A/N: So...as most of you have probably figured out...I don't *do* short and fluffy.

...HOWEVER.

After being in a group chat with me for 2199 years, someone *cough*Alice*cough* just realized I write blarke fics and decided to send me prompts for coffee shop AUs. Well, one stuck and...here we are.

My attempt at (semi?) short and fluffy.

Blame Alice.

P.S. Title is a mishmash of inappropriate sayings, because that's just who I am as a person.

Bellamy smiled his wholly impersonal, mostly fake customer-service smile, handed the middle-aged, suit-and-tie-clad man across the counter from him his gigantic to-go cup of caffeine, and breathed a sigh of relief as he watched him turn around and walk straight to the door, leaving No Grounds Coffeeshop and disappearing into the darkness outside.

Bellamy grabbed a rag, wiping up the condensation rings on the counter as he glanced around the store.

It was three minutes after nine, and he really could have refused to serve the last customer, but he tried to be a decent guy…especially when his paycheck and his tips could be at stake.

There were only three people left in the shop: a thirty-something man and woman clearly on a date as they laughed and held hands on top of the table on one side of the store, and a young woman of indeterminate age writing in a notebook on the other side of the store.

He started his nightly closing duties, washing out coffee pots and blenders and throwing away what felt like tons of coffee grounds, all the while keeping somewhat of an eye on the three customers left in the store.

They technically closed at nine, and his co-worker, Harper, had flipped the 'Open' sign to 'Closed' when she'd left just before suit-and-tie guy, but it was sort of unwritten store policy to let anyone who'd already ordered hang out until 9:15 or so.

Still, Bellamy only got paid till 9:30, and he still had a few other things that needed to be done before he could leave, so the sooner everyone cleared out, the better.

Luckily, just as he was putting the last clean blender back on its stand, the couple in the corner got up, threw away their trash (thank God,) and headed out the door with a wave.

"Have a nice night!" he called after them, ever the friendly employee.

The bell above the door had barely stopped ringing before his eyes automatically darted to the one person left in the store with him.

She had her back to him, so it was hard to guess her age, but from her short, dirty blonde wavy hair, complete with pink streak, the black jeans, dark blue tank, and combat boots she was wearing, as well as the leather jacket draped over her chair and the confidence in her posture, he'd guess she was late twenties or early thirties.

She certainly seemed fit and youthful enough, but also gave off an aura saying she would take no shit, and that was something that usually only came with a bit of experience.

Part of him couldn't help but be a little attracted to that…he tended to like a woman who knew what she wanted.

But right now, all he could really think about was getting home, grabbing something to eat, and working on his essay on 'the lasting effects of the Treaties of Frankfurt and Versailles on the Alsace-Lorraine region' that he had due the next week for one of his graduate classes.

It was only 9:10 though, so he figured he owed the woman at least a few more minutes to keep writing in her notebook and sipping at her drink.

Unfortunately, the only things he had left to do were taking out the trash and cleaning the giant espresso machine, both of which he typically waited to do until the shop was empty.

Seeing as how his straggler seemed to be in no hurry, he figured he'd have to start on the espresso machine, customer or no customer.

And if she had to hear him mutter a few expletives when he burned his hand at least three times and then couldn't get the machine back together correctly…well…she was just going to have to deal with it.

He took his time, because honestly, touching scalding hot metal wasn't high on his to-do list, but even after he'd cleaned the entire machine (only burning himself once, thank you very much) and put everything back together…she was still sitting there.

He placed the final grate back in place a little more roughly than was strictly necessary, then used the rag to wipe his fingerprints off the gleaming metal.

Clearing his throat, he decided to go for a gentle nudge. "Can I get you anything else?" he asked, his voice ringing out a little too loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

He'd already cleaned most of the machines, but he could manage to make her a cup of tea or get a cookie out of the case for her if it would hasten her departure.

She glanced over her shoulder, giving him a brief smile, most of her face still hidden behind her hair. "No, thanks," she answered politely, only maintaining eye contact for a few seconds before promptly facing forward and going back to her notebook.

Bellamy frowned, both because his plan to subtly tell her it was time to leave clearly hadn't worked…and because he felt an odd pang, somewhere in the vicinity of his chest or his stomach, and he wasn't sure if it was a reaction to her voice or their eye contact.

The pang…it almost felt like recognition, but that made no sense.

