Chapter 4

Bellamy saw Monday morning come with a beautiful sunrise whose bright reds and soft purples belied what kind of day he would have. The alarm went off way too early – a mere two hours after he fell asleep. He considered cancelling his classes for the day, but the thought of being at the house when Clarke woke up quickly shut down that idea. His life was turned upside down just four hours ago when his feelings for Clarke bubbled up and slapped him in the face. As if that weren't enough for one man to try to make sense of, he was then pulled inside out when he found a napkin with a red kiss staining the corner and an artfully scrawled phone number.

He dressed in a fog. There was a solid chance that the white button down he slipped into was the same shirt he had worn to class on Friday, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was too tired and too distracted to be worried about clean clothes.

His first thought once he finished dressing was to just leave. He could swing through Dunkin Donuts for coffee and a breakfast sandwich on his way to class, but he stopped halfway to the front door and threw his head back, dragging a hand down his face. A memory of the night before drifted through his mind, reminding him that Clarke was going through a lot, and making his heart ache a little more. Every time he thought of Clarke, the kiss stained napkin popped unbidden to the front of his mind. Still, she was his best friend at the very least, and considering the shit he knew was coming her way, possibly today, once her mother found out she was quitting med school, making sure she started her day with a good breakfast was the least he could do.

There was no doubt in his mind that Clarke would not be going to class today. She had never been one to quit something she'd started, but there was a first time for everything. She had undoubtedly been struggling with deciding to drop out of med school and switch her major to smething in an entirely different ballpark for quite some time. He knew she would've debated both sides with herself many times, and he was certain that somewhere in her room there were pro/con lists for staying in med school and majoring in art. She would've put a lot of thought and consideration into the matter, as she did with everything in her life, and for that reason alone Bellamy always trusted and supported Clarke's decisions.

In the kitchen, Bellamy quietly threw together a small French toast casserole and stuck it into the fridge with a sheet of aluminum foil covering it. Standing in front of the refrigerator, he scribbled a sticky note for Clarke.

"You okay?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to see his sister leaning in the doorway. She was tugging a light hoodie over her head. He was tempted to tell her that the unseasonably warm weather forecasted for the day would doubtlessly get her sick if she didn't dress properly, but he was reminded once again that she was a grown woman. "I'm good." He tried to charm her into believing him with a semi-forced smile.

She nodded, accepting that he didn't want to talk about it. "Then tell your face. You look like you're constipated." Her snarky comment brought a grin to his face, and she was happy. She brushed past him to grab a Pop-Tart from the cupboard, then headed back for the front door. "Might wanna try some Dulcolax for that," she said over her shoulder as she rounded the corner. When she heard him chuckle, she smiled to herself and slipped out the front door.


Clarke woke up just before noon. She was thankful she hadn't been drunk and subsequently was free of a hangover. She was, however, still exhausted from her night-long adventure with Bellamy. The last thing she remembered clearly was snuggling up to him in the cab of his truck while he drove them home, but she had a very fuzzy memory of him carrying her to bed. A smile played at the corners of her lips as scenes from last night danced through her mind. No one in the world had a best friend nearly as good as hers, and she would fight anyone who thought any differently.

She groaned through a stretch before sitting up. Her toes barely brushed the shag carpet that had tickled her toes every morning since the day her eighteen year old self officially moved into this room that had unofficially become hers just weeks after her ten year old self had met the Blakes.

Taking note of the time, she realized she had completely missed her first class of the day, and her second class was nearly over. Not that it mattered, she figured, as she no longer considered herself a med student.

The first thing she noticed when she walked into the bathroom was that it didn't smell like Bellamy. The woodsy scents of his soap and shampoo greeted her every morning as he was always the second one in the bathroom, followed, of course, by Clarke herself.

The morning routine in the Blake household had been perfected down to a science. Octavia, surprisingly, woke first – even before the sun. She spread out in the living room to do some yoga, and when the weather was nice she went for a run. By the time she finished showering, Bellamy was up, and they exchanged good mornings as they passed each other in the bathroom doorway – Octavia bright and chipper, Bellamy grumbly and half-asleep. Bellamy spent more time in the bathroom than both girls combined – a mystery neither Clarke nor Octavia cared to solve. When Bellamy finally emerged from the bathroom once the sun was shining bright through the window blinds, Clarke was stumbling out of her bedroom and trying to make it to a hot shower without opening her eyes. More often than not Bellamy gently redirected her to save her face from meeting the corner of the doorframe. Clarke showered last because she stood under the water for a solid ten minutes trying to wake up before she even picked up the bar of soap.

