Author's Note: this is my first ever fanfic and, in fact, my first ever proper piece of creative writing. So I would really, really love and appreciate any and all feedback. Positive or negative: I can take it.

Disclaimer: I do not own The 100 or any of the characters. Shit would have gone down hella differently if I did.

Holding On

Chapter 1

"Clarke Griffin in love."

Hm. Perhaps not.

"Love: The Clarke Griffin Story."

That might be worse… Yep. Definitely worse.

"The story of how Clarke Griffin fell in love with the most amazing, beautiful, maddening, talented, infuriating, funny and surprising woman in the world."

Too much? Yes. Probably.

Ok. How about I just start this, sans lame title? That would save everyone some pain, I think.

So, I'll just start. I'll start by telling you that I'm going to tell you a story. A story about love. A story about two women and love. A story about two women and unrequited love.

Though, I want to make very clear: this story is not being told in an attempt to gain your sympathy. Nor is it an attempt to acquire your reassurances. I am telling this story for the simple reason that I need to. And fine, yes… maybe a little bit for the sympathy. But unrequited love sucks, ok? Just ask Romeo. Before the whole… you know… requited love thing with that chick Juliet. But that wasn't even a major part of the play, so it's totally irrelevant anyway. Just forget about that part. The important part is the unrequited love. Let's focus on that.

And listen, I know there are worse things that could happen. There are people out there who are truly suffering in awful ways. Some who desperately wish that it was simply something as minor as unrequited love that was causing their heart to break. Better to have loved and lost? Perhaps not. So this story will also not be one of self-pity. Nor will it be one of self-deprecation, self-sacrifice or self-righteousness. That is to say, at no point will I feign ignorance at the possibility of returned feelings. At no point will I play the martyr in "a love story greater than my own". And at no point will I attempt to convince you that I am totally exempt of blame. None of these are true. I'm tired of playing the victim, or the martyr, or the naïve. And I refuse to patronise you. So this story – the story of how I, Clarke Griffin, fell agonisingly, beautifully, suddenly, steadily, daringly, cowardly in love with Lexa Woods – will be told with complete disclosure, complete awareness and, for once in my life, complete honesty.

But I've rambled on, and perhaps revealed too much.

Before I begin, and in the spirit of my new commitment to keeping promises, full disclosure must be given in telling you that my memory is unfortunately not impressive enough to remember the exact details of the past seven years. And, even more unfortunately, those seven years were criminally not video-documented, à la The Hills (MTV apparently wasn't interested). Furthermore, I regretfully do not have the patience to relay every single second of the past seven years of my life to you. For those of you bitterly disappointed: rest assured, no amount of wit or use of metaphor could make my relatively unglamorous adolescence – of squeezing spots and crying at The O.C. – any more titillating than it already, assuredly, is not.

Yet, while I cannot promise complete accuracy, or a full and meticulous account of the last seven years of my life, I can promise authenticity. And I can promise that this story will disclose every significant conversation, every pivotal touch, and every crucial glance of the most drastically important seven years of my life.

And so, finally, let's begin.

It all started one cold winter's night…

(No, really. It did…)

"Jesus fucking Christ, my damn nipples are about to fall off they're that fucking cold," Jasper said, exasperated, "do we really have to be watching this ridiculous joke of a sport?"

Rolling her eyes, Octavia darted her fingers towards Jasper's chest, tugging roughly at said body part.

"Ow!" Jasper exclaimed, lurching back and swatting the offending hands away.

"They seem pretty attached to me," Octavia smirked. Scowling, Jasper reluctantly returned his attention to the football game.

"I just don't see why we're here. I mean, as much as I love seeing Bellamy get knocked on his ass every couple of minutes, and the cheerleaders are great; they really are… all that twirling? Are you kidding me?! Groundbreaking stuff. Truly. But the thing is, well… you see… I am freezing; I'm bored out of my mind; and now my nipples really fucking hurt for some reason. So I guess what I'm trying to say is: that I would literally rather be anywhere else in the world right now than at this stupid ass motherfucking football game."

Monty laughed; I smiled; Octavia maintained her bored expression.

"Are you done?" she deadpanned. Jasper huffed in exasperation at her, but seemed pleased with himself as he once again turned his attention to the field.

Meanwhile, I too gave the field my full attention once more. However, mine, like Jasper's and presumably Monty's too, was focused not on the football players prancing about on the field doing god knows what, but on the cheerleaders prancing about on the side of the field doing what I seemed to know too well. For I, too, was lukewarm, at best, about football. But my opinions of the cheerleading squad were certainly heated. The reason why, however, was one I was adamantly in denial about. I brushed my interest off as admiration. As a desire to be one of them; to look like them; to move like them. I now know better.

Yet, for the past couple of weeks, my attentions toward the cheerleading squad had been focused primarily on one cheerleader in particular. This one cheerleader that I simply "admired" above the rest; I just wanted to look and move like her more than I did the others, that was all. Her name was Lexa Woods. She was a sophomore, like myself, and achingly beautiful. She was tall, but not too tall; athletic but not too athletic; confident but not too confident. Her long brown hair was always perfect, and her smile really was beautiful. I know it's cliché, but there's no other way to explain it than to say that when she smiled, her whole face would light up. But it was her eyes, in particular, that I was drawn to when she smiled; her face would soften, while her eyes seemed to shine. The same eyes that were the most beautiful shade of green that I had ever seen… from six metres away.

But never any closer than six metres away.

Because Lexa Woods had absolutely no idea who Clarke Griffin was.

And I, too, had absolutely no idea who Lexa Woods was. Or, at least, not nearly as much as I wanted to.

She had been the object of my lust (though I did not yet know it) for weeks after she first arrived at Arcadia High, and I was without question attracted to her (though I did not know that either). Yet, past her appearance I knew little about her. I knew she had transferred from Grounder High. I knew she was damned good at cheerleading, but I also knew that she hadn't fully integrated into Arcadia. I knew that I wanted to be friends with her, but I knew that the prospect terrified me, for reasons I only now know. From classes that we shared, I knew that I loved hearing her voice. But I also knew that I hated hearing it because it would occasionally send an inexplicable shiver down my spine. I knew that she was confident, and intelligent, and possibly everything that I wanted to be and pretended to be, but wasn't.

I knew that it wasn't enough. I knew that I needed to know more; that I needed to know her.

And on that day, at that football game on that cold winter's night, with Jasper hugging his nipples, and Octavia scowling, and Monty laughing, and me smiling, as the snow started to fall around us while the wind bit at my cheeks and the frost nipped at my nose: I finally knew more.

The same day that I knew that I would never fully know her.

(There'll be more Clexa next time, I promise. This is gonna be a slow-burner… sorry folks.)