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It arrives on a Thursday morning, which makes sense, given that Raven had always hated Thursdays.
Puffy and pink and oh so precise, and even though she knew it was coming, she still balks at the sight.
Class of 2008, it’s time to reunite!
Join us at Arkadia High,
Saturday July 15, 6:00PM
For a night of fancy food,
Fun dancing,
(and finally legal drinking!)
RSVP to Harper McIntyre
May we meet again.
She dials the number on instinct, born from years of having each other’s backs. He picks up on the second ring.
“Bellamy,” She says, a little breathlessly, “take me to prom?”
--
It’s not like Raven ever hated High School. In fact, she had some pretty fond memories of her time at Arkadia High. Her graduating GPA had been the highest in fifty-seven years, she’d led her school to back-to-back victories with the National Science Bowl, acceptance letters (with full ride scholarships) had come back from Princeton, Stanford and MIT, and Finn had been, well, Finn. The only boy she’d ever loved. The only boy who had ever loved her.
Best of all, she was going to defy the odds, going to become more than the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, because yeah, she still heard the words of the preps with all the money in the world, and none of the tact of civilised society whispered behind her back.
Except.
Finn had turned out to be more boy than friend, and even though he claimed her loved her, she knew, from the look in his eyes, from the strain his touch, it wasn’t the way she deserved to be loved.
And when she walked away from him, she thought to herself: this will be the hardest thing I will ever do.
Only then the accident happened, and it was like karma wanted to kick her in the teeth to prove to her just how wrong she had been.
In the end she was left with a broken leg and a crushed future. In the year it took for her to recover, to rehab, to begin living any semblance of a life she’d all but given up, she passed on all those college offers, because in the end who in their right mind would hire a genius with a sharp tongue and half a working body, Ivy League grad or not?
Most likely to succeed, it read in her Yearbook. Another crushing quip to her psyche, because here she was, ten years later, working in the same small garage she had all but lived in during her holidays off, living in the same small town she always vowed she’d escape.
--
The first response she hears is his laugh on the other end of the line. He laughs at her a lot. Not in a mean way either, but in a way that tells her she’s actually a little funny. It’s nice. “I know you look young for your age Reyes, but aren’t you a little old for prom?”
She pouts and forgets momentarily he’s not there to see it. Instead he’s a million miles from home, at some stuffy conference his work paid for him to attend.
“Fiiiiiiine,” Raven draws out dramatically. “It’s worse than prom. It’s a high-school reunion. And everyone in that damn graduating class will attend. And that means standing in a room full of elitist snobs that looked down their nose at me all through high-school; it means being openly judged for failing in such a monumentally spectacular way. It means suffering through their hoity-toity told-you-so looks. It means--”
“I’ll go.” Bellamy says on the other end, so quietly that she almost doesn’t hear him, too busy preparing another ten reasons why he should help her out.
Only this shuts her up, and she’s too shocked to respond.
“Reyes?” He asks, moments later. “You there?”
“But I mean, are you sure you want to subject yourself to this ridiculous event?” Raven backtracks.
Another laugh, this time loud and bright, and she’s reminded of how well he can read her, because maybe she hadn’t wanted him to say yes. Maybe the offer was made without really thinking it through. Maybe she it was an empty threat, like she’d try to think about it, and then maybe it would’ve been too hard, disrupted her routine too much, and so it would just be easier for everyone involved to ignore it all together.
Maybe.
Bellamy sighs through the phone. “Come on Reyes. People are going to have family in Arkadia still. They are going to know you stuck around. Why not show up with me, and maybe we can stick it to them together?”
She’s taking her time mulling it over and hears him blow out his breath through the receiver, a sure sign of a grin. And she knows then, that he’s got her.
“Besides,” Bellamy says with all that cocky confidence she saw when she first met him. “I didn’t finish school, so I’ll never have a reunion, so please Reyes, let me be a part of yours?”
Well. Shit.
--
Bellamy Blake arrived in Arkadia the week after Raven was cleared from rehab. A ball of high-strung anger and frustration, Sinclair had driven her home, and told her that as long as he was around, she’d always have a job with him.
