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The party was crazy. The music was loud and the liquor was flowing. Clarke was loving it. She had been hesitant to come at first, but her best friend Raven had convinced her. Raven, who was supposed to be there. At first, Clarke had stuck to the outskirts, nervously tugging at her shorts, which were shorter than she was used to. But when a girl who introduced herself as Octavia Blake pushed a cup into her hand, she loosened up. Octavia had gone to dance with her boyfriend, a boy who was in Clarke's sociology class. Lincoln Reeves was cute, but definitely not Clarke's type. She and Octavia had exchanged numbers, though, and had promised to hang out.
Clarke danced in the middle of a swarm of bodies, her face flushed with a mixture of heat and drunkenness. She smiled when she saw Raven's boyfriend, Finn, making his way toward her. The look on his face made her suspect that he was pretty drunk himself. "Where's Raven?" she yelled when he reached her.
"Is she not here?" he called back, bobbing in time to the music. Clarke shook her head, sloshing her drink. The beer just barely missed her tank top, but she still managed to step in it. . With a sigh, she pulled her phone from her pocket, pulling up her messages. Quickly, she sent a text to Raven: wheRe the hekl ar u, reYEs/ She pressed send before she could correct her drunken typos, but she didn't really care. She got a response minutes later. Sorry :/ feeling really sick right now. Another text came seconds later: how drunk are you? She let out giggle as she texted back: i''m skunked :))) One text came through after that, simply reading 'be careful, clarke'. Silently, she promised she would be, sliding her phone back into her pocket.
Suddenly tired of the loud, swirling mass of people around her, she made her way out toward the bar. Finn followed close behind.
"You okay?" he asked, concern showing in his eyes. She nodded. "Come on, let's get a drink." He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the cooler that was considered "the bar" and grabbed two beers. Spying some empty chairs nearby, he lead her over. "How's Raven?"
"She just said she was feeling sick," Clarke slurred. "I'm surprised you're not with her."
"I would be, if I had known she was sick. She didn't tell me..." Clarke swallowed, suddenly feeling awkward. Was she supposed to have said anything to Finn? Her head was spinning with how much liquor she had had tonight. The lights attracted her attention, bright strobe lights, swirling around the room. It's beautiful, she thought. Even drunk, she itched to draw what she was seeing. She laughed. I'm probably seeing this because I'm drunk. Finally, she realized Finn was trying to get her attention. "Hey, I'm gonna head over to Raven's, okay? I want to see how she's feeling."
She nodded, waving her hands at him. "She probably didn't tell you 'cause she didn't want you to worry."
He shrugged. "I need to get going anyways, I've got a psych test tomorrow." He tossed his empty bottle in the nearly overflowing trash can a few feet away, then turned back to her. "Be careful, Clarke. There are a lot of shitheads here, and Raven will kill me if you get hurt."
Clarke smiled. "I'll be okie dokie, Finn. Go, go help the damsel in distress." With a smile and a quick hug, he was gone, disappeared into the crowd. Nursing her beer, she looked around. She couldn't find Octavia, and since Finn had gone and Raven wasn't there, Clarke realized she didn't know anyone there. Sure, she had probably talked to a few of them, since she had classes with them, but none of them were close friends. She sighed, leaving her half-drunk beer sitting on the chair as she stood. Someone would either drink it or toss it.
Walking slowly around the edges of the room, she made her way to the door, finally pushing her way outside. A cool breeze hit her as she stood on the top step. With a smile, she saw that the party had spilled onto the quad outside, with people grinding on each other and making out where they thought no one could see. She got down the steps and was about a hundred feet from the party when she figured out she was too drunk to find her way home. Everything looked the same and she didn't know where to turn.
Standing there, she felt exposed, and finally decided to head over to Raven's. She knew Raven lived close, and she knew that the window leading to the fire escape was easy to jimmy open. She would have gone through the front door, but her key to Raven's place was at home, and Clarke didn't want to disturb Raven if she was sleeping.
When she reached Raven's building, she had to search before she could remember where the fire escape was. Glad she was wearing simple flats, she climbed onto a stack of crates and pulled down the ladder to the fire escape. Raven's apartment was on the fourth floor- no, it was the fifth. Or was it the fourth? She stood on the third level, trying to remember where Raven was. Finally, she decided it was the fifth, and went up.
