AN: Don't even ASK me where this story came from. I read another fanfic (Once Upon a Time, Hook and Emma, The Switch, check it out if you like the couple) and it gave me the idea for this. What was meant to be a short scene became a much longer and developed story.

I am really proud of it. Right now it is a one-shot, but there is definitely an opportunity to develop it a bit more. To be honest it's unlikely that I will continue this because I usually don't have enough time to continue multi-chapter stories but...who knows? Perhaps if you like it you should put it on story alert, just in case. Again I stress that I am REALLY busy and you shouldn't expect an update or even a continuation, but I really enjoyed writing this. I'm not one to say "never".

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The 100 or any of the characters; I also do not own any of the quotes

Unexpected Sparks

"Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks" – Samuel Johnson

Shit. She was so late.

Being a freshman at college is never easy. You go through the emotional stress of being away from home, from your friends and family and all the things that are familiar; and you also go through the stress of dealing with the colossal workload, of finding your way around and dealing with your new flatmates.

Clarke was handling most of it. It was the huge amount of studying that was causing the problem.

Thing is, she had been smug before coming to college. Since she had assisted her mother in her medical practice, she had thought that she would be streets ahead of the other students. And sure, when they would eventually come to start working in the hospitals on actual people, she would be very good. But right now they were still in the classrooms and, despite her best efforts, she found herself struggling. She was sure that if she had more time she would be fine; but already the huge amount of work was getting to her. She already had a case study to turn in and a group presentation as well as an essay on the medical system – and it was only the second week.

This was why she was now running late to her nine o'clock lecture. She cursed herself for staying up so late, but she had wanted to finish another book before she went to bed. Now she had slept through her alarm and woken up ten minutes ago, at the time when the class was meant to start.

Clarke was a perfectionist, and the thought of missing one lecture before the second week ended sent her in a spin. This was why Clarke was dashing across campus, one hand trying to stuff all her books into her bag (which she had belatedly realised was too small for all her things) while trying to finish a piece of toast and balance a steaming cup of coffee in the other hand. Thankfully her dorm wasn't too far from where the class was being held, and she had a few hours break so afterwards she would be able to go back to and catch a couple hours rest before her next class –

BANG. Clarke had been so busy trying to gather herself together that she hadn't been looking where she was going, and had slammed into someone else. It was the catalyst that tipped a flustered girl over the edge: all her books flew out of her bag and on the floor, her last piece of toast was crushed in her hand and her coffee splashed over onto the person that she rammed into. But at least they remained standing. She fell to the floor, landing hard on her bottom.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she quickly blinked them back. "Shit," she swore to cover it. But that was nothing to the person she had walked into.

"Fuck!" He said it loudly, blocking out her words. He backed away from her as if he had been burned. Clarke felt a little insulted until she noticed the dark wet patch in the centre of his shirt and realised that her coffee had gone on him. His books had also fallen on the floor. His head shot up, glowering at her. "Think you could watch where you're going?"

Expecting sympathy, Clarke was taken back. But she forced herself to stand up. "I'm sorry," she said, but her tone didn't make it sound like she was sorry at all.

"Yeah, y'think?" He pulled his top away from his skin, wincing. "Jeez."

Clarke felt her eyes narrow at him. "I said I was sorry. It's just coffee."

"Really hot coffee."

"Aw, poor baby," she mocked. She saw his head jerk up at her when she said it, fully focussing on her. It was then she could see his face. He looked like a grown-up version of Dennis the Menace with dark, messy hair and freckles over his face. Yet unlike Dennis the Menace he was actually attractive. Well he would have been if he hadn't been glowering at her.

They maintained eye-contact for a moment, challenging each other. For a second she could feel the argument between them brewing, the air clicking with electricity. Then Clarke remembered that she was actually late for her lecture and, with a last glare, bent down to pick up her books.

She assumed he would storm off, but out the corner of her eye she saw him bend down and remembered that he too had dropped his books.

"Look, I'm sorry," he apologised, but like herself he didn't sound sorry. "But I didn't sleep well last night and I have a meeting with my supervisor at ten. In case you don't know, I would like not to look like I just rolled out of bed and didn't even check that my shirt was clean."

She snorted.

