This was written for Chopped: The 100 Fanfic Challenge hosted on Tumblr. The theme of this round is fluff, and the following four tropes had to be included:
-One character must be a mythical creature
-Coffee Shop AU
-One member of the main ship teaches the other how to do something, physical contact required
-Kiss in the rain
I ended placing:
-2nd for the best use of the teaching moment trope
-2nd for the best use of the kiss in the rain trope
-2nd for most creative
-3rd for the best use of the mythical creature trope
-3rd for the best use of the coffee shop AU
I hope you enjoy the fic!
Heart and Soul
At first, Clarke didn't notice anything wrong with her shop. When it opened in early March, the snow was melting, the birds were singing, and people were excited for a locally owned coffee shop.
She wasn't too sure how she ended up in this exact position. Currently, she was hiding in the closet with her iPad clutched in her hands, her eyes burning from refusing to blink at the security camera footage. All she knew was that something was wrong.
Somehow, between opening her first business and running it without accidentally lighting it on fire, she discovered that things weren't as they should be. When Clarke couldn't find her favourite coffee cup one day, she didn't think much of it. When she found the coffee cup floating in the sink – a sink that she most definitely did not fill with water – she started to get suspicious.
Fine, she thought, I must've started washing dishes and forgot. She tried not to think about how warm the water was or how soapy the sink was.
Another time, while sleeping in the room above her shop, she could've sworn she heard the coffee pot brewing. Sure enough, when she got downstairs, it was. The red button was flashing and a fresh pot of coffee was sitting. Without a question, she didn't set that to brew.
She tried to convince herself that she accidentally set a timer before she went to bed. How else would a pot of coffee brew in the middle of the night?
When she lost her keys and was running late to her appointment, they magically reappeared on the top of the counter. She said magically because she checked there before, and they weren't there.
Over the course of the last two weeks, things like that happened over and over. A missing coffee cup here and a spilled package of sugar there, along with a few mysteriously brewed pots of coffee. She tried her best to explain it. After all, she was exhausted. Maybe she was just forgetting things.
But, things got weirder. She couldn't explain it anymore. Most recently, she found a steaming cup of coffee beside the sink when she went down to the kitchens at two in the morning. The last time she was in the kitchen was at nine the previous night; there wasn't a single coffee cup in the world that could keep something hot for that long. Something – or someone – had been in her kitchens.
Which lead to her current situation. She was camped out in her closet, scared out of her mind, her eyes glued to the security camera footage.
Please be some very talented cats. Please be cats that know how to make coffee and wash dishes. Please don't be someone trying to kill me.
She didn't think it was someone trying to kill her. After all, if it was, that meant they kept breaking in and making coffee. Wouldn't they at least try to murder her? Or… steal something?
Still, she clutched a baseball bat just in case.
Apparently, her fear wasn't enough to keep her up. She'd been exhausted for weeks and being trapped in a dark space in the middle of the night was the final straw.
When she woke up, she was pleased to note that she was not murdered and hadn't needed the baseball bat after all.
The crack under the closet door brought in soft orange light, making her feel warm and light. She knew the sun was barely poking past the horizon. For a moment, she forgot all of her troubles. She didn't think about magical cats or murderers– she thought about spring and getting her shop ready to open for the day.
She didn't think about why her alarm clock was set, even though she fell asleep by accident and hadn't set it the night before. She didn't think about why she could smell the coffee already brewing from the shop below. She was so preoccupied that she didn't question it.
Clarke pulled on a fresh shirt and made her way down from her room, her eyes still blurry from sleep. She was in the process of yawning when she first heard him.
"Shit."
With one simple word, terror flooded her. Her eyes flew open and she screamed. She stumbled backwards a few steps, falling backwards on the stairs. She caught herself on the hand railing before she could hit the ground.
Not only was nobody supposed to be in her shop, it also wasn't a voice she recognized.
She noticed that the man behind the counter was screaming too. He had a mug of steaming coffee in his hands, but she doubted he was yelling from being burned. His eyes were locked on hers, a look of horror crossing his features.
She clamped her mouth shut as soon as the initial shock wore off. Instantly, her mind flew into action, trying to process things. What was he doing in her shop? How did he get in here? Who was he?
Clarke didn't even know where to start. She stared at him, her mouth refusing to form words and her mind refusing to comprehend what was going on.
He seemed to be frozen in shock too. His eyes were wide and his one hand was outstretched towards her, like he was trying to keep her calm, or like he was herding an angry cat.
"Who are you?" Clarke managed to speak a few words, even though her throat felt tight.
The man dropped the coffee cup at that and his expression grew slack. Shards of ceramic flew everywhere. The dark brown coffee splattered up the side of the counter. She knew the scalding liquid would've hit his shoes too, but he didn't show any sign of it.
His expression was unreadable. It looked like he'd seen a ghost. "You can see me?" His voice was strained.
Her fist tightened at her side. "Of course I can see you!" she snapped. She hauled herself back onto her feet and tried to hide the shake of her hand. "I asked who you are. What are you doing here?!" Her voice was growing tighter and her words shorter.
She wasn't sure how to feel past surprised. Angry? Yes. Terrified? Without question.
"You… You can see me?" The man stepped out from behind the counter, his hands held out in front of him still.
Clarke glared and pointed at him. "Stay there." Her eyes darted to where the nearest napkin dispenser sat on a table. If she needed to, she could probably run there and throw it at his head before he killed her.
Probably.
"You can see me?" he asked again, his voice distant. It looked like he was in a different world altogether.
Clarke's strength faltered. She blinked slowly at him, trying to put the pieces together. Why was he asking these questions? Of course she seen him. He was standing in plain sight!
"Yes?"