And so when her nose was assaulted by the many aromas of Octavia's overwhelming beauty regimen that had been stewing in the warm bathroom for hours, she knew that Bellamy hadn't had time to shower. She felt a little selfish; she hadn't even thought about today being Monday. She should have let him take her home the first time they heard the police sirens. She felt selfish, but she couldn't bring herself to feel bad. She truly needed last night. It was almost therapeutic, as wild as it had been.


The rain hammered against the windows of Bellamy's classroom. The unseasonably warm temperatures that had caused Octavia to abandon her winter coat that morning had brought rain to the area. Bellamy's voice was completely drowned out. He was exhausted, his mind was all over the place, and as usual his students weren't even listening to his lecture. Giving up, he dismissed class ten minutes early and retreated to his office.

It was much quieter in his office. The inner room lacked windows, for which Bellamy was thankful this once. He slumped down into the beat up old chair behind his beat up old desk and squeezed his eyes shut against the barrage of emotions he'd been ignoring all day. It was just his luck that he would not only fall in love with his best friend – his sister's best friend, but he would realize it too late. Octavia was right. Too many years had already been wasted. But even if he had been ready and able to admit his feelings to Clarke right away, he knew he had to wait and see what would happen with this woman Clarke met. He was nothing if not a gentleman after all.

"Honestly, this weather is out of control." A grumble broke through the silence of the room accompanied by the aroma of greasy takeout.

"Should've worn your coat."

"And you should've tried that Dulcolax I recommended."

Bellamy chuckled and finally looked up to see his charming sister standing in front of his desk with rain dripping from her hair and two bags from Coney Island that, between the rain outside and grease inside, were barely hanging on to life. The sight would almost be comical, if her eyes weren't so angry.

"Yes," he surrendered. "Yes, you're absolutely right, O. First thing when I get home." A finger crossed his heart and an affectionate smile played across his face. He grabbed his sweatshirt off the back of his chair and tossed it at her. "But, you know, an umbrella probably wouldn't have been a bad idea, either," he teased.

She threw a murderous glare at him as she dropped the sopping wet takeout bags on his desk. "Your loving sister walks through a monsoon to surprise you with lunch when you're having a rough day, and snarky backtalk is how you repay her?" She peeled her wet hoodie off and traded it for Bellamy's dry one.

"My nosey sister walked through a little rain to surprise me with lunch because she smelled an opportunity to play matchmaker and wants to gossip about my night."

Octavia shrugged, taking an unladylike bite from her hot dog. No point arguing the truth. "So?" she prompted.

"I'm having a splendid day, thanks for asking. Shall we engage in small talk about the weather?" He knew the Clarke conversation was unavoidable. Having grown up with Clarke and Octavia and then practically raising them, Bellamy was a sucker for their charms. He was almost literally wrapped around their fingers, and what his girls wanted, his girls almost always got. In this case, Octavia clearly wanted to talk about Clarke.

"Really, we're back to the weather? Bellamy Blake, you better watch yourself. You never know when someone will slip a little Dulcolax into your food."

"Dulcolax again? What, are they sponsoring your snide comments now?"

"Says the man who thinks spouting irrelevant facts he learned on a docuseries is entertaining party talk."

"And it entertains our friends into suggesting we hang out at one of their houses, thus getting me out of cleaning up." He half-shrugged as he reached for a napkin to wipe some cheese sauce from his chin.

"Sneaky."

"Ingenious."

"Clarke."

"There's no way I'm getting out of this conversation, is there?"

"No. But you could delay it a little bit by telling me where you went last night."

Bellamy slouched back into his chair with a sigh. He rubbed his hands down his face, then took a deep breath.


Clarke dressed in her favorite jeans after her shower. She passed up the sweater she had initially planned on wearing and slipped into a faded tee shirt Bellamy had gotten her for Christmas six years ago. The hem was beginning to fray and there was a tiny hole by the seam on her left side, but it was her favorite shirt.

