’d practically raised his little sister. And above that, a fair few of her friends know and like him, which goes a long way in her eyes.
But this…
Before she can even ponder why he’d do this, the confusion drops off his face, replaced with a look of horror.
“What? No! I’m not stalking you!”
He looks genuinely appalled. Which is somewhat comforting, given he wears his emotions on his sleeve. But it still doesn’t explain anything.
“Then how the fuck did you see me last night?”
“We moved into the apartment across from yours!”
It’s not what she expects to hear, but it is the beginning of the school year, lots of people are changing apartments. So that part checks out, but…
“Why the fuck didn’t you lead with that?”
He opens his mouth, but she’s not finished.
“And that doesn’t explain why you were watching me through my window!” she hisses.
“I tried to get your attention! Besides, your blinds were open! Anyone in our building would have seen you,” he seethes back.
It is true that she’d been a little preoccupied. She doubts she would have noticed if he’d been trying to get her attention, like he said he had. And she’s never seen Bellamy this mad aside from—well, when guys are creeping on his sister at the bar.
“Well you should have just… not looked,” she says, petulant, but she can already feel her anger draining.
She watches his do the same, and he quirks a small smile after a second, almost comforting. “I did stop watching after it was clear you weren’t going to see me. But… okay, fuck, yeah, it’s still a little creepy.” His cheeks are definitely pink now. “I’m sorry.”
She softens, the stress leaving her shoulders. She doesn’t get to see sincere Bellamy as often as she’d like, but she knows he’s there, under all the snark.
“It’s alright. I probably would have done the same thing, if the situation was reversed.”
“Yeah but,” he scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish now, any anger at the accusation vanished, “still. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. That was a dick move.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a dick.” She nudges his shoulder. “So it’s not like you could help it.”
That gets him to grin and roll his eyes. “Yeah, I am. We good?”
“Yeah,” she says, “We’re good.”
“Cool, now come on, or Monty’s going to think we’re slacking off.”
She’s had some conversations with Monty—or rather, he’s had some conversations at her—about exactly what he thinks she and Bellamy should be doing… but she pushes that thought aside, and follows him back into the store.
-
As it turns out, she does get her reversed situation, a couple days later.
She comes home from a long day of classes, ready to change into sweatpants and do absolutely nothing. In all honesty, she’d forgotten about the instance at the bookstore until she wanders over to the window in her room to open the blinds—almost a habit now, given the dim lighting of their apartment—and sees a head of messy dark hair through the window across from hers, hunched over a desk.
It takes a second longer to realize it’s Bellamy, and one further to notice that he’s singing along to the music that she can vaguely hear, thanks to paper-thin walls.
It’s not until it gets to the chorus that she can tell it’s the new Zayn/Taylor Swift collaboration that she’s heard approximately three hundred times in the last week, alone. She is, however, far more interested in the fact that Bellamy’s still singing along, reaching for the falsetto notes as he furrows his brows at his laptop.
It’s the kind of thing that begs a snapchat video, okay? It’s Bellamy Blake. She’s not going to get another opportunity as good as this to offer him a taste of his own medicine. And if she gets some satisfaction in staring at him, at the way his jaw angles away from his neck, the way his hair falls when he shifts, then hey she’s entitled to that. He had his chance.
She does only send the video it to him, to be fair, which is showing great restraint. It’s as zoomed in as she could get, music note stickers artfully placed around his head, and captioned, “Nice vocals. I hear 1D is hiring.” Before she hits send, she saves it… just for posterity.
A moment later, she sees him pick up his phone, and, heart pounding, she ducks away from the window, an involuntary smile forming on her lips.
Her phone pings with a notification short moments later with a snapchat from Bellamy, a picture of her empty window, with the caption, “Now who’s a creepy stalker?”
She responds with a message:
Clarke:
| Still you, pretty sure.
| Seriously though, I’m impressed. Better than Zayn 4 sure
His response is nearly instantaneous.
Bellamy:
| Tell me you didn’t send that to like, everyone you know.
Clarke:
| If I did could you blame me
| Okay the answer’s probably yes
| No I didn’t
| Just you
| But I really think I need to be commended for my restraint. That was comedy GOLD, Bellamy.
Bellamy:
| Consider it appropriately commended.
| Not to be petty or bring up old wounds but:
| I literally saw you dancing to taylor swift three days ago
| Not sure you’re in a position to judge
Clarke:
| I didn’t know I was being subjected to judging
| You, on the other hand, knew full well that this was a possibility
| I would say we’re even, but I still had it worse
Bellamy:
| Speak for yourself, you weren’t forcibly subjected to watch yourself sing
| Seriously, that video changed my entire self-image
Clarke:
| Yeah, ‘cause I forced you to open that snap
| I’m sure your ego will survive
Bellamy:
| I thought it might be about the bookstore!
| The books could have been in trouble, Clarke
Clarke:
| Bellamy Blake: savior of books
When she finally peeks back out the window, he’s still reading her message, looking down at his phone with a smile that makes her heart twist.