He nodded slowly, but she could see it in his eyes; he was struggling to comprehend what was going on too. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "And you can hear me?"
The anger was draining out of her quickly. "Yes?" She tried to muster the anger she had only moments before, but it seemed impossible. Her voice was softer than it was before. "What's your name?"
"My name?" He repeated her question and laughed like it was a joke. She glared at him, anger filling her again. What was so funny? "I'm Bellamy."
"Bellamy," she said, almost like she was testing his name out. She'd never met someone with that name before. "Great. Now get out."
His smile fell. "Get out?"
"Hey," she snapped, "you broke in here. Now, get out."
"Listen here, princess," he said, his voice rougher than before, "I live here."
Clarke scoffed. "I own this building." She tried to keep up a rough façade, but things were starting to put themselves together. If he claimed to live here, he must've been a previous tenant. Maybe he had a key? Was that who was always in her shop and her home? "How'd you get in?"
"Not important." Before she could cut him off to argue that it was definitely important, he continued speaking. "What is important is that it's almost six."
The words died in her throat at that. Her eyes flicked to the clock above the counter. Bellamy was right. It was almost six in the morning.
Opening time.
Clarke glanced at the front door, made completely of glass. Sure enough, there were already a few of her regulars waiting around. She swore under her breath.
"You need to open," he reminded her. Clarke's anger came back full force.
"Yes, thank you very much. I really needed to be reminded of when my shop opens." She glared harshly at him. She hoped that he got the message. She was beyond pissed off. And disturbed. Why wasn't she calling the police again? And another thing; how did he know when her shop opened? "You really need to leave."
"I can't." He spoke slowly, like he was weighing each of his words carefully. "I live here."
Clarke almost had enough of him and his games. "Bellamy, I have you on my security tapes. I know your face and your name." She hoped he understood the silent threat. Get out and don't break in here again – or else. "I'm giving you one more chance to leave."
"Oh, trust me, princess, I would if I could. I, literally, can't leave. I'm stuck here." He shrugged, as if what he was saying was a simple fact of life, and not completely bizarre. Clarke was at a loss for words. Her anger was slowly melting away to curiosity. "And are you sure you have security camera footage of me?"
Her head whipped around to the camera positioned behind her, expecting it to be turned off. Surprisingly, the red dot was still blinking underneath the lens, letting her know it was still on.
"The camera-"
"Can't see me," he finished. Clarke felt like she was missing something big here. Bellamy strode around the counter and leaned against it, his arms crossed. Clearly, he was unphased by the whole situation.
Her blood ran cold as a terrible thought occurred to her. It didn't make sense, and she wasn't even sure why her thoughts led her there. The words felt daunting in her mind and heavy in her mouth.
"What are you?"
He grinned. "There we are. You put that together faster than I expected."
Clarke's mind was spinning as she tried to put the pieces together. He claimed to live here, in her coffee shop. He wouldn't appear on film. He was surprised that Clarke could both hear and see him.
This felt entirely too much like Twilight for Clarke's liking.
Please don't be a vampire. Please don't sparkle in the sun. Please don't tell me Edward Cullen is real.
(Part of her was relieved to note his eyes were brown, not gold. At least he wasn't straight out of Twilight.)
"You're not human?" she pressed further.
He looked human. If she was being honest, he looked good. His eyes were a dark brown that contained flecks honey and rust. His curly brown hair stood up in every direction. The freckles on his skin reminded her of the stars in the sky.
"I'm not." His grin had faded at this point; his joy was replaced with a form of distress. His lips pressed together. "I'm not really supposed to be telling you this. Y'know. Ghost code number one; don't let the humans know."
Clarke felt all the blood drain from her face. It felt like she was going to pass out. She wasn't sure how she managed to speak, but the words fell from her mouth before she could think about it. "Ghost?"
Bellamy's expression was emotionless. His head tilted backwards and he stared at the ceiling. "Shit."
Clarke was already shaking her head. "No. Not possible."
"Afraid it is, princess." Bellamy pushed off the counter and held his hands out towards her again, showing her he meant no harm. It was hard for Clarke to believe. If he really was a ghost, wouldn't he be doing exactly that – causing harm?
"You're lying," she accused. She hoped her voice sounded stronger to him than it did to her. "You look human. You're not transparent. You… You don't fly." Her mind was reeling. "You haven't hurt me."
"Haven't you heard of Casper the Friendly Ghost?" he questioned, his face splitting into a cheesy grin. When Clarke didn't reciprocate, he turned somber again. "In all seriousness, I'm not going to hurt you. The things you think you know about ghosts are wrong. We don't fly or look transparent; we look human."
She scanned his body. She didn't have a hard time believing that he wasn't human. He sure as hell looked good enough to be supernatural.
He tilted his head to the side as he reconsidered his words. "Well, we look human to each other. Living humans aren't supposed to be able to see us." His grin was forced. "But here we are."
"I'm confused," she muttered. She glanced towards the shop door, where she could see customers standing. She wondered what they thought was going on in the shop, especially if they couldn't see him. "Can humans see you or not?"
"Apparently yes," he said. He didn't sound too impressed by this fact. "You can see me." He said it almost like he was accusing her of something.
She puffed out her cheeks. "Well, I'm not going to apologize for breaking your ghost magic or whatever."
He cracked a smile at that. "Ghosts don't use magic."
Clarke dug her fingers into her scalp and she squeezed her eyes so tight that she saw stars. "I'm having a conversation. In a coffee shop. With a supposed ghost." She glanced at him from between her fingers. "You better not be messing with me. I swear, if you're actually a human…"
"I'm not."
"Prove it to me." Bellamy looked stunned by her request. She huffed in frustration. "Oh, come on. You should have a ghost trick, right?"