He seemed to take offence by this because he said, "Well I can see how it looks on you and it's not impressive."

She lifted her head to him. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm a med student. Now I don't know what modelling degree you take, but I have to work hard. Sometimes that means I have to be up all night." She picked up one of his books by mistake – and instead of giving it to him she shoved it into his chest.

He took it and did the same thing with one of her books. "You have no idea about my life, princess."

"And you don't have any idea about mine, your highness," Clarke shot back, shoving another back at him.

This was beginning to get rather painful.

"Forgive me if I don't stick around to find out." By this point it was almost a snarl. He stood up and stormed off without glancing back at her.

Clarke felt her whole body relax the second he had gone. She gathered up the remainder of her books and glanced round, making sure that apart from her cup of coffee and last bit of toast there was nothing left on the ground. Thankfully because it was so early her argument seemed to have gone unnoticed. It was so early that unless you had a class, the majority of the student populace would still be in bed.

That reminded Clarke of where she needed to be and once again she took off to her lecture. By this point she was a good twenty minutes late and her lecturer glowered at her as she entered the room. Determined not to let the morning ruin the rest of the day, Clarke forced herself to pay attention. Surprisingly the argument had left her feeling energised and she made notes quickly and efficiently.

Still she flagged by the time the lecture finished and she returned to her dorm room. Her flatmate was still asleep since she'd had a late night too, evidenced by the empty bottles in the kitchen. Ignoring them Clarke walked through to her bedroom and closed the door. It was still bare and yet to feel like home, but her bed was comfortable and covered with a bedspread that her grandmother had made her back when she was a baby. She gathered the covers over her and reached into her bag, pulling out books. The medical journals came out and she tossed them to the side, looking for something else.

Half a minute later she was on her knees, digging right into her bag. She emptied it completely: old chocolate wrappers, crumpled up receipts and old pens fell out – but not her journal. Clarke threw the empty bag across the room, pushing her hair back with her hand. "Damn it!"

He had taken it. With their shoving books at each other he must have grabbed it by mistake – or maybe he had done it on purpose. She reviewed it in her head and knew that she hadn't left it on the ground. The rectangular brown book with the soft cover would be impossible to miss.

She threw herself on the bed, wrapping the covers round her while she mentally tore apart the boy. She could comfort herself with the fact that at least her journal wouldn't reveal any huge secrets, at least not ones that she expected him to understand. Unlike many people Clarke didn't write her journal; no, she drew all her feelings.

Ever since she was little she had loved to draw. Her father had kept all her pictures she did when she was little, assuring her that when she became famous they would be worth a fortune. By the time she hit her teenage years she moved onto paints, pastels, sculpting and other forms – though her favourite was using ink pens. Clarke rarely made a mistake when she was drawing, because not only was she often alone when she worked, but when she drew she focussed on it completely. Her art teacher had encouraged her to keep it up and go to an art college. "Drawing and painting pictures won't pay the bills," her mother declared, and Clarke agreed. She enjoyed working for her mother so it wasn't a hardship. And if creating greats works of art was a job then she might not love it like she did now.

So she poured all her creativity into her journal. She drew when she was feeling overwhelmed, when she needed to get out her emotions. She thought of all the pictures in the book, one of her father with her sitting on his knee, drawn from an old photograph and fragmented memory. And there was a picture of when she first met Finn, and quite a few after that were all cheesy, sickly pictures of him that absolutely screamed of teenage love. Clarke's stomach twisted, thinking of that dick flicking through the pictures. She threw the covers over her head. Could today get any worse?

Apparently so.

"I look ridiculous."

"You look hot," Octavia corrected. The girl peered into the mirror, adding other layer of lip gloss. "Seriously Clarke, you need to wear dresses more often."

"I don't have any dresses. That's why I'm borrowing yours." She sat down, adjusting one of Octavia's olive green high heels. "And I'm likely to sprain my ankle in these."

"Not before you make out with the hottest guy there." Octavia finally tore herself from the mirror and grabbed her little bag, putting it securely over her shoulder. "Every girl at the bar is going to want to kill you."