He still hadn't gotten a good look at her face, but he definitely didn't have anyone that resembled her in his life.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of that weird feeling, and went to start collecting the trash.

He moved slower than usual, getting the bags out of each of the customer trash bins and piling them together, even stopping by the front door to turn off one of the main overhead lights on one of his trips.

It's not like it made it completely dark inside…there were still the emergency lights, plus the lights were still on back by the counter, but it was a much less subtle sign that it was time to clear out.

But…still…she just sat there.

He sighed for what felt like the 50th time that night, glancing up at the clock on the wall and seeing that it was nearly 9:25.

He shrugged, grabbing the trash bags and carrying them out the back door.

He'd never left a customer alone in the shop before, but honestly, at this point, he'd give her the $10 in his tip jar if she'd just leave already, so he wasn't that concerned about leaving her alone for the roughly 60 seconds it took him to walk into the alley in the back and throw the bags in the dumpster.

When he got back inside…his tips were still there.

Unfortunately…so was she.

He made his way to the counter, opening a lower cabinet to grab new trash bags and letting the door slam shut when he was done.

He put new garbage bags in each of the bins…stopping to glance at her in-between each one.

He still hadn't gotten a clear look at her face…and it was almost as if she was doing it on purpose, but he had no idea why.

Nearing his wit's end, the smirk she seemed to be sporting but trying to hide was all the more perplexing…and infuriating.

He finished with the garbage receptacles, then made his way back to the counter, crossing his arms and leaning against it, just watching her back.

Honestly, he had no idea what to do.

He'd never actually had to throw anyone out before.

His eyes bored holes into her, and he knew she had to sense it, but her hand just kept moving steadily on the paper, the rest of her fairly still except for her free hand, which would occasionally reach out to grab her to-go cup so she could take a sip.

The more he stared…the more he noticed.

Like the fact that she had a tattoo peeking out from under the strap of her tank top. He couldn't make out what it was from halfway across the room, but the sight of it did nothing to quell the weird attraction he felt toward her.

He huffed, standing up and marching toward her.

He was supposed to be pissed, not attracted to the jerk who was purposely making him work late, dammit!

"Are you…" his words froze on the tip of his tongue when he got to her table and she finally turned and looked straight at him.

He let his eyes roam over her face again and again. The hair was different, the face was a bit leaner, but… "Princess?" he asked in confusion.

Her laugh rang out bright and joyful in the otherwise empty room. "Took you long enough, Bellamy," she chided playfully, standing up and wrapping him in a hug.

He couldn't help but to freeze, because…if seeing Clarke Griffin again after six years was a surprise, suddenly having her in his arms was a damn shock to his system.

Luckily, he managed to pat her back a bit awkwardly just before she let go.

"What are you doing here?!" he couldn't help but ask.

"Nice to see you, too," she said as she sat back down, a hint of humor still in her voice, but also a tinge of apprehension.

"No! I…I'm just surprised, that's all," he clarified, automatically sitting down in the chair across from her when she motioned to it. "It's been…what? Six years?"

He'd last caught a glimpse of her at their high school graduation ceremony. She'd given the Valedictorian speech, of course, and he'd meant to grab her after they'd all filed out of the auditorium…get a hug or a picture or…something…but he'd never been able to find her in the crowd of hundreds of his classmates and their families.

And really, it wasn't like they ran in the same social circles or had any of the same plans after high school, so he'd sort of figured that was it…Clarke Griffin was out of his life.

He'd felt a pang of regret back then…one he didn't even want to acknowledge…but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about her on and off over the years.

She'd been the perfect kid in school…wealthy parents, opportunities galore, perfect grades…it was why he'd nicknamed her 'Princess.'

It wasn't until they'd had a few classes together their junior year that he'd realized she was a lot more than that.

The funny thing was, he'd realized it while she was yelling at him over a beaker in the science lab, goggles perched crookedly on her nose and her hair falling out of the bun she'd put it in.

You see, apparently he hadn't been mixing the solution correctly…even though he could've sworn he'd followed the directions perfectly…and he'd yelled that right back at her.

Unfortunately, he was mid 'I did it right!' when their solution blew up…all over both of them.

Luckily, it was mostly foam and totally non-toxic, so basically all they did was make a giant mess.

The non-memory version of Clarke waved a hand in front of his face. "Where'd you go?" she asked curiously.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I was just thinking about that…" he coughed. "…incident…in Shumway's class."