"Well, usually I don't have to prove anything to humans," he pointed out. "This is sort of a rare occurrence. Sorry." He didn't sound sorry at all.
Clarke huffed and glanced at the clock. It was five minutes past six already. Opening her business late wasn't a good look, especially considering she was new and relying on word of mouth to gather business.
"Listen, I need to open the shop. I'll pretend like this hasn't happened, don't worry. You can make like a ghost and vanish."
Before he could respond, Clarke made her way to the front doors to unlock them. She was expecting Bellamy to have disappeared like she wanted, but when she turned back around, he was leaning on the counter behind the cash again. He looked entirely too at home.
She scowled. "My customers know me. They know you don't work here."
"I'm helping," he insisted. "I mean, I have been helping for the last two weeks, thank you very much."
There was so much to unpack with him, she didn't know where to start.
So, she didn't. It was easier to pretend this wasn't happening.
Clarke clicked the lock and pulled the doors open. A handful of customers poured in. Strangely enough, it was easy to smile at them, like nothing was wrong. Clarke clung to the hope that Bellamy was just a guy who broke into her shop and made up the story of being a ghost to get a home free card.
Ghosts weren't real.
Plus, how convenient was it that he looked human, she could see him, and he didn't have a trick to prove his ghost state to her? Something was different about Bellamy, but she didn't believe that he was a ghost.
She caught sight of Roma, a university student that spent more than normal amounts of time at Clarke's café. The brunette made a beeline for her.
"Please tell me you have more almond milk today," she pleaded. "I'm dying for it."
"I do." She glanced at Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. He was examining the buttons on the coffee machine with rapt attention. "We have a new guy working here. Maybe I'll stick him on your order."
That made her smile. Roma was infamous for having very specific requirements for her latte, and she wasn't afraid to tell her when she messed it up. It would be a perfect way to send Bellamy running – ghost or not.
Roma's head swivelled around. Her neck craned to look at the front counter, her eyes sweeping that side of the shop. "Is he cute?"
"Uh. I guess?" Clarke was distracted by the way Roma's eyes swept over the spot where Bellamy stood, not stopping to examine him herself. Her stomach felt like lead. "I guess you'll be able to see for yourself."
She glanced towards Clarke, oblivious to the panic slowly descending on the blonde. "When does he start?"
Could Roma not see him? Her eyes skipping over the spot where he stood, almost like he was invisible.
Almost like he was a ghost.
Her heart stopped.
Oh. Shit.
"Today," she answered numbly. "Excuse me."
Clarke made her way over to the counter, her head feeling like it wasn't attached to her body anymore. This wasn't real. It couldn't have been.
As she walked past the line of customers, she realized that none of them were staring at Bellamy behind the counter. They were all glancing through him, at the board hanging along the back wall.
She glanced at him. He was wearing a cocky smirk. "Is this enough proof for you?"
.
She wasn't sure how she made it through the day without combusting, but there she was. The door to the shop was locked, the curtains around the room were drawn, and a fresh pot of coffee was brewing.
Bellamy was already sitting at a table, a book in his hands. Clarke didn't know what other humans seen when they looked at him. Did they only see a book floating? Was the book invisible, just like him?
Her mind hurt from trying to understand everything.
So far, all she knew was Bellamy was a ghost. Not a single person that came to her café that day could see him, even though he sat at the table reading a book for most of the day. One time, someone tried to sit on him, which resulted in him jumping out of the way and sulking by the fireplace for a while.
She also remembered what he said earlier that morning; everything she knew about ghosts was wrong. She had the day to herself to think of a list of questions to ask him.
She slid into the chair opposite to him, two cups of coffee in her hands. He glanced up from the book he was reading, locking eyes with her.
They were striking, but not for the reasons that should have been. If she had to take a guess, she would've thought the eyes of a ghost would be milky or emotionless. Not Bellamy. They were so warm that it reminded her of the sun, and they were so vibrant.
She never really understood the meaning behind the phrase of eyes being windows to the soul; not before him, at least. With Bellamy, she could almost see every one of his emotions through his eyes. She wondered if it was a ghost thing, or if he was just an open book.
"I don't know what you take in it," Clarke said, awkwardly moving one of the cups towards him. She tried not to think about how she was giving coffee to a ghost – a ghost only she could see. If she thought too much about it, she doubted she would ever escape that rabbit hole.
"Thanks," he said. He set down his book and pulled the cup towards him. As he reached for the packages of sugars and cream she brought with her, her eyes drifted to the cover of his book.
"I didn't know ghosts read Homer," she said. She took a long sip from her mug and glanced at him.
Between the chaos of the day, she got over her fear and her surprise. Somehow, her denial shifted towards a reluctant acceptance. She wasn't denying his ghost status anymore; all she wanted was answers now.
"Oh, I knew him." Coffee went flying up Clarke's nose from surprise and she sputtered.
"You what!?" He said it so nonchalantly, but holy shit Homer was one of the most famous poets ever. Without his epics, modern literature wouldn't have been the same.
He grinned and took a sip of his coffee. "Kidding." His eyes sparkled with mirth.
"Ha ha," she said mockingly, "very funny."
He was amused by her reaction, but tried to hide his grin behind his mug. "I mean, how old do you think I am?"
She glanced at him. "I don't know. 25?"
He snorted. "I meant how long I've been around for. Not my actual age."
This brought Clarke to her list of questions. It was growing by the second.
"Tell me about it," she prompted. "What's it like being a ghost? What does that even mean?" She glanced at him nervously. "Does it mean you're… uh…" She tried searching for a word more eloquent than dead, in case it offended him. "Not… currently… alive?"