(And she knew he meant well, that he’d always meant well, but it was getting hard to stomach the look of pity that fell across everyone's faces when they saw her for the first time. Raven got it, she really did. To go from being the local girl heading towards greatness, to the girl with the permanently crippled leg, well, it sucked. But she didn’t need everyone else feeling sorry for her ass; not when she was trying to build a brace and move the fuck on.)
She’d been tearing apart some old engine, a pet project that Sinclair had stashed away in the back corner of the garage, something he’d always said he’d get to, but never even touched. It was something to keep her busy, to keep her mind occupied while her body adjusted to the labour with only one leg to really balance on.
Too focused on her work, Raven didn’t even realise that she’d almost pegged the piston past some guys head until a string of expletives fell from his mouth.
“You should watch where you’re throwing those things.” He grunted, and between rolling her eyes and sighing deeply, Raven did take the time to note that his accent didn’t quite fall into the local American dialect she’d grown up with.
“You should watch where you’re walking.” It was a smart-ass thing to say, but hey, bum leg gave her a free pass, at least for now. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re in a workshop, things are going to get a little messy.”
“But I figured the mess would be more on your clothes, less in my face.” He retorted harshly.
Her head whipped up to meet his, eyes narrowing slowly. “You’re not from around here.”
A smirk crossed his lips. Of course, he was a smirker. “What gave it away, the fact that I can annunciate all my vowels? Or that I don’t dress like a farmer who brought all the flannel in the half-off sale at Walmart?” He finished, eyeing up the red flannel that was tied around her waist.
“It’s the fact that you don’t know that this is the only mechanic shop for fifty miles around, and the best in two-hundred. It’s the fact that you don’t know how badly you just pissed off the finest mechanic in the county,” Raven yelled back, before mutter “Qué verga,” under her breath.
“Maybe I am a dick?” His smirk grew into a grin, raising an eyebrow as she tried to avoid looking shocked at his comprehension of Spanish. “And I don’t actually need a mechanic, so I really don’t care if I pissed you off. I’m looking for someone called Reyes. A buddy of mine said he can fix just about anything electrical because he’s some kind of genius, and that he was just working here to get back on his feet after some acci--” He trailed off, as his eyes moved slowly down her form.
With her own smirk sliding onto her lips she raised her eyebrows at him, standing to fill height and motioning to her brace, because of course this man, this preppy, out of towner, expected the electrical genius to be a dude.
Sometimes when life gave you lemons, for the briefest moment you get to make lemonade.
He coughed, to break the silence. “Reyes, I take it.”
(And she could hear in his tone the acknowledgement that yeah, he’d fucked this up royally.)
“Raven.” She replied, holding back the laugh. “Raven Reyes. And you are?”
He at least had the decency to look bashful, a tinge of pink flooding his cheeks. “Bellamy Blake. I, uh, just moved here, from --”
“I don’t care.” Raven stopped him, because in the end, despite the fact that this guy was a grade A jerk, he’d treated her how she wanted to be treated, just like everyone else. And while it didn’t necessarily give him a free pass, it would let her hear him out. “What do you need from me?”
“Well,” he shook his head, and then eventually met her eyes. “It’s actually probably better that I show you?”
--
It turned out, what Bellamy needed wasn’t her help, but the help of a team of professionals willing to spend hours upon hours doing the most detailed work: rigging his house, just out of town, with a decent supply of power, and enough electrical installations to run an entire network of computers from his spare room.
What he had was her, and as she showed him quickly, she was more than enough.
Then, the absolutely worst thing happened, as she toiled away, and he watched on.
They began speaking.
And worse, eventually they somehow became friends.
Raven didn’t think it would happen. He was a city slicker, and she was a country bumpkin, but apparently those things don’t matter when it’s eleven at night and you are trying to wire a son of a bitch motor while debating the merits of the Roman Empire vs the Roman Republic.
(And yeah, she had gone home and researched the shit out of it, because dammit if she didn’t want to prove his stupid face wrong.)