He was a little surprised when she threw her head back laughing gleefully. "Who could forget The Great Foam Disaster of 2009?"

"Well, certainly not anyone from the entire school for the next six months," he grumbled good-naturedly.

They certainly had been the talk of the school…for one reason or another…for most of the next two years.

"It's okay, Bellamy, it's not your fault you can't convert to the metric system. Multiplication is hard," she teased, a twinkle in her eyes that made him want to do something stupid…something like lean across the table and kiss her.

So, instead, he volleyed a teasing insult right back. "I guess it's about as hard as keeping your World Wars straight," he said, not even trying to hide his smirk.

"God," she rolled her eyes, but with a half smirk of her own. "You get confused about one battle…"

"The Battle of the Bulge, Clarke," he reminded her.

"I know, I know, World War II," she emphasized with a smile. "Trust me, I've remembered it ever since."

He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Still can't believe you lost us those extra credit points."

She laughed, leaning forward a bit to shove at his arm. "Don't tell me you've been carrying a grudge over five extra credit points all this time. Really, Bellamy. Get out, live a little."

They grinned at each other as they both thought back to that day in AP US History…the day Mrs. Byrne had split the class into two groups and made them play a Quiz Bowl style game for five extra credit points on their final.

Bellamy and Clarke had ended up on the same team, and they'd been tied with the opposing team when the teacher had read the final question…a question Bellamy knew the answer to with 100% certainty.

The problem was, Clarke had beaten him to the buzzer…and proceeded to answer incorrectly.

They'd lost the five bonus points and the two of them had argued all the way down the hallway, into the lunch line, and at the salad bar, and then they'd proceeded to sit down and eat their entire terrible meal, still arguing.

They hadn't even realized they'd done it until Raven had sauntered up and interrupted them with a raised eyebrow and knowing smirk, looking at Clarke as she asked, "Are we gonna go to AP Bio or should I leave you here to finish…whatever this is?"

That was how they'd so often behaved…caught up in a little bubble of their own making…drawn to each other in a way neither of them understood.

And that had been part of the problem. She'd had her friends…the mayor's son, the chemistry nerds, other kids who had promising futures and lots of money.

And Bellamy…he'd mainly had Miller and sometimes Murphy and he was too busy taking care of his little sister and working part-time jobs anyway.

And kids like her and kids like him…well…they really didn't mix.

But anytime Bellamy and Clarke could find a reason to be in each other's orbits…they took it.

"So…what are you doing here?" he asked, wondering what she was doing back in Virginia, just a few towns away from where they'd grown up. "Move back after you graduated?"

"Graduated?"

"Princeton, right?" he supplied before he could stop himself.

She raised an eyebrow in surprise and he could've kicked himself.

They weren't Facebook friends (mostly because he hadn't made a profile until his first year at community college), but he had ended up on her profile on occasion, especially that first year, and he'd seen pictures of her at Princeton, apparently dating some very serious girl with long brown hair, and that had been enough to stop him from snooping anymore.

She was happy with other people like her…people who would make something of their lives.

That's what he'd always wanted for her…had always assumed she'd have if someone like him didn't screw it up for her.

When she just continued to stare at him with a knowing grin, he finally stuttered his way through a half-assed explanation. "I…heard that's where you ended up. Saw some pictures on Facebook, I think."

She just nodded, grin still in place. "I…didn't graduate from Princeton," she clarified. "Dropped out after Freshman year."

His brain quickly did the math. He'd heard about her dad and Wells both dying right around that time. He'd always meant to reach out to her, but figured she had enough people she'd actually want to hear from for that. But now, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd been wrong about that. "Your dad and Wells…I'm sorry. I always meant to…send you an email or…something. Tell you how sorry I was."

She smiled sadly, but without any censure. "It's okay."

He watched her for a minute, making sure she seemed to be sincere before he went on. "Is that why you…left school?"

She squinted an eye, tilting her head as she contemplated his question. "Yeah, somewhat. But it just wasn't…an environment I wanted to be in."

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows in confusion.

She shrugged. "There was my dad, then Wells, then a really nasty break-up, and I realized that I was just…miserable, and my surroundings had a lot to do with it. I mean…I love competition." She grinned at him. "You know how much I love competition. But this…wasn't that. It was a bunch of back-stabbing and manipulation and betrayal…even from people who claimed to care about you, and I just…I didn't want to be a part of that. It wasn't worth it, not with everything else I was dealing with."

