Clarke opened the door so hard she almost ripped it off its hinges.
"You're late," she complained loudly.
Bellamy's jaw dropped. "You asked me to be here by four and it's now..."
He glanced at the wristwatch he insisted on wearing even though she'd told him a million times that no one bothered with them anymore.
"...three forty-five. Just." He looked aggrieved.
He also looked hot as fuck in his dark suit and she wondered for the thousandth time why she'd ever let Raven talk her into asking him to escort her to the awards event. Having to look at Bellamy all night when he looked... well, like that... was just going to add to her nerves.
"Is it?" Clarke wasn't sure what the hell time it was. She felt like she'd been dressed for hours, alone with her nerves, waiting for Bellamy to arrive and distract her. But now it seemed like he was going to be a little too distracting and that was going to mess with her head even more.
She wheeled away from the door, thankful she hadn't attempted that maneuver in the four-inch heels that were still waiting neatly by door for her to slip into, then sat heavily on the couch. Bellamy crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him.
"What's wrong, Clarke?" he asked quietly, crouching down beside her. Unbuttoning his jacket and stretching his dress pants across his well-muscled thighs.
Smelling like that stuff from Abercrombie & Fitch that she'd given him last Christmas just because she really, really liked it. She'd rethought that gift decision on so many occasions this past year and she was pretty sure she'd be adding tonight to that list.
Bellamy grasped her hands, running his thumbs cross her palms soothingly.
"I thought you were excited about this. What's got you all wound up?"
Clarke knew he just wanted to help and she tried to pull herself together.
"It's just...Bellamy, I never expected to be nominated for my set designs..."
"Why the hell not?" he interrupted hotly. "They were fantastic!"
That did succeed in making her smile. Bellamy was nothing if not loyal. Still...
"Yeah, I know you think so," she told him fondly. "But it's only my second movie. And the first one was so small it barely had a premiere. So, I've really only had to do this red carpet thing once before, and it was terrifying!"
He frowned. "So...it's the stupid grand entrance thing that's turned you into this bundle of nerves?"
"Mostly, I guess." She tried to shrug it off but he knew her too well.
"Well, don't forget that this time you have me along." He smiled. "And we're going to sail on down that red carpet like it was silk, and then have a great time."
"It probably is silk," she laughed. "And I know you'll have a great time, anyway. Gawking at all those beautiful actresses. But for me, just having to appear on the red carpet with them...well, that's just something else to make me a crazy nervous..."
"Are you fucking kidding me!" He interrupted again, this time rising abruptly and pulling her up with him. "Where are your damn shoes?" he asked, eyeing her bare feet.
Leaning on his arm for balance, she slipped on her shoes, the ones she really couldn't afford and would probably never wear again. Just like the outrageously expensive short black dress she was wearing. But she'd spent the money anyway, because she wanted to feel like she at least looked like she belonged there.
When she finally stood before him, her ensemble complete, Clarke was astonished to see his eyes darken.
Hell, maybe the money she'd spent on the outfit was worth it after all, if only to pry that look out of Bellamy.
"Clarke," he said, his voice quiet. "You look absolutely beautiful. Not that you don't always, of course, but, uh, tonight ..."
He stopped abruptly, sighing, his eyes shifting away from her. She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed heavily.
He shrugged then, smiled that crooked smile that she loved so much, and tried again.
"What I wanted to say is that it would be impossible for anyone on that red carpet to look more beautiful than you do. And you're...just going to have trust me on that."
Clarke felt her breath hitch as she considered how he was looking at her and what he'd just said to her. Her heart began to beat rapidly but this time it was from nerves of another sort entirely. But before she could even think how to respond, Bellamy had picked up the purse she'd left lying on the table.
"I think it's time to go," he said.
XXXXXXXXXX
Clarke couldn't believe the number of cars and people milling about at the door of the auditorium, but hell, she supposed it was the damn Academy Awards. Thank god that one of the perks of being a nominee was free valet parking. All she had to do was pull out her invitation and show it to some guy at the curb, and Bellamy's slightly beat-up SUV was whisked away. She hoped like hell that he'd gotten a ticket from the valet because Clarke herself was far too jittery to pay attention to anything so prosaic.
And she really wouldn't want to owe Bellamy a car at the end of the evening.
She felt his hand at her elbow, and suddenly there they were, the red carpet straight ahead. Lights flashed all over the place from both the video cameras and the still photography, while women in dresses far more expensive-looking than her own shoved microphones into the faces of the celebrities making their way into the building.
Clarke was sure she should be paying more attention to everyone around her. There were bound to be people only a few feet away that she'd probably never again get to see in person. But she was far too uptight for any celebrity-watching. Bellamy kept up a constant stream of chatter in her ear, and while she knew he was doing it to try to keep her calm, he might just as well have saved his breath. She couldn't hear a word he said.
One of those mics was suddenly shoved into her face by a harried-looking woman whose smile was so fake that Clarke wasn't sure she hadn't painted it on. The woman looked at her in confusion, her brow wrinkling, and then began to shift the mic uncertainly in Bellamy's direction.
By which it was clear that the interviewer had no idea who she was. Clarke could hardly blame her for thinking that maybe Bellamy was some hot young actor she just hadn't quite heard about.
At least she hadn't actually said, "Are you anyone?" Which was the scenario that had been the stuff of her nightmares.
Bellamy gently pushed the mic back towards Clarke, and when neither of the women spoke, he began the conversation himself.