The window was unlocked, which made it even easier to get in. Silently, Clarke pushed the window up, stepping inside. Everything was dark, and she assumed Raven was already asleep. Making every effort to be quiet, she crept over to the living room, trying to find the couch in the dark. When she was sure she had reached the couch, she reached out a hand to make sure, when her hand hit a table. Something rattled, and she froze. She reached back for her phone, turning the flashlight on a low brightness. The couch was all the way across the room, almost where she had started out by the window.
Did Raven redecorate? she wondered. She shrugged, and went to the couch, sitting slowly. It felt like a giant marshmallow. She laid down, propping her head on her arm, and was asleep in minutes.
Bellamy woke to a phone call from his sister. When he checked the time, only eleven o'clock, he decided not to answer. Octavia knew he didn't talk to people until at least twelve thirty. Since he was already awake, though, he stood, going to the kitchen to make breakfast.
The air in the hallway was chilly, and he shivered. He was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. When he reached the living room, he saw the reason for the cold air. The window to the fire escape was open. Bellamy froze. He couldn't remember if he had opened the window at some point yesterday or not. Just as he was about to grab his phone and call the cops, he noticed movement a few feet away. A girl was curled up on his couch, blonde hair spread everywhere. Her shoes were placed neatly at the end of the couch, and if Bellamy hadn't been so freaked out, he would have laughed. Suddenly, she moved again, sitting up. She looked around, but not far enough over to see him. "Raven," she called out. "Did you redecorate?"
Bellamy snickered. He couldn't help it. This girl had broken into his apartment and didn't even realize that it wasn't what she thought. The girl whirled around, letting out a yelp when she saw him. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, squinting at the light that was coming through the window.
"You broke into my apartment, and you're asking me who the hell I am?" Bellamy laughed. "Mind explaining what the hell you're doing here?"
"Mind explaining why you're so fucking loud?" she muttered, gripping her head in her hands. He laughed again, and walked to the kitchen. He got a glass of cool water and grabbed the aspirin from a drawer. Back in the living room, he handed it to her, then stood waiting for her to down a couple and hand him back the the bottle of aspirin. She tried to hand back the glass, still half full, but he refused. "You need to drink. Something other than alcohol."
A weak "thank you" made it's way out of her mouth. Finally, Bellamy realized he was still half naked. Casting a glance back at the girl, he decided she wasn't a threat, and went back to his room. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants that he had been wearing the day before, forsaking a shirt.
The girl hadn't moved except to lean farther back on the couch, and he was at loathe to disturb her. Even hungover and exhausted, she was beautiful. Her eyes, big and blue, reminded him of ice. The sunlight was catching her hair, turning it golden. Overall, he was stricken by how much he wanted to take her into his arms and protect her from the cruelties of the world. But something told him she didn't need protecting. "You okay?" he asked, walking over and siting on the chair across from her.
"Other than feeling like a possum crawled in my head through my eyes and then died, yeah, I'm just okie dokie." Glancing up, she saw his smile. "What's the joke?" she asked menacingly. He shook his head with a smile.
"You hungry?" Her groan was nearly comical. "Come on, I know a good hangover breakfast." He stood and held out his hand, waiting for her answer. With a sigh, she took his hand and followed him to the kitchen. Seating herself on a stool, she covered her face with her hands.
"Do you mind covering the window?" Without a word, he twitched the curtains shut, eliciting a hum of pleasure from the girl.
"What's your name?" he asked as he started getting breakfast ready. She looked up at him suspiciously. "Oh, don't look at me like that, princess. Like I said, you broke into my house. Not the other way around."
"I'm Clarke. Clarke Griffin."
"Bellamy Blake. Nice to meet you."
"Blake? Do you have a sister? Octavia?"
He nodded. "She's my baby sister. How do you know her?"
"She was at the party last night."
Clarke winced at the sound of a bowl shattering against the floor. "Shit."
"Do you need help?" she asked, standing up to assess the damage. Glass was everywhere.. "Don't move. Where's your broom?" He motioned toward the corner. She came back a moment later and knelt, starting to sweep.
"You don't need to do this, I can get it," he muttered, trying to stay still. His hands were clenched in fists at his side.