Clarke knew what Octavia meant. Her normally curly hair had been tamed by hair straighteners and now hung sleekly down past her shoulders. Her legs have been shaved until there wasn't a hair left. And she was wearing a short green dress that barely went past her ass, curtsey of Octavia. To any guy looking to have a good time, she would be the answer to their prayers. If she was honest though, all Clarke was thinking about was having a few drinks and heading back to bed. She had barely gotten any work done today and, while Octavia was right when she said that the girl needed a break, Clarke already wanted to get back to work.

"If left to yourself, you would spend all your time at college in the library." Octavia tugged Clarke down the stairs and out the door of their block. The cool air nipped at Clarke's bare legs and she was already glad that the bar they were going to was on campus, just across the quad. Octavia was already talking about meeting a few of the girls on her course and going to the clubs later, but Clarke was convinced she wouldn't make it half a mile in these heels. "You need to have some fun Clarke. Remember fun?"

"Vaguely. I think the last time we were together was when I was twelve. I met up with it briefly last year, but we didn't exchange more than a hello."

Octavia let out a laugh as she pushed the door open to the bar. It was cheap so the students flocked to it. The college probably hoped that the students would embarrass themselves on the campus rather than the city. The girls were early so the bar wasn't too crowded, allowing them to speak without having to shout.

Octavia got the drinks and Clarke sipped hers, though the alcohol tasted vile in her mouth. Octavia rolled her eyes. "Please tell me you aren't going to be one of these doctors that never has a drink because they think that it'll kill them?"

"No. I'll be the one that turns up drunk to surgery." Octavia laughed at this but she glanced over her shoulder. "Looking for someone?"

Her flatmate turned to her and smiled, reluctant but gleefully. "His name's Lincoln. We met a few nights ago." She gripped her friend's arm. "I think he's the one I want to lose my virginity to Clarke."

"Haven't you only just met him? Give it a few weeks at least-"

"C'mon," said Octavia, tossing her head back. "I'm probably the only person who hasn't lost her virginity yet."

"Hardly-"

"And I might as well do it with someone I like. Besides, I need to try and do it as soon as I can." She let out a sigh, her shoulders sagging. "If my brother found out that I was planning to have sex he would probably force me into a chastity belt."

"Ah," said Clarke with a smile. "The infamous older brother." Octavia had regaled tales about Bellamy, her protective big brother, to Clarke when they first met.

"I'm telling you, he rigged it so I would go to the same college as him just so he could keep an eye on me." Octavia looked round the room again. "He'll be here y'know. I made the mistake of telling him that I was going out, so he's bound to come check on me. And when he does, you'll need to distract him."

Clarke held up her hands. "I know, I know, I'll talk to him. But if he's as protective as you say then I doubt it'll give you more than five minutes."

"Not protective – obsessive. And I can try. But you've got to promise me that you won't fall for him."

Clarke almost spat out her drink. "Why would I fall for him?"

"Because, for some bizarre reason, girls like him. Don't ask me why. Perhaps it's because they don't know he's still obsessed with comic books or that he's the most stubborn person alive."

"Aside from you, you mean?"

The past hour the two of them had a good time. Octavia flirted with other guys but her eyes strayed over to Lincoln. Clarke had to admit Octavia had good taste: Lincoln was not only cute, with gorgeous tanned skin, but he seemed sweet and soft spoken. Perhaps he would be a decent guy. Clarke herself had guys chatting her up, but it was too soon for her to start thinking about getting together with someone else. Still, it did her ego good.

She was leaning against the bar, watching Octavia talk to another guy ("I can't seem too eager on Lincoln can I? I need to play hard to get") when she saw someone pull Octavia away. She watched her friend yell as a boy pulled her away. Clarke pushed herself off the bar and gave chase. As she got closer, she could hear the two of them arguing.

"You have no right-"

"I have every right – all these guys are only after one thing-"

"I'm not an idiot – but who says I'm not after that one thing too?"

"Hey!" Clarke broke in when she heard the boy's sharp intake of breath. "Are you okay?" The boy's back was to her which enabled her to shoot a look at Octavia. The girl returned exasperated glance back.

"We're fine," the boy said without looking back at Clarke.

Clarke felt a stab of annoyance in her chest. "I'm not likely to take your word for it."

"You should – I'm her brother." The boy turned when he said this and the two of them looked at each other for the first time.

Or rather, the second time.