By the time she’d finished his place, there was a grudging respect for the nerd, because that’s what he really was, deep down, and an actual friendship had grown beside a general appreciation of sarcasm and snark.
“You’re really something, you know that Reyes?” He’d said the day she revealed his multimedia room with all the gadgets he could dream, and all she could do was duck her head in response because despite everything it was nice to hear it again.
--
She realises he’s actually serious about going to the reunion a week later when he appears at her door, a bottle of Jack in his hand and his thinking hat on.
(Yes, an actual thinking hat, because Bellamy Blake was that big of a nerd.)
“Shit,” Raven groans as he pushes past her into her small living space. Bellamy falls back against the couch and looks up, a smile on his face.
“If we’re going to do this Reyes, we’re going to do it properly.”
“We’re not applying for the CIA Blake,” She retorts, but relents, reaching for two glasses as she joins him. “It’s one night. One event. How deeply can they poke and prod?”
“If I’ve learned anything in life,” he replies with a smile, reaching for the drink and downing it all at once, “it’s that’s you can never be too prepared.”
She wants to yell LAME and roll her eyes, but the fact that he looks so earnestly engaged in this task just endears himself to her all over again, just like the million other times he’s done something this ridiculous for her in their years of friendship. So instead of bitching him out she slumps down on the couch next to him.
“Fine. What do you need me to do?”
When his face lights up with a grin that could knock the Grinch's out of contender for most devious plan, Raven realises she’s probably more than a little over her head.
As it turns out though, his plan is relatively easy to follow. The use the timeline of their friendship (which she knows like the back of her hand) and slots their relationship into key events. That time he took her three years ago to a conference in Australia? That’s when he realised he first liked her. Like, like-liker her. Six months after that, on their annual snow-scape they take to avoid the ridiculous winter holiday cheer? She realised she like-liked him too.
And the grand gestures happened when he scored them Hamilton tickets, and she took him by the face and kissed him till they were bruised. This, Raven thinks, is the most believable moment of all, given that it’s a toned-down version of the actual event, which had culminated in more physical contact as gratitude than ever.
“You know, there’s a chance you’ll have to kiss me?”
“Hmm?” She sighs, because it's late, and she’s in that place between happy tipsy and happy sleepy, leaning into his shoulder, warm and content, and yeah, she’s woman enough to admit that she has no desire for him to move and leave her to the late night cold.
“At the reunion,” Bellamy pushes on. “You might have to kiss me.”
His voice fades at the end of the sentence, and Raven, through sleepy eyes, recognises the look of concern etched on his features.
Well. That won’t do at all.
“Bell,” She whispers, reaching up and tracing his lips with her fingers. He sighs against the touch as she nudges upward, moving into his arms. “If that’s the worst thing that I need to do, I think we’ll be okay.”
Raven can feel him tense a little, and she hopes that he’ll play it off as a joke just like the always do. Only the air in the room is warm and still, and suddenly so tense that she can hardly breathe. He’s looking at her, like he always does, studying her face that she knows he could recite by word, describing her in ways that would make her flush red and bruised and so very content.
Oh.
But almost as soon as it began, the moment fades into silence, as she feels his arms begin to pull from her like they’ve done again and again.
Only this time she stills him, her small wiry hands pressing down against his shoulders. She relishes in the way he tightens against the touch, the way his muscles tense into her palm, and breathes out before closing the distance and pressing her lips lightly against his.
Raven counts one, two, three in her head as Bellamy stills beneath her. She reaches four and determines to pull back at five and laugh it off but he surges upward, catching her lower lip between his teeth and tugging. She gasps in response, and he uses that opportunity to take command of the moment, pushing his tongue roughly against hers and deepening the kiss. She rises to meet him, hands skimming his shoulders and moving deep into his curls, tugging tightly when he bites down on her lip, causing her to hiss.
Except the sound breaks the moment; a shared sensation that has them coming back to their senses, and both snapback, chests heaving, arms entangled. Raven knows, desperately, that she needs to move, needs to draw back into herself so they can salvage the remnants of friendship. But her lips are bruised, her hair wild and untamed, and Bellamy’s eyes are dancing so brightly that he looks like he might burst. So she leans forward, pressing her forehead to his, relishing in what might be, if she wasn’t harsh and stubborn and broken, and he wasn’t so damn full of hope.