Bellamy set down his cup. His smirk was crooked. "You're asking if I'm dead?" She shrugged. "You can say it, you know. I'm not going to, I don't know, go up in flames or something."
"It seemed rude. I don't know the rules of etiquette." She leaned forward, her coffee suddenly the last thing on her mind. "Are you dead?"
"As dead as can be," he confirmed. Clarke wasn't too sure of how to react to this, so she stayed silent. "That is the only thing Hollywood has correct. To be a ghost, you have to also be dead."
"And that means you were a human once," she pointed out. "You… You were alive? You had a life?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. These felt like too personal questions to be asking someone she just met. "Sorry. I'm just-"
"Curious?" he teased. "I don't mind. This is a new experience for both of us." While he took a sip of coffee, Clarke wondered how he was drinking it. If he was dead and he was a ghost, wouldn't it go right through him? Did he have a stomach? Where did anything he ate or drank go? This time, she held back her questions. "I had a life. I died. I became a ghost."
She thought it would be best to switch subjects. "Does everyone who die become ghosts?" she wondered.
"Not everyone. Just a few." Before she could even ask how those few were chosen, he was answering her question. "If someone was taken away with unfinished business, or if their death happened at the wrong time, they become a ghost."
She wanted to ask him how he died, but she knew this would be pushing him. If what he said was true – if someone became a ghost when they died with unfinished business – then his past must've been left incomplete when he died. She knew it must've been a soft spot.
She didn't have a lack of other questions. "You said something about how long you've been a ghost for?"
"I've only been a ghost for a few years," he admitted. "I died when I was 23 years old, and I've been stuck here ever since. That was five years ago."
"You've been alone for five years?" Clarke's heart gave a painful tug when he nodded. That was so long to be without anyone; it didn't matter if he was already dead or not. Loneliness was painful – she knew that first hand. "You keep saying you've been stuck here? What does that mean?"
"When someone dies and they become a ghost, they're bound to something. Some are bound to objects from their past, some are bound to places, some are bound to people." He gestured to the empty shop. "I'm bound here."
"To my coffee shop?"
He smirked. "It wasn't always your coffee shop," he pointed out. "But, yes, I'm bound to your coffee shop. I haven't been able to leave, and I never will." He grimaced. "I guess, not until this place goes up in flames or gets torn to the ground."
That thought scared Clarke more than the fact that Bellamy was a ghost. This shop was her life and seemingly her last hope. She got the impression Bellamy felt the same way. If he was bound to this shop, it was his life, too.
"You haven't gone outside since you were human?"
Somehow, him not being able to see the sky or the stars made her feel heavy. Those were the things that made her feel human. The birds singing, the wind in her hair, the sun on her skin; those were the things that made her feel alive.
In that moment, she realized that maybe that was exactly why he wasn't allowed the go outside. He wasn't human. He wasn't alive.
"No ghost can leave what they're bound to," he said. "Others are luckier than I am – they're bound to objects or people, both of which are allowed to travel and move locations. Me? I'm stuck here. I can't pass the threshold; it's been that way for the last five years, and it'll be that way for the rest of my existence. However long that is."
"What decides where you're bound?" she asked. "Maybe you can change what you're bound to?"
"I don't think it works that way." He forced out a smile. "That would be nice though." His gaze moved to the windows. Even though the curtains were drawn, he still looked at them longingly. "I miss it though."
"I would, too," she said. "But, you never know. Technically nobody is supposed to be able to see you either; maybe you'll be able to go outside again. Things don't always work the way they're intended to."
She stopped herself from adding that anything is possible. After all, she just learned ghosts were real. To her, everything was possible in that moment.
After a long stretch of silence, she continued speaking. "So you've been here since I moved in?"
The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "Yup."
Clarke snorted and shook her head in amusement. "I've had a roommate this whole time and nobody told me." Things fell into place with his confirmation. He was the one to be moving coffee cups and making coffee in the middle of the night. She wasn't just forgetful; he was actually moving things. She also remembered what he said earlier, before the shop opened. "What did you mean when you said that you've been helping for the past two weeks?"
He let out a laugh at this – a genuine one, too, that made his eyes crinkle and his head fling back. He looked beautiful in that moment, letting joy overtake him. It was infectious.
"I was wondering when you'd ask." They locked eyes again. Clarke never noticed how captivating they were earlier. It felt like they were pools of honey, sucking her in deeper and deeper. "You haven't noticed an extra pair of hands helping from time to time?"
Now that she knew the truth, she did remember things magically happening around the shop. She remembered when her keys were returned to the counter, or when the dishes would be magically washed. Even earlier that morning, her alarm had gone off without her setting it.
She couldn't hide her smile. "That was you?" He nodded. "Why?"
"It might be hard to believe, but being stuck in a single building for the last five years gets a little boring. I have some time on my hands."
A thought occurred to her. "What do you do all day?"
"Read, mostly." He lifted up his book. "Although, your book selection isn't the best." She knew he was teasing, but she made a mental note to pick up some new books for him. "I people watch. Learn new things." He shrugged. "Other than that, nothing. The life of a ghost isn't very interesting."
"I can't believe you've been here all alone for five years," she mumbled. "You had nobody to talk to. Nobody could see you." She chewed her lip. "Why do I see you? I'm not like… half-ghost or something, am I?"
He chuckled at that. "No, I don't think so." After a moment of silence, he shook his head. "I don't know why you can see me. It's a first for me. Although, I am a relatively new ghost. Maybe it's normal?"
"Other ghosts have experienced this?" she wondered.
He adverted his gaze. "Uh. No." Great. That made her feel better. "I wouldn't worry about it though," he told her. "I'm just glad someone can see me now."
