So this is something that happened when I was trying to write for Starting Over. I have no idea what this is.

I own nothing.

Clarke held her breath as she did her best to shut the front door quietly, and only let it go when she heard the faint click of the latch. As she turned to face her dark apartment, she toed each of her dark sneakers off – one after the other – and dropped her bag on the carpet softly. Any other night and Clarke probably wouldn't give a damn how much noise she was making. As a waitress at a popular hole in the wall, Clarke spent her entire evening catering to what anyone else wanted. It was half past three in the morning and all she wanted to do was crawl into her warm, soft bed and let herself be absorbed by her blankets.

But tonight she had company.

Months ago, Octavia had asked her for a favor – and there's just something about that girl that makes it impossible to say no to her. She would ask so prettily, looking at Clarke with wide eyes until Clarke let her have whatever she wanted. Usually, Octavia would always follows her win with a wink and a kiss to the cheek (Clarke loved that part, but inevitably claims that it's just warm – and that she's definitely not blushing. Every. Time).

Of course, Octavia had asked for the one thing Clarke would have never agreed to in her right mind;

"Please, Clarke!? I swear, it'll just be for a couple of nights. I would let him stay with me, but… I might have neglected to mention that Lincoln moved into my apartment…" The brunette had smiled sheepishly, before her hair had fallen just slightly in front of her eyes. "He won't make a fuss. And he's only back in town for a minute before he flys out again! I won't get to see him for another year at least."

That was when the girl had pulled out those wide, doe eyes and Clarke was an absolute goner.

It was also how Bellamy Blake ended up sleeping on her couch for the last six nights – with no real end to his co-habitation in sight.

What was supposed to be a weekend was turning into an absolute nightmare.

Creeping along the wall, using her right hand to guide her to the doorway, Clarke almost made it to the handle free and clear before she ran into a hitch. Quite literally.

"Fuck!"

The word flew from her lips before she could stop herself, and the slap her hand made against her lips seemed deafening in the silence of the apartment. Shit.

Suddenly, it wasn't her hand covering her mouth, and Clarke was forced up against the door with a very tall, very muscled man pinning her in place. The two stood there, silently, as they stared at the other before Bellamy finally broke away – his heat leaving an imprint against her.

Damn did that boy run hot.

She heard him exhale heavily before the small room was flooded with light.

"Shit, Clarke – I'm so sorry. You just, you scared the fuck out of me. Do you have any idea what time it is?" Bellamy's hand brushed through his hair, leaving his dark curls standing on end.

Clarke's entire body tensed, her eyes flashing before looking back to him, "I just got home from work, I was trying to be quiet – but some asshole camping on my couch left," She looked at the offending stack of DVD's at her feet, "his stupid, fucking gladiator movies right in front of my bedroom door!"

Bellamy froze, his eyes going wide before he rushed to grab the small cluster of cases up from the floor, "I already said I'm sorry. I must have fallen asleep before I could clean up. You know –"

Clarke cut him off before he could finish, "I know, you want me to pretend you're not even here. But how the fuck am I supposed to do that with all of your shit laying around my goddamn living room!? I'm tired and cranky – and I'm so concerned about waking you up that I can't even come home without caring about one more fucking person. And it's driving me up the wall, Bellamy."

He had stopped moving at her outburst, hands frozen in the middle of tucking the movies into his long duffle bag.

"Do you want me to leave?"

His voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he spoke, and something about his expression had Clarke's guilt flaring.

She let out a heavy sigh before speaking, "No – it's not that I don't want you here. Trust me, I'm sure my stove has been elated that someone can cook a meal in that kitchen that's actually edible," Clarke countered his smirk with an eye roll before continuing, "But we can't keep doing this."

It was then that he looked her in the eye, "This is what you said you wanted. I wake up every day on this tiny, spring loaded hell trap you call a couch before going out to find something stable. I'm sorry O shoved me off onto you – I had no idea she'd do that. She never knew anything, and still doesn't as far as I know. I just want to be a better person Clarke, I thought you understood that."

The pain that laced his words pierced Clarke, and she brought her palms to her eyes to block out his image.

"No, I do. I get it. Octavia doesn't know about your discharge. She doesn't know what happened before you left. What I don't understand is why you won't tell her. Why am I the one who has to keep this secret?" Her voice couldn't have been louder than a whisper, but he heard her all the same.

"You know why."

Clarke couldn't look at him. She didn't need to. She could feel the silence between them as he stepped closer.

"We can't do this."

Her voice was shaky now.

"You don't mean that, Clarke. You can't mean that," He was back in front of her, his hands ghosting along her arms. "I swear to god Clarke, I'll never let you go again. Just please tell me you don't mean that."

"One time Bellamy – that's it. Then we forget it ever happened."

Bellamy looked at her, a wide smirk spreading across his cheek before he brought a calloused hand to her cheek. He watched her relax into his touch as he bent close, he bumped his nose against hers before he whispered against her lips, "You say that every time."

Eh?