Octavia had given her a 'best friends' necklace straight out of the nineties, and Bellamy insisted that she have a symbol of their friendship too. After many hours of online shopping he found the perfect gift. The tee shirt was black (her favorite color, although ninety percent of her wardrobe was black and could probably have used a little color), and gold nerdy glasses were screen printed above the words "talk nerdy to me". He eventually admitted to her that it took him a good five minutes to stop laughing long enough to order the shirt.

That was kind of their thing – nerdy talk. They would sit for hours, Clarke talking science, Bellamy talking mythology. Sometimes, to mix things up, Clarke would preach about art, or Bellamy would regale her with stories from history. She had never admitted it to anyone, but listening to Bellamy lecture on and on about mythology and history was one of her favorite things to do.

She went straight for the coffee pot and pressed the on button. She didn't have to check to know that Bellamy had gotten it ready for her, same as every morning. Reaching into the cupboard for a mug, she did a double take as a yellow sticky note on the coffee pot finally caught her eye.

Breakfast is in the fridge. 350 for 30 minutes. Yes, I know you're hungry now. Enjoy a cup of coffee and fill out the Change of Major paperwork. Fajitas for dinner? Bell

Smiling to herself and once again thanking God for such a wonderful best friend, she slid the casserole dish into the oven and headed back to her bedroom. The small stack of forms she had to fill out was sitting on the corner of her nightstand underneath the napkin Lexa had scribbled her phone number on the night before. She stared at it the whole way back down the hall and into the living room, debating whether or not to text her. Lexa had been beautiful and very clearly interested in her, but something Clarke couldn't quite put her finger on was trying to hold her back.

Sorry we didn't get to dance last night.

The reply came almost immediately. Guess you owe me. Pick you up 6:00 Friday night?

Clarke sent Lexa her address with the thumbs-up emoji. A giddy, tummy-butterflies feeling was bubbling up in her, but whatever it was that didn't want her to text Lexa was poking at the edges of her excitement. She settled for ignoring both feelings and focusing on the paperwork for school, halfway through which she decided to take the rest of the semester off and pick up with one or two classes in the summer.

She'd keep her job at the hospital if they'd let her, but otherwise the downtime she afforded herself by giving up school for a few months would be good for her. With Bellamy and Octavia both away during the day, she would have plenty of time to work on herself. Med school not being a good fit for her wasn't the only revelation she'd had lately.

Too much of her time was dedicated to work, and while her relationships with Bellamy and Octavia were as strong as ever, she knew that was mostly due to the fact that she lived with them. She barely saw her other friends. The next few months would be all about getting her life back on track – destressing, refocusing, spending more time with her friends. And maybe even trying to fix things with her mother, which would undoubtedly get worse when she told Abby she'd quit med school.


"You got her arrested?!" The French fry dropped out of Octavia's fingers half an inch from her mouth and splattered cheese sauce everywhere when it hit the desk.

"We didn't get arrested, technically," Bellamy argued. Close, he added mentally. But to be fair, it was a close call. They had literally been sitting in the back seat of a police cruiser with their hands cuffed behind their backs.

"You seriously wanna get technical right now?"

Bellamy raised his hands defensively. "Okay, you win this one. I let things get a little out of control last night."

His defeated tone caused Octavia to deflate. Scolding him wouldn't help. "Bell," she started, softer this time. "What happens now?"

"Nothing happens." He finished the last bite of his hot dog and made a show of wiping his hands on a napkin, as if trying to symbolize that not only the discussion, but also the whole situation with his feelings for Clarke was a dead end.

"It doesn't work like that."

"Yes, it does."

"No. No, it doesn't. What, you're just gonna ignore how you feel? How's that gonna work when she runs out of clean clothes again and asks to borrow your sweats? It won't affect you at all to see her wearing your clothes? And you're just going to pretend you're happy for her when she goes out with Lexa – because you know she's going to – and wants to come home and tell her best friend all about it?"

He had enough time to cut her off with one sentence before she continued preaching at him. "She typically saves the girl talk for you."

"Ah, but you'll know what she's telling me, won't you? 'She's so beautiful, O.' 'We literally danced until they shut the bar down.' 'I've never been kissed like-'"

"Enough, O!" He couldn't remember the last time he raised his voice at her. He instantly felt bad about it but when he looked up, she was grinning at him. "What?" The exasperation was clear in his tone. "What could you possibly be grinning about?"

"Proved my point. You finished with this?" She snatched his last fry and let the subject drop. He was tempted to argue with her, but there was no point. They both knew she was right, not that it changed anything. He still had no intention of saying anything to Clarke, and consequently he would have to pretend he was happy about whatever would transpire between her and Lexa.