Clarke reeled her head back. "You," she gasped.

He half-turned his body. "Ah, the princess," he mocked. "Almost didn't recognise you without that rat nest's on your head."

"Well I almost didn't recognise you without a drink on your shirt." Before she could think about it she tossed the remainder of her drink over his blue shirt. "Oh, there you are."

He took a step back. This time the drink had gotten on his face and he blinked, wiping his eyes. "What is your problem?"

"You're my problem," snapped Clarke.

Octavia was looking back and forth between the two of them. "You two know each other?"

"Unfortunately," she said.

"How do you know her?" he asked, addressing Octavia.

"This is my flatmate Clarke. Clarke, this is Bellamy, my brother." Octavia glanced at her brother and then back at Clarke. "You didn't sleep with him did you?"

"No!" Clarke and Bellamy cried in unison.

"I accidently knocked into your brother this morning and he was a complete ass."

"You poured hot coffee over me! Couldn't have watched where you were going?"

"Asshole."

"Bitch."

The two of them glowered at each other.

Octavia beamed at Clarke. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Okay, it was time to leave. Clarke had allowed Octavia convince her to have another drink, but she was in a bad mood after her run-in with Bellamy. Octavia was right, he was a pain in the neck. Usually she could control herself when other people annoyed her, but Bellamy had an incredible ability to get under her skin. He seemed to have a talent for it as Octavia got pissed off with him too. He kept on trying to stop guys from hovering round her, which drove his sister mad. Finally one of the Octavia's friends from home Jasper showed up, and Bellamy seemed content to leave her with him. He took to hanging out with a few friends, shooting glances at his sister.

Now was her chance. Octavia was busy with a few friends and Clarke sent her a quick text, letting her know she was taking off. If she told her in person Octavia would make her stay and Clarke was tired. Her feet were aching, every time the door opened she was cold, and she didn't want to be in the same room as Bellamy Blake for another minute.

She had planned to sneak away without being seen, but as she finished her drink she felt someone come up behind her. She turned round and, once again, came face to face with her least favourite person in the college. She would say the world, but, well, there were some other people who she hated more, though when she looked at Bellamy it was hard to remember.

"I have your book," he said without preamble.

Clarke stared at him before she realised: her journal. "Thank God," she breathed. She forgot herself and Bellamy stared at her. "Thief."

"You were the one who shoved it in my face," he shot back. "Do you want it back or not?"

"Firstly it's not yours. Secondly – give it here."

He looked at her like he was stupid. "I don't have it here. I wasn't to know that I would ever see you again. It's at my flat. You can come and get it."

"I have to go back to yours?" Clarke remembered what she was wearing and remembered that she'd had a few. She wondered if he was after something more.

He rolled his eyes. "Well what do you expect?"

"You couldn't bring it to mine?"

"I could, but I might not bring it back immediately." He shrugged. "It's your call princess."

She glared at him.

He let out a sigh. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" She listened and it sounded like this time he actually meant it. "My supervisor is also the head of the department and she gave us all a lecture about how this is our final year and we need to focus on our studies. I wanted to make a good impression and you spilling coffee on me – well, it didn't give me the start I wanted. I took it out on you and I'm sorry. But your my sister's flatmate and I'm gonna be hanging around, so it's probably best if we can just get on. Okay?"

Clarke studied him. He seemed sincere and, well, his big brown eyes were soft. And he happened to be right. She didn't want to snap at him every time he came to visit Octavia.

"I won't be a spy for you," she said finally.

He let out a chuckle and gave a half-hearted smile. It was the first smile she had seen on his face and it made him look better – more human. "No worries. The cameras in your room work well enough."

"Ha ha," she muttered. "Fine, let's go. My feet are killing me."

It had officially moved from cool to cold and Clarke tried to walk faster to Bellamy's. She almost tripped and he had to grab her and pull her up. She exchanged a look with Bellamy, who seemed just as surprised as her that he had caught her. "Thanks."

"You're pretty clumsy aren't you?"

"Not usually. The first time I was late and now I'm in heels."

"Octavia's," he said, glancing down at her shoes.

Clarke's mouth twisted as she glanced at him. "Why are you so protective of her?"

"She's my little sister," he explained, as if it wasn't obvious.