Her phone vibrates again.
Bellamy Blake:
| I can’t even retaliate because that’s honestly kind of badass
| Clarke Griffin: giver of great titles
She’s trying to think of a clever response when she gets another snap from him. A picture this time.
She opens it, expecting… she’s not sure what. Maybe a selfie with another title suggestion. Instead, it’s a picture of herself, just visible through the window captioned “creeper spotted,” with the eyes emoji tagged on the end. The snap warrants an eye-roll, but she’s a little distracted by the way she’s looking at her phone, in the picture. There’s a soft, amused smile on her face, not unlike the one she’d seen on his a second ago, and the image of herself, reacting to him that way… it’s a lot to process.
After spending a split second longer on this revelation, she realizes she’s still standing in plain view of the window and recovers enough to look up at him and stick her tongue out.
He responds with a cheery smile and a wave. All she can do is shake her head, with what must be a ridiculous smile spreading across her face.
-
Her Thursday shift starts earlier than his, which means she knows exactly when he comes in. So, really, it would be a disservice not sneak into the back to make sure that I Don’t Want to Live Forever is playing softly over the bookstore speakers when he shows up.
The bell above the door chimes promptly at 1 o’clock, just as she returns to shelving books people decided they didn’t want, giving her the perfect cover to watch him catch on. It takes him a while though, and she watches him duck behind the counter to say hi to Monty before heading toward the back. He looks around a little on his way there—for her, she realizes, because of course he knows her schedule as well as she knows his.
It’s at that moment that the song reaches the chorus, and from her spot peeking through one of the shelves, she sees the recognition in his eyes, upturned toward the speakers, just moments before he passes by the aisle she’s in, at the opposite end.
He catches sight of her a step short of the next row, hand landing on the side of the shelf to pull himself back.
She meets his eyes with a cheery grin. “Hi, Bellamy.”
He gestures toward the ceiling. “Cute.”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums up my thoughts about your serenade last night,” she teases. “Never really pegged you for a one direction fan.”
His glare is very clearly only halfhearted, it makes her smile even wider. “Zayn’s not technically part of one direction anymore.”
She raises her hands. “Hey, I didn’t mean any offense. You’re the fan, not me.”
“So by that logic, I should defer to you for all my Taylor Swift related questions?” She can tell he’s trying to hide a smile. It’s painfully cute.
“Is that a common problem you have? Not having answers to Taylor Swift related questions?”
“Yeah, mostly because Google’s becoming sentient at an alarming rate already,” he says, willfully ignoring her jab. “I don’t want to contribute to the robot takeover.”
“Sure, sure.”
He looks like he’s about to say something else when Monty passes by their row to hand Clarke another book to re-shelf.
He takes one glance at Bellamy, backpack still slung over one shoulder, since he hasn’t made it to the back yet, and Clarke—who’s smile must be telling, because says, unamused, “You two sure flirt a lot for people who claim not to be into each other.”
Bellamy’s halfway through his correction—“We’re not flirting.”—when she decides, on an impulse, to throw caution to the wind.
“I never said that,” she says, making her words nonchalant, like a challenge.
Even Monty looks surprised—and maybe a little impressed—but he’s no match for Bellamy’s expression, whose jaw has slackened a little.
“What?”
It’s probably a terrible idea, especially considering she doesn’t really know how she feels about him—but she’s started something now.
She raises an eyebrow. “You heard me.”
After a moment, he visibly collect himself, not one to be caught off guard for so long in their give and take. It’s almost predictable, the way he calls her bluff.
But that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s prepared for it.
“Great. Then I guess you wouldn’t mind going out with me.”
Her breath sticks in her throat, and she narrowly avoids having to cough.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he says, parroting her own words back to her, smug smirk on his face.
Clarke is vaguely aware of Monty, who mutters something under his breath before turning back toward the front of the store, leaving them alone in the aisle, but her attention is otherwise occupied.
It’s her turn to compose herself. She swallows and lifts her chin a little. Defiant.
“Sure. We get off at the same time right? We can get dinner.”
If her answer throws him, he doesn’t show it, aside from a brief series of blinks.
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
For a second, she thinks he might say something else, back out after all, but he just turns toward the back. “I better go clock in.” And he’s gone before she can respond.
“Yeah,” she says, to herself, left alone with the books and strange feeling in her chest.
Things are relatively normal through the rest of their shift, except that she keeps get these jarring jolts every time she sees Bellamy when she’s not expecting to—around a corner when she’s finding a book for a customer, behind the desk when she goes to ring someone up. Her body is hyper-aware of him, and she’s not a fan.