With that, Clarke decided that she wasn't going to worry about why she could see him. He'd been alone for so long, and she wouldn't wish that fate on anyone. If it made his eternity of being stuck in a coffee shop more bearable, she could handle that.
Maybe this would be a good thing.
It had been one week since she discovered Bellamy's existence and she felt underwhelmed with how much her life stayed the same. Shouldn't the discovery of ghosts change her life in some way?
It didn't.
Bellamy blended into her life well, too. Now that she was aware of him, she noticed what he did more. If the coffee shop had a particularly busy day, he'd help her by doing dishes, or by secretly brewing pots of coffee. In the mornings, she'd always come down to her shop with the curtains open and the first pot of coffee brewing. At night, he sat with her as she balanced the till.
He wasn't hiding from her anymore either. While she worked, he would usually be at a table, reading. More than a few times, she'd catch him staring at her as she worked, which sent a thunder of butterflies through her. She couldn't help but stare at him too – he was enchanting.
When there weren't any customers, they'd sit behind the counter together, chatting about anything. She learned that he missed the rain and the sun. She told him about her failed university career. He told her about his favourite books.
And, at night, they'd sit together and do whatever. She never would've guessed ghosts would be good at Uno, but Bellamy always wrecked her.
She was right when she joked he was a roommate she never knew she had. Now that she was aware of his presence, she began to realize how true that statement was.
He was a good roommate, too. He did his fair share of the chores, even though she never seen him contribute to the mess. He never invaded her privacy (which, to her, was a big bonus. When she first heard that he was a ghost, she automatically assumed he'd float through walls. Luckily, that wasn't the case). Best of all, he was funny and nice.
Before the week was up, she realized she didn't view Bellamy just as her weird ghost roommate. She enjoyed being around him, and he made her day brighter than she ever imagined. She looked forward to having conversations with him, and learning everything about him. He was her friend.
Currently, he stood beside her behind the counter. A handful of customers were sipping on their drinks around the room, still oblivious to the man beside her. It still amazed Clarke that nobody could see Bellamy.
"Does Roma ever go home?" he asked. She kept her face emotionless and picked up a pen.
Nope.
She had to write her response out instead of speaking. Another thing she learned over the last week was exactly how extensive that 'ghost rule number one' was.
No human could know about ghosts. If humans found out they were real, both of their worlds would change. Humans were scared of what they didn't understand, and ghosts would be hunted to extinction.
Bellamy explained that if the thing a ghost was bonded to was destroyed, the ghost would be destroyed as well. If humans found out about them and how to destroy them, they'd be wiped out. Keeping their existence a secret was of upmost importance.
She didn't want to look like she was always talking to herself and they didn't want to risk anything, so they always carried out their conversations like this.
"I've been practicing latte art," he told her after a beat. "One of the many perks of ghost status is not needing to sleep."
You are like Edward from Twilight.
"I'll pretend I'm not offended," he commented. Clarke had trouble suppressing her smirk at this. "You said you wanted to learn how?" Instead of writing out her response, she gave a miniscule nod.
She glanced around the coffee shop. All of the customers were served and preoccupied. She doubted anyone would need her within the next five minutes. It was the perfect time to learn latte art.
Teach me?
"Sure, princess."
She playfully scowled at that nickname and moved to stand beside Bellamy. As she filled a mug up with espresso, she watched as he heated the cream up. It always amazed her, and confused her, how he managed to hold physical objects. It didn't make sense. If he was invisible to humans, how could he interact with items that were visible? What did people see when they looked at him?
Clarke wondered what he felt like. She knew that most humans walked through him like fog, but she wasn't like most humans. She could see him. Did that also mean she could feel him?
She hadn't had the guts to test it out. After a week of growing closer with him, she was more and more tempted. In that moment, when he invited her to put her hand against his as he made the art, it was the perfect excuse to find out.
She placed her hand overtop of his and her stomach tumbled. He was warmer than she was expecting; if she was being honest, she was expecting him to feel like ice. He was solid beneath her palm too.
It felt like a jolt went through her at this contact. It stole her breath and made her brain short-circuit. She glanced back at him and their eyes locked. For a brief moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.
Clarke pulled back abruptly, knocking the cup of cream from Bellamy's hands. It rolled to the floor between their shoes.
Her heart was still pounding so loud she knew Bellamy could hear it. She shook her head. "Sorry. I- I guess it's been a while since I've had physical contact with someone." It was safe to say she was thrown by having him so close to her.
"It's okay." Bellamy's expression was unreadable, which was rare for him. He tilted his head towards the cash. "Roma's coming up for another refill, anyways." He pointed at the back of the shop with his thumb. "I'm going to get a cloth."
She only had a few seconds between Bellamy leaving and Roma stepping up to the counter to settle her heart and calm her nerves. There was something about touching Bellamy that was electrifying.
To distract herself, she turned to her customer. "Another latte?" she questioned. Roma's eyes were locked on the doorway that lead to the back of the shop.
"Damn. You were right, Clarke. He is a cutie."
She froze. Her mouth ran dry and it felt like her heart plummeted to her stomach.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Roma turned to her, her eyebrow raised. "The new worker? He's cute." The world tipped around Clarke. She felt dizzy. Roma was oblivious to her crisis and wiggled her eyebrows. "Is he single?"
She didn't need to ask, but the words flowed out of her mouth before she could think. "Bellamy?"
"That's his name? Unique. I like it."
"You could see him?"
Roma snorted at that. "Funny, Clarke. I'm sorry your little secret is out now; I know you don't run this shop alone." She was teasing her, but her words didn't sit right with Clarke. Nothing about this sat right with her.
She could see Bellamy, too.
.