He watched her quietly for a moment, trying to absorb that. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged again. "It's fine. I ended up waitressing for a while until I got signed on as a children's illustrator."

"A children's illustrator?" he asked in surprise.

He remembered her constantly doodling in the margins of her notebooks, and she had been on a bunch of art and decoration committees in high school, but he'd never known she wanted to make a career out of it.

"Yeah. Not exactly what my mom had planned for me," she admitted with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "But I love it. And I do tattoos on the side a couple days a week. Ya know, just pushing for her complete and total disappointment in me as a daughter."

Bellamy seriously had to take a moment to process. Clarke Griffin…blonde princess with perfect grades and wealth and connections…Clarke Griffin who was supposed to be a surgeon…was now a children's book artist who did tattoos on the side.

God, what a mindfuck.

The first thing that came to his mind after all that was… "I saw the um…tattoo…on your shoulder. I couldn't really make it out though."

He wanted to bang his head against the table.

God, what an idiot.

Luckily, she just grinned, turning in her seat and moving the strap of her tank top so he could get a better look at it. "Yeah, it's a rook. For Wells," she explained.

Bellamy nodded, remembering that the kid had been obsessed with chess, winning all kinds of awards for beating practically every other school team in the state.

"That's…really nice," he responded.

She just smiled at him, and he really didn't know what else to say, so he blurted out exactly what he was thinking. "I'm sorry, this is just so…weird."

She just grinned that half grin at him again. "What is? Talking to me? I can finally leave if you really want to curse at the cappuccino machine some more," she teased. "Maybe kick it? Do you need some privacy?"

"No!" he blurted out before he could stop himself. "No, it's just…you're different." He thought about it for a second before he amended his statement. "Or not 'different' really, but you're just…not what I expected."

"Ah, so I can add Bellamy Blake to the top of the list of people disappointed in me? You can keep my mother company," she responded, although she said it like she'd said almost everything since she'd first started talking to him…with a half-smile and the aura of not taking any of it too seriously.

He was already shaking his head. "No…I think…well, it doesn't matter what I think," he corrected, looking down at the table for a second.

Clarke leaned back in her chair, appraising him. "Let's say it does," she said casually.

"I think…you sound happy. You look…" he just barely stopped himself from saying something along the lines of 'fucking amazing.' "You look really happy. I think it's great. Honestly, everything sounds kind of badass. I just…this isn't the Clarke Griffin I expected to run into six years after graduation."

She was back to grinning at him. "It's even better, right?"

He couldn't help but grin back. "Yeah…it kind of is."

"So…tell me about what Bellamy Blake has done since I last saw him. You went to school, right? And how's your sister?"

Bellamy was honestly a little surprised that she remembered those details after all these years. "Octavia's fine. She's a freshman at Virginia Tech…full scholarship," he tried to say casually, as if the knowledge of it didn't fill him with pride and also a profound relief.

Clarke reached across the table, putting a hand on his arm. "That's amazing, Bellamy. I know how much you always used to worry about being able to get her into a good school."

…she did?

"Yeah…I, uh… Yeah," he replied lamely. "And I went to community college…switched to Radford after two years…now I'm working on a Masters."

"A Masters?" she asked, clearly impressed.

He couldn't help but flush. "Yeah. Uh…in History."

She chuckled. "Why does that not surprise me in the slightest?"

He felt his face turn even redder.

"So…" she smiled wryly at him. "You're an academic and I'm an artist who does tattoos."

He contemplated that realization for a minute. "Kind of backwards, isn't it?"

"Mmm…not really. I always knew how smart you were," she said matter-of-factly.

He couldn't help but be a bit taken aback by that.

"You were!" she insisted. "I was never sure if it was because you were always too busy working and taking care of Octavia to really devote yourself to school, or if it was about protecting your 'street cred' or whatever…but I always knew you were way smarter than you liked to let on. Why do you think I always picked you as my partner for everything?"

"…I assumed it was cause you liked to argue with me," he answered truthfully, still processing that fact that Clarke Griffin, Valedictorian, had thought he was smart in high school.

"I mean, yeah, that too," she admitted, and he could've sworn there was a flush on her cheeks this time.

He very suddenly needed to find something to do with his hands. "Do you want something out of the case?" he asked, already up and moving in that direction. "We've got some triple chocolate cookies that are great."

"…sure," she responded.