“Hmm. Yep.” Raven eventually breathes out, “If I absolutely have to kiss you, I think we’ll be fine.”
--
It could fade into nothing. It has before. It should fade into nothing, except this time it doesn’t. Instead there’s this unease between them; unspoken, heightened tension resting between their shoulder and lips. Before she could tell you everything you needed to know about the man, down to the reason he smells of old books and mixed spice. Now though, now she could describe in intimate detail the touch of his skin; could give you fifty filthy words to describe the taste of his lips.
It distracts her, and Raven hates distractions, so she bottles it up and hides it in the darkness (along with other moments, like when Finn first told her he loved her, or when Wick laughed that she was too clever for her own good) and she attempts to move on, because out of everything she’s ever lost, her friendship with Bellamy would hurt her most, and it’s not worth losing over some alcohol-laced hazy kiss.
But where it worked before (Finn left, and so did Wick) it fails now: Bellamy’s rooted in her world in all the ways she never imagined him to be. On her shopping list, when she picks up the brand of beer he prefers, on her Netflix queue, when she saved that French documentary for them to watch together, in her damn bathroom, where he has a towel, a toothbrush, even a stupid shaving kit. Without even realising it, Bellamy Blake has entrenched himself deep into her life that she knows, deep down, he will never ever leave.
(And here’s the thing: they could have a hundred tension filled looks, a thousand awkward hugs, and Raven knows she’d still never want him to.)
Which just, distracts her more, until she’s a coil of nerves and stress, wound so tight she might snap at any given moment.
(It doesn’t help her case in the least that Bellamy had been a perfect fucking gentleman through it all, reading her like an open book; stepping back just when she needed space, crowding her when she felt her body about to burst from his absence. She would hate him, if he were anyone else. But he’s not, and that’s the fucking problem too.)
And just when things couldn’t get any fucking worse, the circus rolls in to town for the damn reunion.
--
Raven’s a wreck by the afternoon, second guessing every decision, every choice, every moment that led her here. It certainly doesn’t help that nothing she tries on sits right, at least in her opinion, having spent every damn day for the past ten years dressing for comfort and ease rather than show.
In the end she settles for that same comfort: a nice pair of jeans (they’ve been washed sometime in the last week she’s pretty sure), with a soft shirt and oversized jumper that slips off her shoulders. Natural curls haphazardly frame her face, but she does nothing to attempt to tame them. Besides, it’s not as anyone will be judging her by her clothing choices, not when the clunky metal brace strapped to her leg remains in clear view to be seen by all.
She hears Bellamy pull up outside (the dingy engine on his old truck making more than enough noise to announce his arrival) and takes a moment to compose herself before stepping from her bedroom into her small hallway. Her movement coincides with the opening of her door though, as Bellamy is more than acquainted with her apartment, and they are left standing awkwardly on the edge of both doorways, eyeing each other up.
He’s dressed down, where she assumed her would’ve dressed up, his jeans paired with a casual button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
Her eyes dart away before she becomes too fixated on the way his arms strain against the shirt.
“You look nice.” Bellamy breaths out eventually.
Raven feels herself flush. “You too. New shirt?”
He nods, and gulps, and suddenly there’s not enough space to share, because he’s giving her this look, cataloguing every second, every inch, every immeasurable movement, and she feels almost naked under his gaze.
A cough echoes behind him and shakes them both free.
“Uh, surprise?”
--
Before he’d left for MIT, Monty made Raven promise to keep in touch. She’d agreed emphatically from where she lay in the hospital bed, knowing full well she had no intention of making it true.
Except where she can be stubborn, Monty is worse, and he badgered and harassed and harangued until finally, finally, she called him back.
And ever since Raven had been stuck with him.
His eyes are bright as he looks between Bellamy and Raven, shoving himself into the space and making a beeline for the small living room. He drags a poor unsuspecting boy behind him, six foot everything with brown hair and cheeky eyes.