Later that night, Clarke pulled up the security footage. Bellamy paced behind her and kept glancing over her shoulder. He looked sick with worry.
"Something's wrong with me," he determined. "First, you could see me, and now Roma?" He ran his hand through his hair. "I'm dying. Oh, shit."
"You're already dead," she reminded him. As the footage loaded, she glanced back at him. "Come sit. I'm sure there's an explanation or something." He looked distraught, so she reached for him again. She gripped his hand in comfort. "We'll work through this."
Clarke was right. There was an explanation to it all.
The two of them watched the security footage from the day. Just like he told her, the cameras didn't pick him up. He was completely invisible.
Well, he was. Then, for a brief moment, he wasn't.
As Clarke stood behind the latte machine, Bellamy appeared. They both watched in a mix of astonishment and horror as he became visible for only a brief moment. Almost as quickly as he was there, he was gone again. They watched as Clarke spoke to what appeared to be herself, and, moments later, Roma walked up to the till.
"I was visible," he mumbled, his voice hollow. "How? Why?"
Clarke rewound the footage, an idea occurring to her. Watching it through the second time only confirmed her thoughts.
"You're only visible when we touch," she pointed out. Her mouth was dry again and her throat felt tight. "When you tried to teach me the latte art, I put my hand on yours. You became visible. And… And when I pulled away, you disappeared."
He looked terrified. "That's awful."
That wasn't what she wanted to hear from him, but she understood. He was scared. His existence, and the existence of his kind, was at risk. Him appearing and disappearing at random was dangerous.
She withdrew her hand from his and forced out a smile. "Well, if you're visible only if we touch, there's a simple solution to it. We won't touch." She ignored the way her chest throbbed with that.
Bellamy looked closed off, but he nodded. "Sure. Good idea."
She made a vow to herself; no matter how right it felt to be touching Bellamy, she wouldn't. It was for their own good.
(But if it was for their own good, why did it feel so wrong?)
The next day, Clarke made sure to keep herself away from Bellamy. She was not going to put him in danger, no matter what.
He seemed to be thinking the same thing. He was more reserved that day. He still stood beside her behind the counter, but he stood further away than usual. She ignored how disappointed she felt by this.
He's a ghost. Not good boyfriend material. She had to crush these feelings for him – stat.
When Roma came up to the counter, she sensed him tense behind her. He was scared of being visible, and he was scared that Roma would ask too many questions. It only took one human asking the wrong things for this to turn into a disaster.
Clarke felt this pressure too. She'd have to ward Roma off and throw her off Bellamy's trail. She was not letting his secret get out.
Before she could ask for her order, the brunette was leaning over the counter, a giddy look on her face. "Is Bellamy here?"
Clarke's heart was racing. "No, he isn't." Her face fell. "Sorry."
"Dammit. I wanted him to make my latte." She straightened. "You never did answer my question yesterday. Is he single?"
"No." Clarke's answer was quick. She cringed at that. Now it really seemed like she had something to hide. "I just… He's interested in someone right now. Sorry."
Roma didn't look too off put. "The cute ones are always taken," she complained. "Do you think they'll get together?" Clarke didn't answer. "Can you give him my number anyways?"
Clarke shifted uneasily. "I don't know."
"When is he working next?"
She froze. She didn't have an answer for that question. Technically, he was always working, since he lived there. "Well, he only works Tuesdays."
Clarke decided that this was the worst lie she has ever told.
Why!? Why would she tell this customer that Bellamy was going to be back next week, when they both decided they would never touch again? Wouldn't the excuse of him quitting be better?
It was too late now. Bellamy was swearing behind her, and Roma was smiling widely in front of her.
Shit.
.
After the shop was closed, Clarke sat on the couch and buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly. "I'm so sorry, Bellamy. I froze." She glanced up at him. "I'm terrible under pressure."
He fell to the couch beside her and gently took one of her hands in his. That simple action made her freeze; by touching her, he was visible to all humans. It was a risk.
He was risking everything to comfort her.
"It's okay," he told her. "It's just like you said before; we'll work through this." His thumb swept over her knuckles, sending her heart racing.
"If you show up for work next week like I told her you would, you'll have to be visible," she told him. "That's not only impossible for you, but it's also risky."
He was silent for a long time. She relished in how warm his hand was, and how right it felt in her grip.
"It's not impossible," he said finally. She could feel his gaze on her face, examining her for a reaction. She tried to keep her emotions guarded. She didn't want him to know how worried she was. "We both know how we can get humans can see me."
That broke her façade. She turned to him, absolutely horrified. "Bellamy…"
"If we're touching, I'm visible." She didn't like where this was going. "Why don't we just… touch? The whole shift?"
The suggestion did make her heart flip around, but she had to listen to her head in that moment. Logically, this was too risky. Plus, how would that even work? How would they be able to both work a shift at the coffee shop if they were constantly joined?
He could tell she was reluctant. "We don't have another option," he reminded her. "It's our only choice."
She smirked. "Only choice," she echoed. "An oxymoron."
Despite her trying to lighten the mood, the reality of the situation still weighed heavily on her. He was right; this was the only way.
"We'll try," she told him. "But this is entirely up to you. If you don't want to do this, we don't have to. I can tell her that you quit."
He glanced at her. She wasn't sure what that emotion was, but it sent warmth through her body. "I'm in."
She squeezed his hand and closed her eyes. She hoped things went according to plan.
The week went by quickly. Clarke attributed it to the fact that Tuesday was getting closer and closer, and she was dreading it. She didn't want to mess up and expose Bellamy as a ghost. She was also dreading explaining to the customers why she was holding hands with her co-worker all day.
She found a solution to that second problem. It was a terrible solution, but still a solution. Bellamy wasn't impressed by it at first, but it seemed to be doing the job.