"Well, I'm already done. So stop complaining."
"Who was she with? Octavia, that is." Bellamy was trying his hardest to be nonchalant.
Clarke narrowed her eyes. "Oh, she wasn't really at the party last night. I was getting there and she was looking for directions to that twenty-four hour library on campus."
"And she just happened to stop you?" he asked suspiciously, grabbing a new bowl from the cabinet. Clarke nodded as she sat back down.
"I was standing out front. I was waiting for a friend, and she looked lost."
"Was she with anyone? Big guy, tattoos?" He saw Clarke smirk.
"No, she was alone. She was sure to inform me about her pocket knife when I warned her to be careful, though."
Bellamy cracked a smile at that. Clarke was obviously lying. She was a good liar, yes, but Bellamy knew his sister. Octavia didn't go to 'twenty-four hour libraries' unless there was a party, and since there weren't many parties thrown at libraries... Bellamy could connect the dots. "Well, thank you for helping a poor young girl just trying to get her fill of knowledge."
Clarke laughed. Bellamy was a funny guy. She knew he had figured out that she was lying, but at least she hadn't sold Octavia out. It was funny, though, how he apparently disapproved of Octavia and Lincoln being an item. When she asked as much, he shrugged.
"It's not that I really disapprove, I just... I don't trust that he won't hurt her." His face was guarded, and Clarke wanted to get rid of it.
Carefully, she grabbed his wrist, stopping the stirring of whatever was in the pot on the stove (he still hadn't told her what exactly he was making). He looked at her with surprise. "Lincoln Reeves is a good guy. I- I've seen him with her. The way he looks at her... It's like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time."
They stayed frozen for a moment, when Clarke suddenly remembered she was holding onto a guy she had just met. Hastily, she pulled back her hand, clearing her throat. Bellamy was still stuck, staring at her with shock in his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to overstep, I just- I didn't- That is, I-"
"Don't worry about it," he murmured. The look of shock was slowly fading, and Clarke could feel her face burning. A blaring noise took them both by surprise, and Bellamy dropped the spoon. "I'll be right back, stay there." A moment later he returned, phone in hand. "Speak of the devil."
With a smirk, he answered. "Hey, O. What's up?" Clarke perked up. "I'm Just making breakfast... No, you can't come over right now... It's a very important breakfast... No, I'm not with anyone... i just want to eat breakfast alone, Octavia!... Yes, I'll have lunch with you... Okay... Okay... Bye... Yea, I love you, too... Bye..." He hung up and placed his phone on the counter, shrugging. "Well, it appears I'm having lunch with my sister."
"Why did you say you were alone?" Clarke wondered, taking another sip of water. She watched for a negative reaction, but he just smiled.
"She wasn't really asking if someone was here, she was asking if I had someone over," he laughed, going back to the stove. Clarke blushed again. This hangover was apparently making her the shy little schoolgirl that she had hoped never to be. Trying to hide, she put her face down on the counter, relishing the feel of the cool granite on her face. He laughed again, and Clarke wished for him to continue. His laugh was musical.
"Here, have this." Clarke waited a moment, hoping for the blush to subside. When she peeked up, he was filling a glass of apple juice. He placed it next to the bowl, which Clarke could see was oatmeal.
"What-" With a final flourish, he sprinkled some cinnamon over the oatmeal. "Oatmeal and apple juice?"
"It's the hangover cure that got me through college, so don't knock it 'til you try it."
Tentatively, she took a spoonful. When it touched her tongue, she had to hold back a moan. It was delicious. "What is in this?"
"Oats. Meal. Water. You know, the usual ingredients for oatmeal." His sardonic smirk made Clarke want to kiss it off his face. That thought flashed through her head faster than she could have stopped it. In response to Bellamy, however, she took her spoon and flung some oatmeal at him. Before he could move, it hit him square in the chest. The gasp-laugh that escaped him was adorable.
"I'm betting there's some sticky syrup in there that's helping it cling on," she said, getting another spoonful. He flinched, and she laughed as she slid it into her mouth. "Calm down, Mr. Oatmeal."
"If you were not a guest in my broken-into house, I would be forced to take that bowl of oats and meal and water and, yes, syrup, and dump it on your head. But, since I accepted you as a guest, I can't do that." He grabbed a paper towel and wiped off his chest, leaving a smear of syrup behind. Before she could help it, she was imagining herself licking it off his perfectly chiseled abs. Instead of acting on it, she shoved another spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up."