“Miller, this is everyone. Everyone this is Miller.” A pause, and Monty smirks. “He’s an Air Force man.”
“It’s nice to meet yo--” Raven begins, moving towards them, but Monty surges forward and grabs her by the elbow.
“Excuse us boys, but I just need to speak to Raven for a second. Just remember to play nice.”
As Monty drags her towards the bedroom, Raven hears Bellamy begins to question Miller on his military career (“From the point of view of someone who has read about war after war, with literature essentially coming to the conclusion that it rarely solves anything, I’m interested to hear from someone --”)
It’s clear by now Monty’s noticed something is up, and Raven realises as he relinquishes his grip that she’s not going to escape this interrogation easily.
They come to a standstill next to her bed, a double that’s almost squishes to the edges of her room. Monty raises his eyes expectantly, a pregnant pause resting between them.
Raven sighs. “I kissed Bellamy.”
He winks exaggeratedly in response, in on their little secret because really, of course he was going to be. “I thought you were supposed to kiss Bellamy?”
With a shake of her head, she supplies, “Not like this.”
The memory sends shivers down her spine, she bites her lip in protest, and watches on as Monty’s eyes widen in recognition.
“Oh god. You loved it. You filthy little--”
“Monty!” Raven hisses. “Shh!”
She’s acutely aware that not ten feet from where she stands the object of her ill-timed affection is standing, posing politely framed rapid fire questions to an unsuspecting soul who was probably just out for a good time.
That’s when Monty hits her with the big one. “You want to do it again.”
Raven doesn’t even have the strength to lie. “So bad. SO BAD!” Her hands come up to cover her face as she cringes, shaking her head in shame. “But he’s my world here Monty,” she mumbles through her fingers, “and if I screwed it up, like we both know I will, what happens then? He leaves, and I’m alone in this shitty hellhole, by myself, all over again.”
Her face is still covered, so she doesn’t see him reach for her hand, only reacts when he pulls it down and takes it in his. She’s reminded again, as he looks towards her, that he has a kind soul. And for some reason, he’s always deemed her worthy of his love.
“Except Raven,” He says softly, as her eyes lift to meet his, “What if he stays?”
--
If Monty’s words resonate with her, she’d never let on, because Bellamy comes barging in moments later, claiming dramatically that if they don’t leave right at this moment they are going to be late, and what kind of tone would that set for the rest of the evening?
(Really, she almost can't believe she has a crush on this nerd.)
But then he meets her eyes, and gives her a smile that’s cocky and gentle, with a hint of reassurance thrown in for good measure and oh, yeah, that’s why she has a crush on this nerd.
The evening starts simple enough. Flanked by Monty and Miller, Raven easily slips her hand into Bellamy’s open hand, which seemed to just be there, waiting for her. It’s a simple gesture, one that’s almost comforting, given the amount of times they’ve actually held hands before.
Between her ex-classmates there’s lots of looks, sure, but no out-right comments about the way her weight falls squarely onto one leg, with the other, for the most part, just along for the ride. Instead there’s just people waving cautiously as she walks by, and Bellamy laughing completely when she explains that perhaps, at school, she maybe hadn’t been the friendliest gal around.
“Raven was more likely to threaten your life than ask you how your holidays were.” Monty provides, in lieu of a greeting, as another gaggle of people shove their way to the side as Raven passes. “It’s just how she was.”
Beside her, Bellamy pulls her flush to his side, his hand slipping from her hand to around her waist. “Guess nothing much has changed then?” He teases gently against her ear.
She resists the urge to shiver, choosing to shove him lightly instead. “Shut up Bellamy, and maybe remember that you’re here kind of make the opposite point?”
At her words her grins, almost feral, and as if to prove her right, presses his lips to the pulse point of her neck. It stops her in her tracks, because she can barely focus on anything else, except the scent of his skin, and the tickle of his curl that falls against her neck.
“Make a point like this?” His lips move against her neck, and Raven feels like she might burst from her skin.