Moments before the shop opened, he took her hand. "Do it," he said.
So, Clarke obliged.
She joined herself to him temporarily by pushing both their wrists through metal loops and sticking the key in her pocket.
(Yes, her solution was handcuffs. She was really bad under pressure.)
"Do you think people will believe this is a training exercise?" he wondered, tugging on the metal cuff. She doubted it, but at least this was easier to explain than them holding hands for several hours.
"It'll work," she promised him. "At least we'll be touching the whole time you're schedule to be at work for."
He grinned cheekily and squeezed her hand. "I'm always at work. I practically live here."
The day passed smoothly, surprisingly. She had to admit, holding Bellamy's hand for hours straight was not something on the top of her to do list. Her fingers were cramping, her palm was sweaty, and her arm was always twisted in a weird position. Along with that, she was so slow at getting orders ready.
It was awkward, too. After all, only two weeks ago, they were strangers. Being joined to him was strange.
It gave them time to talk, though. When there seemed to be a lull in work, they both leaned against the back counter. It was a comfortable silence; something they were both used to with each other.
He was the one to break the silence first. "I'm joined to this building because this is where I died."
Out of all the conversation starters, this was one she was not expecting. She stared ahead blankly for a moment before turning to stare at him again.
"What?"
"You asked me when we first met why I'm bound to your coffee shop," he said. "It's because I died here."
Somehow, the idea of someone dying in the same building she lived in didn't scare her as much as she expected it too. Being around a ghost 24/7 seemed to have that effect.
"You also asked me if I had a life before I became a ghost," he said. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "I did. I… I had a really good life."
"I'm sorry." She wasn't too sure what else to say.
"Don't be," he said. "It's been a while since I died. It's… Well, it isn't as fresh as it used to be." She didn't prompt him to continue speaking, even though she wanted to. "I had a sister and a mother growing up. Things were… complicated, to say the least. Mom died when O was young, which left me to raise her." He grimaced. "I didn't do a very good job."
"You're a good person," she told him. She hoped he could sense how genuine she was in that moment. "It was a tough situation and you did what you could. Not everyone would take on the responsibility of raising a kid while being so young."
He didn't say anything for a long time. She was almost convinced that he wasn't going to speak again. He shifted uneasily. "She got mixed up in the wrong crowed. Things got out of control. I, uh… I died protecting her."
Clarke's heart was heavy. "Bellamy."
He glanced at her. She could sense pain in him. "That's my unfinished business; protecting my sister. I died without completing what my main purpose was, so…" He shrugged. "I'm trapped."
"That's not fair," she said, her voice strong. "You're… You're a good person, Bell. You did everything you could."
His thumb brushed over the back of her hand. She got the strange impression that he was comforting her. Shouldn't it have been the other way around?
"I've had five years to think about it," he told her. "I don't torture myself over it. I don't blame anyone for what happened." His smile was soft. "I just wanted to tell you. You deserve to know." His eyes dropped down to her lips. For the briefest moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. She tried to squish her disappointment when he didn't. "I trust you, Clarke."
"I trust you, too," she told him. "Thank you for telling me."
They fell into a comfortable silence and it surprised her just how natural it felt. If she tried hard enough, she could almost convince herself that this was normal; that they were just two normal young adults working in a coffee shop together, not a ghost and a human.
But, the thing was, she didn't want to convince herself this. Ghosts, and Bellamy, and having a roommate had become her reality over the last two weeks, and she didn't want to imagine it differently.
In a strange and surprising way, she liked that they were a ghost and a human working at a coffee shop together.
She'd never been one for going by the book. Why start now?
It was early April when they had their first rainfall. Clarke half-hoped that nobody would dare venture outside in the pouring rain, meaning they could close the shop early.
Of course, that didn't happen.
It was a Tuesday, too, which meant Bellamy was on shift. They had only been able to use the handcuff team building exercise excuse once, but they'd managed to get pretty good at maintaining contact over the last few weeks.
Their knuckles would brush against each other, or their fingertips would rest on the other's forearm. If Clarke needed to move across the counter space, she let her fingertips trail along his back and down his opposite arm, never leaving his body. If it was impossible for them to somehow touch, he would bend down behind the counters and disappear while she completed the job.
They'd fallen into a natural pattern. It always amazed Clarke how in sync they were with each other. They never had to verbally communicate or practice moving around the shop; they moved together like two magnets.
Clarke smiled as Bellamy rang through the order of a student. Their bare ankles were pressed together, which left both of their hands free to work.
She loved being around him. She was glad it was Bellamy that was haunting her café; she doubted she would be enjoying it as much as she was if it was anyone else. Ever since the moment they met, they seemed to click.
Bellamy Blake was one of the kindest souls she'd ever met. He was so vibrant, and so caring. He was charming beyond belief and always knew how to get her to smile.
The way he interacted with customers spoke volumes to who he was. He wasn't even an employee of the coffee shop and he wasn't getting paid, but he still threw himself into the work.
Part of her wished that she knew him while he was still alive and human. Don't get her wrong; she loved him as a ghost, but she wished he wasn't so limited in life. She wanted to see him interacting with his family, because she knew he loved them so much, even years after his death. She wanted to see him running through the rain, or hiking through the forest, or sitting under the sun. She wanted to see him free and happy.
Without a doubt, she was falling for him.
Whenever he was around, her stomach felt like it was doing flips. Her heart raced when they got close to each other. She yearned to be with him and Tuesdays had quickly become her favourite day of the week.
She loved spending time with him and wanted to know everything about him. She wanted to listen to all of his stories, and laugh about childhood memories, and discuss dreams with him. She wanted to tell him all of her fears and all of her goals.