He took his time getting a couple cookies out of the case and placing them in a sleeve, still trying to process the fact that Clarke Griffin of both the present and the past were surprising as hell and that those revelations did nothing to quell the intense attraction he'd always felt toward her but tried to hide.

He walked back to the table, setting the cookies in the middle.

"Bellamy?" she asked, voice quiet.

"Hmm?" he responded, turning toward her.

Before he knew what was happening, she was on her feet, her hands grabbing either side of his zippered hoodie as she pulled him to her.

Then, she was on her tiptoes and her mouth was on his.

He froze, completely shocked, because Clarke Griffin was kissing him…and kissing him like she meant it.

He'd definitely had tons of dreams like this, mostly back in high school, but he was fairly certain he was 24 years old and awake now, so it was a complete shock to his system.

He'd barely managed to kiss her back before she was pulling away, looking more flustered than he'd seen her since she'd been in the coffee shop.

This Clarke…the one who was a little breathless and rosy-cheeked and couldn't quite meet his eyes…that was more like the Clarke he remembered, and it made something warm settle in his stomach.

"Sorry," she mumbled, stepping back. "I just…I always wanted to do that in high school and I never had the balls to do it, and now that I ran into you again…I wanted to do it even more and…" Her eyes suddenly met his, widening as if she'd just realized something. "Oh my God, you…you're dating someone, right? You can't possibly not be dating someone. And I just…"

He wasn't sure how to react to any of what was happening, but there was one thing he could set her straight on. "I'm not dating anyone."

"Oh," she said, closing her mouth and staring up at him a bit apprehensively.

They just stood there, staring at each other for a minute while Bellamy tried to process that apparently Clarke Griffin had had a crush on him in high school and wanted to kiss him even more now than she had then, because that was pretty much exactly how he felt in regards to her.

He watched her gnaw on her lower lip for a second, and it was like something snapped inside him.

He stepped forward, taking her face in his hands and pressing his lips to hers.

She let out a gasp of surprise, which he used to his advantage, slipping his tongue inside her mouth to tangle with hers.

He walked her backward, until her back hit the wall beside the booth, and she took the opportunity to wrap her arms around his waist under his jacket, her hands sliding up and down his back.

He lost track of how long they stayed like that…pressed up against the wall, wrapped up in each other as they traded long, warm, desperate kisses, but he only pulled away when he started getting light-headed, leaving her with one final nibbling kiss on her lower lip.

"Sorry. I…" he cleared his throat. "I always wanted to do that in high school and I never had the balls to do it, and now that I ran into you again, I wanted to do it even more," he said, repeated her words back to her with a grin, because they were 100% true. "I…assume you're not dating anyone?" he teased.

She let out a laugh that sounded surprised but pleased. "No," she answered automatically, then looked up at him with a knowing gleam in her eyes. "Actually…I don't know, Bellamy. Am I?"

He responded by kissing her again.

It was a while later, when they'd finally managed to separate for more than three seconds, that he finally asked, "So, do you want to make me stay at work for like three more hours or do you want to…move this somewhere else? We could go…well, I'm not going to ask you to get coffee," he teased. "A drink? Tacos? Ice cream? Anything," he said, pretty much meaning exactly that.

Right now, he'd be up for pretty much anything with her.

She grinned at him, shrugging on her jacket and closing her notebook, which he finally noticed she'd been drawing in, not writing in, as he'd originally thought. Grabbing his arm, she smiled up at him as they headed toward the door. "How about everything?" she suggested.

They ended up on his couch in his tiny apartment, drinking beer and eating tacos from a food truck as they turned the tv on low in the background, preferring to spend their time catching up on the past six years…and clarifying a few things about the years they'd known each other, but had both held some false assumptions about the other.

And later, when she grinned slyly and climbed in his lap, staring down at him as she cheekily said, "I wanted to do this in high school too," he let her have her fun for a moment before he grabbed her by the waist, flipping her onto her back and prompting a delighted squeal.

They spent the entire night eating ice cream and talking and fooling around, and when the birds were just starting to chirp early the next morning, he pulled her more snugly against him on the couch, covering them both with a blanket as he asked, "You're gonna stay, right?"

He didn't just mean to sleep.

And when she burrowed deeper into him, mumbling a quiet "Mmhmm," she didn't just mean to sleep either.

It was the best first date either of them had ever had.

…it was also the last first date either of them ever had.