"And I get that, but she has a life to live. You hold onto her too tight and she's going to push you away."

Bellamy let out a little groan. He ran his hands through his hair and Clarke could see his frustration. "I know," he said finally. "But she's young and impulsive."

"You two have that in common," she said.

He looked at her from under his hair. "Did Octavia tell you about our family?" Clarke paused before she shook her head. "My dad died when I was little. My mom got so depressed and drunk that she slept with some guy at work and got pregnant again. That was how Octavia was born.

"We did alright for ourselves, y'know. My mom ran a cafe and Octavia practically grew up there. I worked there in my spare time. Sometimes it was a pain, but it was home – much more than the apartment we had. I always said to my mom that we should take the room upstairs and live up there. After we closed we would always have dinner there together.

"Sometimes I want to kick myself because I didn't appreciate it. Like half the time I wanted to go out with my friends, and I didn't want to be stuck with my kid sister and my mom. I look back now and I think about how much I used to laugh with them, how easy it was to be around with them."

Clarke didn't speak. She could sense by his tone that his story didn't have a happy ending. She felt her skin prickle with goosebumps, not just from the cold.

"Two years ago we were picking up my uncle from the airport. Octavia and I were fighting. I don't even remember what it was about. My mom turned round to yell at us. She took her eyes off the road and ran a red light. We crashed.

"Octavia wasn't hurt too badly. Some bad cuts and muscle bruising, but she was alright. Mom and I were on the side where the other car hit. I injured my shoulder pretty badly and was unconscious for three days. When I woke up-" His voice broke. Clarke stared straight ahead. She didn't want to see his face. "When I woke up," he repeated, his voice clearer, "my mom was gone."

Clarke closed her eyes.

"Ever since then it's just been me and Octavia. We're not as close as we used to be. My uncle looked after us, but he couldn't stop us from getting depressed. I was...I was a nightmare. I was pretty much the guy that you saw this morning, only worse.

"Octavia and I almost lost each other. We both felt guilty about what happened to our mom, and to make ourselves feel better we blamed each other. We fell apart. But I finally got my act together and started looking after her – and soon she responded. I skipped college a few years to make sure she was okay and save up some money to keep us afloat and so we could go to college. Turns out my mom had saved some money too, a college fund for the both of us. That helped a lot.

"We're still not at our best. Our relationship is pretty unstable. She hates the fact I keep tabs on her all the time and protect her from guys. But I'm terrified of letting her get hurt. She's the only family I have left."

They had reached the flat and Bellamy began fiddling with his keys. "Why did you just tell me that?" she asked. "I know I'm flatmates with your sister, but we barely know each other."

Bellamy lifted his shoulder up and turned his eyes on her. "Maybe that's the point," he said. Unlocking the door he gestured inside. Clarke followed him up the stairs.

His flat didn't look like a student apartment. For one thing it was clean, without the usual telltale signs of pizza boxes and old socks on the floor. The kitchen and living room were tiny, more or less one room. But it was nice. The sofa was in good condition and the kitchen was spotless.

"This place is great," she said, glancing round.

Bellamy allowed himself a smile. "Yeah. You should have seen it before I got it – it was a hole in the wall." He gestured to the living room. "I'll get your book. You can have a seat and rest your feet." He smirked and took off. Clarke sat down on the sofa and took off her shoes. Her ears were ringing a little bit from the music and she was thirsty, but it was the first time all day she felt calm. She knew she should have been racing back to get some sleep so she could have an early start in the morning, but it was hard to think about it now. She was so comfortable now that she had gotten away from the cold that she could fall asleep right on the couch.

She thought of what Bellamy had said. She had a newfound respect for him: he had worked to get where he was and looked after his sister. She would never have believed that of him when she first met him this morning.

She went to slip her shoes back on (she was getting way too comfortable in another person's house) and knocked the coffee table. A few books fell off the table. Hastily she put them back. Underneath the books there was a bit of paper.

As Clarke picked it up she glanced at it. On the other side there was – for want of a better word – a front cover. There was a drawing of a superhero, one that Clarke had never seen. His clothes were normal, jeans and a scruffy jacket, hands in pockets. But on the front of his shirt was a large A. And on the top of the paper it said, Atomic Boy. The artwork was pretty decent. He had to have worked on it for a long time, because it took some skill to get to that level. The boy looked like he was about to jump off the page.