“Mmmhmm.” She manages to slip out, shaking her head and all but pushing him off her. It’s cooler, without the heat from his body suffocating her, but cold is probably something she needs. “I’m going to get a drink,” She states eventually, ignoring the way Bellamy’s eyes are locked on hers, passing over the shameless smirk that sits on Monty’s lips. “Can I get anyone anything?”
The bar is in the back of the room, and Raven attempts to busy herself while she waits for the order (two Old Fashioned’s, one Gin & Tonic, and an Appletini for Bellamy who, apparently, was feeling something fresh and fun) to avoid any further confrontation.
Harper’s stopped her on the way over for a brief chat, thrilled that Raven could even find the time to attend, but that was harmless for the most part, just a little too perky for Raven’s tastes (but then again, she always was.) Beyond that though, everyone seems to be taking her presence in their stride, with nary a comment about her challenging past, or chosen career in sight.
It’s only when a shadow looms over her that she realises no such luck has occurred and tries desperately to avoid whoever it is that wishes to speak to her.
“That’s not Raven Reyes I see, Arkadia’s very own star mechanic?”
Kyle Wick, her once rival, turned rebound lover, gives her a once over before his eyes come to meet hers. Vice-Captain of their Advanced Science Club, Wick and Raven were in constant competition, vying for the coveted first place of their graduating class, and all that it entailed.
(Raven had won, and Wick had never forgiven her. It was a messy ending to a messy relationship that probably never should have happened, and one of the few choices in high school that Raven looked back on with more than a hint of regret.)
“Wick,” She sighs, a sharp edge to her politeness. “How lovely to see you.”
He grins, leers, and leans forward into her space. “Is it really?”
She’s weighing up the options to tell him the truth (“No, Wick. It absolutely, positively, truly is not a pleasure to see you.”) when, out of nowhere, Bellamy appears by her side.
He presses a swift but certain kiss to her cheek and wraps his arm greedily around her waist. “You 9alright babe?”
The movement settles her instantly, and she feels herself relax into his arm. “Yeah babe,” she returns with all the saccharine sweetness she can muster. “Just catching up with old friends. Bell, this is Wick. We were in Science club together.”
“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” He motions to his ears, and mouths music in their shared direction. “Dick, was it?” He asks innocently.
Wick flinches.
Raven smirks into Bellamy’s arm.
Bellamy holds his gaze though, and Raven allows herself to nestle further in to his side, hiding her growing grin in the crook of Bellamy’s arm until Wick manages to compose himself.
“It’s Wick, actually. Kyle Wick. Head engineer at Mecha Station.” He puffs up at the statement, oblivious to the fact that approximately two people at this gathering would comprehend just how significant his job title is, and neither of them particularly care. But he’s not done, and with all the pompousness he can muster, he continues. “And what is it that you do, Bellamy? Can’t imagine there’s much more than menial jobs available in this small town. Farmer is it? School custodian? Or simply a mechanic, like our friend Raven Reyes here?”
Raven can tell instantly that Wick’s hit a nerve. She watches as Bellamy’s jaw tenses, his breath hitches, and his hand fists her with a little more grip. She thinks, for a second, she might finally get to see the infamous Blake anger that he’d told her about, on quiet nights when they’d had a little too much to drink, and the past became a little too much to bear, but instead he tugs her close, and she relishes in the realisation that her skin flush against his seems to settle him down.
“Actually, I’m a Professor, with a doctorate in Classics and Literature.” Bellamy replies so smoothly, “Earned it at Cambridge, actually. And,” he continues, his voice becoming deeper, more booming, as he continues on. “Raven isn’t just the best mechanic in town. She’s the best in the fucking county, in 200 miles. And could do just about anything with her life if she wanted to, including being Head Engineer at Mecha Station. Degree or not.”
It’s so matter of fact that Raven almost chokes on the drink she was attempting to sip, and then all at once it hits her, like a lightning bolt in the middle of a wild summer storm. Bellamy Blake could be anywhere in the world, exploring and adventuring through all the history he so dearly loves, off Professoring at Harvard or Yale or even bloody Cambridge, doing anything he wants. He has the passion. He has the brains. And, albeit later in life, he has the means.