Even more unsettling is that he doesn’t seem affected at all, joking with her like he normally would. He doesn’t even taunt her about their impending date, which must be some intricate scheme to make her all the more anxious about it, because it’s definitely working.
Halfway through the day, she makes the executive decision to resign herself to it. She’s going on a date with Bellamy. In another world, one where they’re not both deliberately abrasive assholes, she might be excited about it. He’s not a bad person after all, and everyone with eyes knows he’s attractive. She can handle this.
Six o’clock rolls around and she finishes up with a customer just as Bellamy passes by, already changed out of his work clothes.
“Hey, I’ll meet you outside.”
There’s not a hint of teasing in his voice, which she’s sure is deliberate, but it throws her again with the realization that she wouldn’t mind at all, if this was for real, and not just a product of their mutual stubbornness.
“Yeah, be there in a sec,” she says, keeping her voice as casual as she can.
She heads back to change, where Monty offers his hand for a high-five on her way out. She rolls her eyes at him, but still slaps her hand against his, after which he promptly waggles his eyebrows.
Bellamy’s leaning against the wall outside when she pushes through the door, casual as anything, and looking far too good for someone who’s worked the last five hours.
“Ready, Princess?” he asks, straightening.
She squares her shoulders, and grins brightly at him for no other reason than to convince herself she can do it. “Let’s do this.”
Then he smiles back, equally bright, and she’s so fucked.
He teases her a lot less than she would expect, once they set off toward a hole-in-the-wall burger place that they apparently both love. It’s not like they don’t tease each other at all, because that might be weirder than the alternative, but it’s all good natured, and never like they’re not on the same team.
The restaurant is casual, and goes a far way in making the whole affair seem less like a date and more like just hanging out, which is what Clarke goes for when she’s dating someone anyways. She’s always felt like dressing up to go to a fancy place makes it unnecessarily formal and awkward to get to actually get to know someone.
And so, against all odds—or maybe not, if she’s taking Monty’s perspective as more realistic than her own—the “date” is really fun. Which sucks when she realizes this on their way out of the restaurant. Because it’s hardly a real date, and now she’s stuck with the knowledge that she’d dating Bellamy would be fun, with no inkling that it’s ever going to actually happen again.
She’s just finished telling him about her plans for grad school, and they’re about to part ways, when he gives her a strangely serious look.
“What?”
“Honest question.”
“Honest answer.”
He grins. “Shut up. Did you agree to go out with me because you wanted to or because you didn’t want to lose the argument?”
She’s honestly a little taken aback, despite the honest question for-warning. Being the way they are—which she openly admits is a little ridiculous—she figured they’d be dancing around the topic for a couple weeks to come, only finally admitting to their feelings when it became unbearable. That is, if the feelings were ever even mutual, which—
The heart stopping sincerity in his eyes tells her they are.
The idea of admitting her own feelings should be terrifying. Relationships have never been smooth for her, and beginning a new one, even when she didn’t have a specific person in mind, had always led to anxiety. But, somehow, this doesn’t.
Somehow, the idea of being with him, after tonight especially, doesn’t seem risky or scary at all. She knows him, knows he wouldn’t hurt her if he could do literally anything to prevent it. And more important, maybe, she knows herself. Knows that she feels more comfortable with him than she’s been with anyone on a first date before. Knows that he makes her laugh and makes her happy, as cheesy as the whole things sounds.
So it seems safe to square her shoulders, and tell him the truth.
“A little bit of both.”
His smile is slow. “Really?”
She shrugs, trying to keep her hopes under wraps. “Sure. I had a good time.”
He’s still smiling at her and she honestly can’t help mirroring it.
“Cool. Me too.” He shifts on his feet. “You want to do this again? Saturday maybe?”
She can’t help it. “Monty’s going to be so impressed that we’re having this conversation without some kind of challenge involved.”
He snorts. “Monty doesn’t have any room to talk. Have you seen the way he looks when my roommate comes in?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah.” She pauses. “And Bellamy?”
“Hmm?” If she had to guess, she'd say he's doing his best not to look nervous.
She leans up to press her lips to his cheek. “Saturday sounds great.”
She never wants him to stop smiling like that.
“Great,” he echoes. “Eight o’clock good?”
“Yeah, perfect.”
He returns the favor, pressing a short kiss to her lips far too quickly for her to anticipate, or think about returning it--apparently because he can’t actually help it, which helps make up for the fact that she’d really like to kiss him more.
“See you then.”
She has to resist putting a hand to her lips, where his were a moment before. Bellamy Blake. A smile tugs at her mouth.
“Yeah. See you then.”
-
When they’ve been dating for two months, she sends the snapchat video, still saved on her phone, to all of their friends, with the caption: “my boyfriend is such a catch.”
He's in the kitchen, making breakfast, so she gets a snap back a second later. A picture of a delicious looking omelette, captioned: "I'm going to spit in your eggs <3"