Simply put, she was a goner.
When the last customer left and their signage was flipped to 'closed,' Clarke turned to him. An idea had been brewing in her mind for the last few hours – days, really – and she was desperate to run it by him.
"I have an idea," she said, drawing the last curtain closed. He was beside her, doing the same to the next window.
He glanced at her curiously. "No more handcuffs," he warned. He feigned hurt and lifted up his left wrist. "You always do them up too tight."
She rolled her eyes. Both of them knew that wasn't the case; he managed to slip off the cuff without undoing the lock last time.
"No," she said. She wasn't too sure how to approach this. She didn't want to give him false hope; this was far too important. "I… I don't know if my plan will work."
Her tone must've conveyed how serious she was feeling. His movements faltered and she seen his gaze move towards her slowly. "What plan?"
"I was just thinking about things; how it isn't fair that you've been stuck here for five years; how you haven't been outside since the day you died." She swallowed thickly. "I just… It isn't fair."
Bellamy's expression was guarded and she was afraid she was bringing up subjects that were too sensitive. She could always retreat and take her bad idea with her, but she felt like he should at least have the option to consider it.
"I was also thinking about how things are different with you. With us," she clarified. She tried to ignore the flutter of her heart with those words. "You told me that ghosts aren't visible to anyone, yet I can see you. And when we're touching, other living humans can see you, too." He looked apprehensive and confused, but she didn't blame him. What she was proposing was a long shot. "What if, when we're touching, the ghost regulations just… don't exist?"
His eyebrows disappeared behind the curls of his fringe. "You're saying that if we're touching, I can go outside? I can leave the place I'm bound to?"
"It's possible, right?" she suggested, her voice hesitant. "With us, the regular restrictions don't apply. We break the rules, so to say." He wasn't saying anything, but she could tell he was thinking – really thinking. "I know it's dangerous. We don't know what happens if we try, and we don't even know if it'll work." She was tempted to reach for him to support him, but she didn't want him to feel crowded or forced. "I don't want to get your hopes up, and I don't know if this will work, but I thought I should let you know and-"
"Yes," he said. Her words died in her throat. "You're right. This… this could work."
She was nervous. But what if it didn't. "Are you sure?"
"Without a doubt," he said. She could tell he was nervous, just by the way he kept shifting around and glancing at the door, but she could also see his hope and excitement. She hoped she wouldn't let him down.
She knew how much he missed the outdoors. He missed having control over his life; where to go, what to do, who to see. He missed being human, and experiencing the world for himself.
While she couldn't give that all to him, maybe she could give some. Maybe, together, they could leave the place he was bound, experience some aspects of life together. Just because he wasn't human didn't mean he couldn't experience the simple joys that came with life.
Bellamy reached for her hand, winding his fingers with hers. This had become a common thing over the last few weeks, and it made Clarke grow warm and light. Holding his hand would never grow old, no matter how many hours they touched.
Clarke reached for the door, but before she could pull it open, she glanced back at him one more time. His eyes were sparkling and his gaze was locked on hers. Affection filled her chest for him and she squeezed his hand.
"Ready?"
In reply, he reached for the door handle and pulled it open. The overhang above the door protected them from the downpour, but she knew they'd be soaked in seconds as soon as they passed the threshold. The air smelled of spring and filled her with bliss.
She was tempted to suggest that they wait until it wasn't pouring outside to test her theory, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. She didn't mind getting a little wet, especially if she got to see him filled with so much hope.
Her heart was racing for multiple reasons as she stepped over the threshold. She was worried that he wouldn't be able to come outside with her, that his hopes would be crushed. She was terrified that something worse would happen, like him combusting.
She held her breath as he stepped through the doorway. She didn't notice the rain hitting her back; all of her attention was focused on watching as his foot came down to make contact with the sidewalk outside.
For a moment, it felt like time stood still. Bellamy froze beside her, a look of pure astonishment on his face. One foot was planted solidly on the ground beside her and half of his body was already through the doorway.
It worked.
She locked eyes with him. He looked more alive than ever before. His look of surprise was melting away to pure happiness – happiness that seemed to fill her with a warmth unparalleled to any other.
Then, he was rushing forward, a cry of joy tumbling from his lips.
They stumbled into the rain, both laughing from the bliss. She didn't know when she let go of his hand, but she was in his arms now, being lifted into the air and twirled around. Her hair flew out around her, water droplets fanning out around her from the momentum.
She'd never seen someone so happy before. His eyes were wide and alive with a light that warmed her own soul, the corners of his eyes were crinkled with his laughter, and his smile was brighter than she'd ever seen.
Her breath was knocked from her chest at the sight of him. For a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. She didn't feel the rain pelting down on her skin, nor did she feel her clothing sticking to her body.
All she could think of was him.
He paused for a moment, too, as if he was caught off guard by their proximity. She could feel his breath on her face. His arms wound around her body, encasing her in a hug. She could feel his hand pressed firmly into the small of her back, holding her close.
She let out a breathless laugh, still on a high from the adrenaline and joy. His gaze dipped to her lips. She wondered what his lips felt like.
She wanted to kiss him.
Then, they were both moving forward, closing the distance between each other. Her hand cupped the side of his face, holding him with such tenderness it felt like her heart would shatter. She tried to pour everything in her heart into the kiss.
I love you.
The kiss was too short, but it still stole her breath and made her knees weak.
When they pulled away from each other, he let out a breathless laugh and turned his face towards the sky. She watched with adoration as he became soaked from his first rain in five years.
She was right, all those weeks ago, when she hoped that this would be a good thing. It turned out that Bellamy haunting her coffee shop was, indeed, a very good thing.