But he’s not at Harvard or Yale or Cambridge. No. He’s here, in Arkadia.
He’s here with her.
Defending her bloody honour.
It makes her heart beat like a butterfly deep in her chest. It makes her feel weak at the knees. It damn well makes her swoon.
Wick looks like he’s gearing up for a fight, his hands pulled into fists next to his sides, clearly not interested in being shown up by the girl who never left this world, and the impassioned man who dared to be by her side. But she’s no longer interested in the man who once sought to define her, instead her focus has fallen solely on the man who always let her just be.
“Bell,” She all but whispers, as she places her drink down on the counter. “I think it’s time that we dance.”
Bellamy’s gaze lingers on Wick’s for a moment longer, but Raven pushes her hand into his own, locking their fingers together and pressing against his hand. It breaks his concentration, and he looks down to meet her eyes, all kindness and care, and her heart flips again in her chest.
As she’s dragged away Raven remembers to mumble “Bye Wick,” over her shoulder, and his slack-jawed shock at the abrupt end, at the whole exchange is more than worth the price of admission to this stupid event.
The night however, is still young, and as Bellamy finds them a space towards the edge of the dancefloor, Raven feels herself being drawn into his arms. It’s different, she realises, in the space between where the slow beats of the music pulse between them, then when he would pull her close for a hello hug, or a goodbye hug, or a hug just because. Different, she knows, because now she’s aware of the shift between them. Of the feelings that maybe have always been there, floating just beneath the surface, waiting ever so patiently for their time to fly free.
So, when his hand glides down her back, she doesn’t flinch and pull away. Instead she lets her hands wander from where they are linked, tightly, around his neck, into his hair, fingers running through his dark thick locks as if they were something new to behold. When he draws back, slightly, and his forehead comes to rest against hers, she doesn’t pull away, instead matches his gaze, and counts the freckles that are scattered across the bridge of his nose; a constellation pointing home.
And when he leans in and presses his lips against hers; hesitant and unsure, she smiles soft and low, and then pushes her lips back against his, allowing herself finally to melt into him.
(Yup, just like she predicated. Kissing Bellamy Blake at her high school reunion was not a problem at all.)
--
Later, after they’d stammered a hasty Goodbye to a smug looking Monty and Miller, after they’d stumbled into the darkness all heady hands and wanton kisses, after they’d made their way slowly, achingly back to his place, Raven feels a twinge of uncertainty creep in.
“I should go.” She whispers, because it’s late, (or early, depending on how you look at it), tomorrow is here, and she’s not exactly sure what to do it with herself.
But Bellamy’s knows her far too well, and his only response is to pull her tighter against his chest. She sinks into his skin, bare and warm, and allows herself a moment of comfort before tsking softly. “Bellamy, I really should go.”
“You can try,” comes the muffled reply, deep and sleepy and ridiculous enough to make her grin, “but I was thinking you could probably just stay.”
“I promised Monty I’d meet him for breakfast,” Raven mumbles into the crook of his neck, and she smiles when he laughs at the way her lips vibrate against his skin. “He wants my help on some big NASA project, and the last thing I want to do is turn up at the diner in last night’s outfit. Within minutes all of Arkadia will know about my walk of shame.”
“Hmm. Shame. You ashamed of me, Reyes?” Bellamy says lightly, eyes finally opening to meet hers.
Raven drinks him in for a moment, all sleep tousled hair and soft morning eyes, before biting her lip coyly and shaking her head. “Of you? No. Of how long it took us to get here? Maybe.”
It’s punctuated by a laugh, bright and sharp, and she rolls her eyes before using it as an opportunity to try and pull herself from his grip. But he’s too quick for her, and she’s too entangled in his limbs to put up much of a fight.
“See Monty tomorrow.” Bellamy all but growls, dragging her towards him, lips pressing against the pulse of her neck. “Today, Raven Reyes, you are all mine.”
“Yeah,” Raven manages to breath out quietly before his kisses render her all but speechless. “Yeah I am.”