Dinner that evening was tense, to say the least. As a surprise, Clarke had invited Lincoln over for dinner and had cooked and set everything on the table moments before her two favorite people got home. Fajitas, as Bellamy had suggested, and as a side, the Mexican Street Corn Salad that Octavia loved. Lincoln arrived only minutes after the Blakes, and they all settled around the table to eat.

Bellamy was thankful that Octavia commanded most of the conversation. She droned on about every single detail of her day, minus her lunch conversation with Bellamy, and when she couldn't think of anything else to blabber on about, asked Lincoln how his day was. Lincoln, having been warned by Octavia that he should talk a lot if he knew what was good for him, recounted the highlights of his day, with a few older work stories thrown in to take up more time.

When Bellamy excused himself to the kitchen to pull out a tub of ice cream for dessert, he was unsurprised that Clarke followed.

"You okay?" She lined four bowls along the counter next to him and began gathering spoons, keeping her eyes trained on the task.

If nothing else, he was an expert at reading between her lines. 'Why aren't you talking to me?' was what she was really asking, so he changed the conversation before she had the chance to open that can of worms. "Exhausted. Always sucks going back after a long weekend. You get that paperwork filled out?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did." She took the ice cream out of his hands and began to scoop it into the bowls. It was her turn to deflect, but Bellamy wasn't letting it go that easily.

"Clarke?" he prompted.

"I'm taking the rest of the semester off," she said quietly. "I'll go back in the summer, I promise. But I think I need to focus on myself for a little bit." A glob of ice cream fell off the scoop and landed on the floor and she let the scoop clang onto the counter in frustration. "I haven't been…myself," her voice broke on the last word as a traitorous tear threatened to spill and Bellamy reacted in an instant, pulling her into his arms.

This was insane. She couldn't figure out what was going on with her. Sure, things were a little crazy, but her life was still going in a good direction. She'd finally gotten the nerve to drop out of med school and sign up for an arts major. She planned to start working on the relationships she had with everyone in her life – including her mother. Hell, she was even willing to try meditating with Octavia during her morning yoga. She had an upcoming date with a beautiful woman. And most importantly, she knew that in all of this, she had the love and support of her best friends.

She was happy. So why was she crying in the middle of her kitchen?


The week flew by, and Friday was upon them before they knew it. Bellamy was stretched out on top of his bed, attempting to read over his students' latest assignment. It had been a rough week, but he had survived. The girls were in their rooms, getting ready for a night out; if he could ignore the fact that Clarke was going on a date, he would almost be happy about the prospect of having the house to himself for an evening. Except he couldn't ignore the fact that Clarke was going on a date.

At 5:00 the chime of the doorbell announced Lincoln's arrival.

"Bell?" Octavia called from her room across the hall.

"Yeah, I got it!" He was already halfway down the hall. If there was one thing Octavia struggled with it was being on time for anything. He knew this, and Lincoln knew this, and that's why they always told Octavia she needed to be ready at least half an hour earlier than necessary. Bellamy offered Lincoln a beer and they headed to the living room to watch TV while they waited for Octavia.

The girls, meanwhile, were in Octavia's bedroom. Clarke stood behind Octavia, who was seated at her vanity. Clarke's fingers deftly wound through Octavia's long locks, tying off a braid along her left side and twisting it into a loose bun.

"So tell me about Lexa," Octavia requested.

"There's not much to tell yet. I only spoke to her for, like, a minute." Clarke shrugged. "She's beautiful. And her voice is kind of…captivating."

"Hmm." Octavia's brows pulled together. "Do you remember when we were sixteen, and I used to joke about how you'd end up marrying my brother one day?" Octavia was testing the waters, to gauge Clarke's reaction, but she didn't have any idea where she would take the conversation from there.

Clarke's fingers stilled instantly, causing the hair tie to snap back against her finger. "Shit," she grumbled and shook her hand against the pain. "What about it?"

"I don't know," Octavia smiled approvingly at her reflection in the mirror. "I was just thinking about the time you told me you thought Bellamy's stories about Greek gods and goddesses were captivating." She stood and adjusted the black dress that barely kissed her knees. "Damn, I'm going to freeze," she complained in an attempt to change the subject.

"I told you that before you even put the thing on."

