Prompt: you're my checker at the supermarket and when you were handing me my change you accidently dropped it and we both bent down to pick it up and now we have matching bruises on our foreheads and oh my gosh you have beautiful eyes.
Clarke Griffin was not having the best day.
To start off her horrible morning, she overslept her alarm and had to rush through her morning routine. To make a bad thing worse, her mom was in a bitchy mood. Clarke ran around her room, shoving clothes in a bag, toothbrush in mouth, while blocking out her mother's harsh words.
She hurriedly dressed in her pale blue scrubs and clunky orthopedic shoes. "I cannot lose this internship," she mumbled as she brushed her hair and pulled it back into a tight bun.
She walked out of her room to find her mother and her okay-ish boyfriend, Marcus, engaged in a heated discussion.
"She's 20, Marcus! She needs to be out on her own by now."
"Abby, you know she's trying to get this position at the hospital. You're the one who pulled her out of art school and put her in medical school. She's doing her best."
Clarke pushed past the two of them on her way out the door, tears clouding her vision as she made her way to the parking garage.
She climbed into her dad's old pickup truck and rested her head on the steering wheel for a long moment, watching a single tear drop to the floor.
She sighed and started the car. Luckily, it didn't fail to start, or her day would have been even worse.
By lunchtime, it had gotten much worse. The emergency room was filled to the brim with people from the local fishing competition, some caught by hooks and baits, some sick from drinking lake water, and two men impaled with fishing rods.
The doctor in charge of Clarke's internship was not a particularly nice woman, and today she was no better. She barked orders, told her to go fetch things, and needed two iced caramel lattes with cream but no extra sugar every three hours.
At six in the evening, as the rush of people finally slowed, Clarke clocked off, rubbing her tense shoulders. She collapsed on the bench seat, groaning aloud. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the hospital parking lot.
She drove for several miles, finally pulling over at a small grocery store. She headed inside, walked directly to the frozen aisle, and pulled out a carton of strawberry cheesecake swirl ice cream. She felt several pairs of eyes on her, and she realized she must have looked a mess.
Dirty scrubs, mussed hair, no makeup, holding a half-gallon of ice cream at 6:30 pm on a Tuesday night in their small town of Arkadia.
What a way to finish the night.
She stood in line for a few minutes, trying to keep herself from fidgeting uncomfortably, opting to read the obnoxious tabloids displayed on a rack by the checkout.
'Grounders' actress Lexa Kom Trikru seriously injured in armed robbery! screamed the cover of one magazine. Clarke felt a pang of sympathy for the girl, whom she had never previously heard of.
Local Hero, Jasper Jordan, awarded Certificate of Courage by Arkadia's finest, Fire Station 100. In smaller text, it read, Teen boy saves girl from lethal gas poisoning in apartment. Good for you, she thought, smiling at the picture of a slightly awkward, dorky looking boy.
Her smile grew as she read the headline of another. Award-winning surgeon, Dr. Abby Griffin, and State Senator, Marcus Kane, to give speech on their new charity, Clarke's Promise, to help fund further research for cancer cures and treatment of patients.
Mom may drive me crazy, she mused, setting her ice cream down on the conveyor belt, but at least she's helping others.
"That will be $4.63, ma'am." A soft voice broke into her thoughts.
"Oh, jeez, sorry." She fumbled for her wallet in her scrubs' pocket, still unable to wipe the stupid grin off her face.
"Good news?" The cashier asked, clearly not missing her beaming.
She laughed. "Yeah, you could say that. Here-" She went to hand him the money, but the coins slipped from her fingers and fell to the yellowed linoleum.
He bent down, and she bent down, and their heads knocked into each other.
"Ow," she winced, rubbing her sore temple, glancing up at him as he did the same.
Their gazes locked for a long moment, blue eyes searching obsidian black. He had coffee-colored curls, a smattering of freckles sprinkled across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and a smirk growing on his face. "You all good there, Princess?"
His nickname snapped her out of her reverie. "Princess?" She snorted, gesturing to her outfit as he put the cash in the register. "Where'd you get that from?"
He pointed to her chipped name tag, which clearly labeled her CLARKE GRIFFIN. "You're Clarke. The Clarke. You're practically royalty in the medical world. Daughter of the esteemed Abby Griffin, medical guru. Inspiration for the new cancer research campaign. In fact, I heard the charity was your idea." He raised an eyebrow in question.
She couldn't help but blush. "Uh, yeah. I mean, kind of. Well, I suggested it, once, but my mom was the one who-"
"You're doing great things, Clarke." He assured her.
"Thank you," She smiled, feeling better than she had in weeks as she took her bag. She spied his name tag, pinned to his shirt. "Bellamy."
He winked at her before turning to help the next customer, an old lady who had been waffling between two types of beef jerky throughout the entirety of their conversation.
"See you around, Princess."