"What you looking at?" said Bellamy.

She almost leapt out of his skin. "Sorry," she said quickly as he sat beside her. "I wasn't snooping or anything, it fell off the table." She was almost tripping over her words and quickly covered her embarrassment by saying, "It's really good. Seriously."

He shrugged but he looked pleased. "Just something I do in my spare time. I loved comic books when I was little. I wanted to be a superhero."

"I wanted to be an artist." As soon as she said the words she felt her face flush. Where the hell had that come from?

"What changed?"

She shrugged. "The same thing that changes for every kid. You realise that there are some things you can't do. Being a doctor makes more sense anyway."

To her surprise he was frowning. "But you can be an artist."

"Only one in a thousand people in the world get further than putting up flyers."

"And you could be one of those people." He gave her a nudge. "Life is too short to do something you don't want to do. Or rather too long."

He was next to her and Clarke was suddenly very aware of how close he was. His sleeves were rolled up and she could almost feel the heat from his skin. She found herself looking at his face, his lips. She realised what she was doing and turned away, her face going red. When she looked back she could see that he was looking at her too. Their eyes met. Clarke could feel herself falling deep into them, sinking away.

They kissed. Clarke wasn't sure whether it was her or him or whether they had both just collided together. It didn't seem to matter. Kissing Bellamy was the first time that she was completely focussed on something else all day – she forgot about her exhaustion and her work and even the stress from home that followed her here. Kissing Bellamy made everything go away. Who could blame her for not pulling back?

Somehow they were on the bed.

Clarke wasn't even sure how that had happened. All she could remember was clinging onto Bellamy's shirt for dear life. She loved the warmth from his body, the way his body felt against hers. There was a poem about that, one by E. , but she couldn't remember how it went.

Why the fuck are you thinking about a poem right now? a voice screamed in her head. You are on a bed kissing the life out of a boy.

It hit her then: she was on his bed. His hands were on the sides of her dress. She was on top of him. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. His lips were soft against hers.

She wasn't ready for this.

She broke away this time. "I can't," she said. She pushed herself off the bed. Bellamy sat up, wiping his mouth at the back of his hand.

"Clarke-"

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he said. "This was kinda fast – even for me. I mean we hated each other two hours ago and now we're making out on my bed."

"It's not that – well it is, but-" Clarke choked out a bitter laugh. She sank back on the bed but kept her distance this. "Okay, I guess if we're sharing stories then it's my turn. About a year ago, I started dating this guy. His name was Finn.

"I was head over heels with him. He had longish hair like a rock star and this whole bad boy image and I totally fell for him. He was nice too. We worked in a group and stuck up for my ideas. We grew close and one night he was having a meltdown about something – I can't even remember what it was about – and we kissed. Before I knew what we were doing we had sex on the floor in his parent's study.

"For a few weeks I was happy. Like really, blissfully happy. I was looking for him the hall at school, laughing at dumb jokes, drawing hearts in my notebook. And Finn was sweet: he left me flowers on my desk, made little paper animals for me, passing me cheesy notes during class. We saw movies and went to dinner and did all kinds of tacky stuff. And we had sex too. I wasn't even subtle about it in school. So you can imagine how stupid I felt when his girlfriend came back."

She could still see it: how she strode up to Finn while they were talking in his front garden, put her arms round him and kissed him. Her name was Raven, and in the first minute of their meeting Clarke found out that Raven had been away for a few weeks because of work and that she had missed her boyfriend so badly, and even though they had web-chatted every night it wasn't the same.

"In that minute I felt that new world crumble round me. Finn tried to talk me round: how he had thought that she was going to stay in New York and that they would break up. Funny, how he never did; or how he never once mentioned her to me. He just kept lying.

"After that I focussed on getting into college, because that was the only way I was going to get away from Finn. He kept bothering me but I made it clear nothing was going to happen.

"I felt so foolish. And the worst thing was I had lost my virginity to a guy who was cheating on his girlfriend. I don't have a romantic story about losing my virginity to my boyfriend, one that I could tell to my future daughter or make all my friends jealous with. I had to keep it a secret. That hurt almost as much."