"Yes, well, perhaps this dress will do its job and get me back to Lincoln's place before dinner." She wiggled her eyebrows, and a sly grin pulled at her lips, causing Clarke to laugh.

"Maybe you won't even make it that far," Clarke played along.

"Too cold for car sex," Octavia said seriously. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before breaking out in a fit of giggles. "Okay, seriously though," she gasped out as she started to settle down. "Have fun tonight, yeah? But if you need to get out of there, don't hesitate to send your SOS text…to Bellamy." She winked, and then they were both laughing again.

Clarke leaned against the wall at the end of the hall and coughed dramatically to get Lincoln's attention. The man turned around quickly and whistled lowly at the sight of his girlfriend.

"Seriously, man? That's my sister." Bellamy tried to sound angry, but the best he could manage was feigned annoyance. Lincoln was the first, and honestly the only, of Octavia's boyfriends that he actually liked. He would even go so far as to say he considered them to be not just friends, but practically family. Lincoln and Octavia had been together for just over three years – Bellamy had no doubts that Lincoln would officially become part of the family soon enough.

"You mind your business, Bellamy Blake," Clarke said with a laugh.

Lincoln held his arm out to Octavia and led her through the front door. "Have fun, Clarke!" Octavia called from beside Lincoln's car. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She winked and slid into the front seat.

Clarke walked back into the living room and plopped down onto the couch beside Bellamy. "Admit it: you love him," she teased.

"Not quite," he looked over at her with a grin. They both knew he was full of shit.

"She really loves him, you know. I think he's here for the long haul."

He nodded, then looked toward the front window. "Clarke, if he were to, hypothetically, express an interest in getting married-"

Clarke cut him off with a sharp gasp. "Did he?"

"No. Not yet. But it's been three years now. It's just a matter of time." Clarke hummed in agreement and laid her hand on his knee in encouragement. "I just…I want your opinion." He looked over at her with eyes full of sadness. Clarke knew he wasn't ready to accept that his sister would eventually get married and not need him as much anymore. "I have Mom's engagement ring." His voice was soft. Even after all these years, he still fought tears whenever the subject of his mother came up. Clarke rested her head against his shoulder. "I thought that maybe, if Lincoln says anything to me about it… Maybe I would give him Mom's ring. If he wanted to use it."

"I think that's beautiful, Bell. Octavia would love it." She flashed him a brilliant smile and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "You really are a great big brother." She patted his knee before standing up to go finish getting ready.

He sat on the couch, filling his mind with white noise so he wouldn't start to wonder whether she was referring to only Octavia or if she was including herself in the little sister category.


Bellamy sat at the desk in the corner of his room, attempting to grade some more assignments. After reading the same sentence a dozen times, he slammed the papers down on the desk in frustration. Focusing on The Titanomachy was nearly impossible with the vision of Clarke constantly creeping into his mind.

When Lexa arrived to pick up Clarke, Bellamy had hovered in the hallway, greeting Lexa with what he hoped would pass as a friendly nod. He tried not to notice Clarke's blonde hair with streaks of crimson peeking through that she had pulled back into a French braid. He ignored the black leggings, with faux leather strips up the sides, that hugged the curves of her hips. And he definitely didn't notice the low-cut ripped band tee that was pulled tight over her chest.

The harder he tried not to think about it, the clearer the vision became. You're so beyond fucked, Blake, he thought.


Clarke returned home just before midnight to find Bellamy on the couch, wrapped up in Grandma Blake's blanket, and his right arm hanging off the side of the couch with an almost full bottle of beer sitting on the floor half an inch underneath his fingers. Netflix was on the television, self-paused between episodes asking if he was still watching, and Clarke simply pressed the red power button on the remote. (The next morning, when he flipped the TV back on to see that same screen, he would thank God that Clarke hadn't answered the question to find out that he had been watching Gilmore Girls.)

She considered waking him up and sending him to bed, but he looked so peaceful and content, she just couldn't bring herself to disturb him. She bent down to kiss his forehead, for reasons that escaped her. She'd only ever kissed his cheek, and only when he was awake. Still, the sight of him passed out on the couch, nerdy glasses sitting low on his nose and Grandma Blake's blanket tangled all around him, gave her an overwhelming urge to press a sweet kiss to his forehead. It felt so intimate, and yet strangely right.

"Sweet dreams, Bell," she whispered.