"I'm sure you've seen La Belle Dame sans Merci," he said, smiling engagingly. Because hell, the movie had been a blockbuster and there was a 100% chance that this woman had seen it. "Well, this is Clarke Griffin, and she's been nominated for designing all those gorgeous sets."
With that hint, the interviewer's face cleared instantly, but she somehow still managed to fumble the ball.
"Of course!" she said, her voice reaching a 10.0 on the Richter scale of enthusiasm. "Clara Griffin! Such beautiful sets..."
"That's Clarke," Clarke said distinctly, as she bent over the mic to emphasize her name.
The interviewer had unexpectedly hit one of her hot buttons: people getting first name wrong. And her subsequent annoyance was just enough to snap her out of her nerves. She immediately resumed her usual demeanor, smiling pleasantly and flicking the woman's mic as she stepped away and moved on to the next interviewer.
"I'm Clarke Griffin," she said briskly, a confident smile on her face. "I designed the sets for La Belle Dame sans Merci."
"Thanks," the woman said with what Clarke felt was sincere gratitude. "It's hard to keep everyone straight sometimes."
Interviewer number two was much younger and more attractive than her colleague and Clarke wasn't surprised when after a few moments Bellamy caught her eye. She'd hung out with him a million times and when had he ever not caught someone's eye.
"And who's this hot guy?" the woman asked, practically batting her eyes. Clarke just managed to refrain from rolling her own eyes as she prepared to introduce her best friend. The guy who'd had his suit cleaned so he could give up his one evening off to sit in a hot auditorium and watch people he cared nothing about collect prizes for excellence at things he knew nothing about.
Except for her, of course.
He really was the world's greatest best friend and she was about to sing his praises when she felt him slip his arm around her waist and pull her tightly against him.
"Hi," he said pleasantly. "I'm Bellamy. I'm Clarke's hot guy."
Clarke choked, and the interviewer practically simpered. "So are you her inspiration?" she asked inanely.
"I certainly hope so," he said, flashing his never-fail megawatt smile. He turned to Clarke then, and the smile immediately became warmer, more intimate. "Because she's definitely mine."
Before she could respond, their time was up and she was off to see if anyone else was interested in talking to someone who was a mere nominee for set design. Then soon enough the red carpet was behind them, and they were making their way into the auditorium.
Clarke was surprised to find that because she was a nominee, she and Bellamy also had reserved seats. Of course, the seats weren't in the front - but neither were they in the back row. And they were on the aisle. Just in case, she supposed, the small miracle happened and she actually won.
As they settled in, Clarke felt her stomach begin to work overtime tying itself in knots. She'd made it through the gauntlet that was the red carpet, but now there was something else on her mind. Something a lot closer to home. Words had been said, and she needed to find out if they'd meant anything at all, or if it had all been just a kind gesture to calm her nerves.
Her palms began to itch with the need for answers.
She reminded herself that it was the wrong place and the wrong time. Hell, she was sitting in the audience at the fucking Academy Awards, and you didn't have potentially life-changing conversations two minutes before Neil Patrick Harris introduced George Clooney.
But Clarke had never been a patient person, and somehow the unsuitable surroundings didn't make the slightest bit of difference.
She turned her head in Bellamy's direction only to find him watching her closely. He smiled at her and latched onto her hand.
"Try to relax, Clarke," he said quietly. "It'll all be over soon, and even if the voters show their terrible taste by giving the award to someone else..."
"Yeah, that's not what's on my mind."
"No?" He frowned. "Then what is it? I can tell you're as jumpy as a cat."
Clarke took a deep breath, and it all just tumbled out.
"You said some things tonight, Bellamy. Back at my place. And then...to the interviewer. Were you...were you just...trying to make me feel better? Build up my confidence? Something like that?"
Her voice trailed off as her courage began to fail her.
Bellamy ducked his head and his tongue came out to wet his lips. But then he sighed and glanced up to look her straight in the eye.
"I meant everything I said tonight, Clarke." His voice was soft but resolute. "Whether I said it to you or to someone else."
But Clarke needed to hear the words. Unequivocal and unambiguous.
She took a deep breath and tried for a light touch.
"So you're saying that...you want to be my hot guy? As opposed to just a hot guy?"
Bellamy's crooked smile was back and he chuckled softly. "The thing is, Clarke, I'd like to be your whatever it is you want me to be. And I was kind of hoping you might want to be mine." He squeezed the hand he was still holding.
Clarke could feel herself smiling, and really, she wasn't absolutely sure when she was going to be able to stop smiling.
"But why tonight?" she asked wonderingly. "Why have you never said anything to me before now?"
Bellamy shrugged and his lips tugged up in a rueful smile. "Because I looked at you tonight and I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep it in any longer without going totally nuts."
Clarke was prevented from replying because just at that moment the lights began to blink, warning the attendees that the event was about to begin.
"We can talk about this later, if you want," Bellamy said quietly, leveling her with a look so intense that her insides turned to mush. "But right now, I think this thing is starting. Good luck," he added squeezing her hand again. "You deserve to win."
Clarke chuckled softly, moving her head just far enough to plant a soft kiss on Bellamy's lips. It wasn't, under the circumstances, much of a kiss, but she lingered a second or two as she slid their lips apart.
She was sure she heard his breath hitch.
"We'll do more than talk later," she promised softly. "And I want to win the Oscar, Bellamy, I really do. But no matter what happens, I'm already a winner tonight. And so are you."