She gave Bellamy a broken smile. "My first time wasn't a romantic love story. I want to make sure that my second time, with the second guy, is. Sorry but this doesn't feel like it."

Bellamy smiled back and reached out. When he touched her hand she felt a spark, an electric shock. "I get it."

They smiled at each other. "I think I better go," she whispered, almost shyly. She walked to the door, but she turned back to him. "If you want to be part of Octavia's life you should invite her to dinner once a week. That way you'll get to see her. And there's no way she'll refuse – it's a free meal."

"Thanks," he replied. She wondered whether he would say something else, but he just nodded at her. She picked her shoes off the floor and left the flat. She couldn't understand why she felt so bad when she hadn't done anything wrong?

It was a few nights later when Octavia came into her room. "Hey," she said, flopping onto Clarke's bed. "I'm thinking about going to the bar for a few drinks. You in?"

Clarke shook her head, lifting it from the books for the first time in an hour. "I've got to study. Maybe tomorrow."

Octavia nodded and this surprised her, because usually Octavia would pester her about it. "Look," the girl said finally, "I don't get it but Bellamy wanted me to give you this." She pulled out Clarke's journal from her bag.

Clarke must have been stressed, because she had completely forgotten about it when she had been at Bellamy's. "Thanks," she said, taking it. It was probably a good thing Octavia had given it to her. She didn't think that it would be a smart idea to return to Bellamy's flat.

Octavia was staring at her. "Look, it's none of my business, but if you want to date Bellamy it would be cool with me."

Clarke's head flew up. "What? Did he-?"

"Say anything?" Octavia smirked. "Not a word. But I know my brother pretty well. Plus neither of you have explained why he is giving you a book."

"I-" Clarke raised a hand to her face. "It's a long story."

Octavia nodded. "Fair enough. But let me know when you're ready to tell it." She gave Clarke a little smile and wave and walked out the room. She heard the front door bang and she was alone.

Now she felt comfortable enough to open her journal. The pages crackled and she saw the drawing of her father, grinning with little Clarke on his knee. She had done that in light pencil crayons, softening it like she remembered in her head. There was the picture of her first kiss with Finn. That had been done in bright colours, vivid with the passion that had been between them. And there was the moment she realised that Finn had betrayed her. At first her pictures had been strong, bold with the anger that she had felt. The next few after had been drawn with numb fingers, pictures of her loneliness and her pain, shaded in blue.

She flipped through the rest of the pictures until she got to the last page. She had thought that the last drawing was the one she had done in pen, jagged lines from the stress of being at college.

But there was a drawing on the next page.

The style was sharp and edgy in black pen. There were two figures on the page, a girl and the boy. The boy was wearing a shirt with a stain on the front, his hair curly on his head. But instead of looking flustered or angry he was smirking at the girl. The girl, she looked a mess. Her hair was all over the place, books were hanging out of her bag and her shirt was buttoned up wrong. Yet when Clarke peered closer, the girl's face was clear. Her eyes were big and wide like a puppy's. Yet her mouth was open and it was clear she was yelling at the smug boy.

There were words written on the top. Clarke had admired the picture first and now she turned to the words, written in block letters: "Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks" – Samuel Johnson.

She fingered the words for a moment, thinking over what he meant. Then she turned the page again because she could tell there was another drawing on the other side.

This time it was drawn more delicately, and though there were bits of colour it was minimal. This one showed a picture of a girl at her window, seemingly from a tower. In the background of the room where the girl was you could see a ton of books piled on the table. But the girl wasn't looking at them. She was staring out in the distance. In the distance you could see hills and roads, with the sun low on the horizon. There were words written in the sky again, this time softer and in lower case: Tell me princess, when did you last let your heart decide?

Clarke couldn't sleep that night, thinking about the pictures and words Bellamy had sent her. Her mind whirled round, and by the end of the week she had managed to convince herself that those drawings weren't the reason that she switched an art course. She also convinced herself that she would never see Bellamy again apart from a quick hello in the corridor when he came to see Octavia.

She had no idea what her years in college would have in store for her.

AN2: So...did you love it? Hate it? Any bits that you adored? Anything you would have wanted to see? Let me know!

Hours to make. Seconds to comment.

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