As he walked back to his room, Clarke saw his phone perched on the counter, and before she convince herself otherwise, she grabbed it. Thankfully, it didn't have a password. Quickly, she entered her number into his phone, making her contact name 'clarke the felon'. After a few more moments, she replaced it on the counter, going back to her oatmeal. Waiting for him to come back and hoping she wasn't reading into things too much, she sipped her apple juice in awkward silence.
Bellamy tried to hurry, but he couldn't find a clean pair of jeans. They were all crumpled in the bottom of his hamper. Groaning, he grabbed what seemed like the cleanest pair, pulling them on and grabbing a t-shirt from his closet, drawing it over his head quickly. Running from his room, he stumbled as he reached the kitchen, careening into the refrigerator. Clarke looked up, eyes wide. Taking in the sight, she broke down, laughing hysterically.
"No, stop, my head hurts! Ugh!" she giggled. Bellamy rubbed his now throbbing shoulder, trying to hide a smile. Clarke's laugh was beautiful. When she got herself under control, Bellamy stepped back into the kitchen, trying to keep his blush hidden.
"Did you know that when you blush it brings out your freckles?" she asked him, idly pushing oatmeal around her bowl.
He looked at his hands and suppressed a smile. "I did not know that. Thank you for sharing."
"Anytime," she replied, spooning up some more oatmeal. "Tell me, please, what do you put in this? Honestly?"
He laughed. "I worked out a ratio of sugar and cinnamon a few years ago after one particularly bad hangover. That, mixed with a tiny bit of salt and some syrup, makes what you're eating now." Scraping the last bit out of the bowl, she stood.
"Where do I put this?" she asked, looking at him with those gorgeous eyes.
"Don't worry, I'll take it." As he grabbed the bowl, their fingers brushed and Bellamy tried to stop himself from reaching across the counter and kissing her until he couldn't breathe. He barely managed to control himself. Clarke looked at him for a moment, then smiled.
"Um, I think I should probably get going? I think I've already missed a class..."
Bellamy successfully stopped a frown, instead placing the bowl in the sink and giving her a smile. "Well, it was great to meet you, Clarke. Given the circumstances and all."
She dipped her head abashedly. "Sorry about the whole breaking and entering thing... I'll get the right apartment next time."
"We can only hope," he murmured. She went to grab her shoes, then stood awkwardly by the couch, glancing at the window. Before she could say anything, Bellamy asked, "Would you like to use the front door this time?"
It was her turn to blush. "That would be easier, yes." He lead the way, opening it and waiting for her to step out. As she stood in the hall, he tried to figure out what to say.
"Be caref-"
"Thanks for-"
They both laughed nervously. He gestured for Clarke to speak first. "Thanks for everything. Breakfast, not calling the cops, not shooting me on sight."
"Well, be careful out there, Clarke. You might not always break into the apartments of people who are as nice as me."
She gave him one last smile and a small wave as she turned and walked down the hall toward the stairs. This building was too old to have an elevator. With only seven stories, what was the point?
With a regretful sigh, he closed the door, going into the living room to flop down on the couch. In the place where Clarke's hair had been spread along the only pillow on the couch, Bellamy noticed that it had a sweet smell. In the back of his mind, he realized it was lavender. The smell was a prominent one from his childhood, when his mother had kept a small lavender garden behind their house. She would often recruit Bellamy to help her take care of it, and he loved it. He would tell Octavia it was because he liked to play in the dirt, but in reality, he loved the soothing scent of lavender.
When his mother had died, he would buy two small sprigs of lavender every month; he laid one on his mother's grave, and placed the other in his pillow case, so when he laid down to sleep at night, he would be comforted by the scent. Groaning as he sat up, he looked around for his phone. I should have gotten her phone number, he chided himself. Seeing it on the counter, he stepped over the coffee table and lifted it up. As he unlocked it, he smiled wide, a smile of pure happiness and a little bit of incredulity.
hey, bellamy.
meeting you was unexpected, but totally worth breaking into your apartment.
i'd like to talk to you again. if you wanted.
call me - 685.9155
-clarke