Clarke's room could have been out of Lexa's made up world; it looked primitive. Clothes were tossed around, posters were half hung on walls, one of which was only half painted. The wall behind her bed wore a resemblance to caves from the Neolithic era: drawings overlapping, none of which Lexa could figure out; and some paint tossed here and there, along with scribbles of letters that didn't make up any meaningful words. The minimalist, neat freak side of the brunette cried for her to leave the messy alternate universe before she had a panic attack, but Lexa chose to focus on the girl who had just slumped down on her bed and was casually texting on her phone.

Lexa cleared her throat, but got no reaction. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all. But if that was going to be their only interaction, she had to make it count. She had to at least know what brought on the blonde's drastic change in attitude. I am the Commander. I do not let fear consume me. Riding the effect her words had on her, Lexa sat down at the foot of the bed and started in a slightly trembling voice:

"Clarke." She took a pause, savoring the word, for it was the first time she had said it out loud. She dragged the "a" and rounded the "r". As a result, the blonde looked up at her inquisitively. Lexa liked the glimmer of interest she saw in Clarke's eyes. She decided she would never pronounce her name any other way. She carried on:

"I know my past behavior hurt you. You tried to be my friend, and I… was not ready for it. However, life must go on, and it is no use to dwell on the past. Now we have the chance to be allies, in our quest to get you to succeed in chemistry class. You have to be reasonable and stop wasting time."

Midway through Lexa's sermon, Clarke had shot up from her bed and was now towering over a still seated brunette, wagging a finger in her face.

"You little recluse! Where do you get off telling me what to do and how to spend my time, you apathetic jerk! I may have felt sorry for you at some point and wanted to give you some semblance of friendship, but that was a long time ago and I'm sure as hell not dwelling on it! I have bigger worries than a conceited snob who can't do something as basic as speak to people, who talks like she was a character on Game of thrones, and who never contracts any of her words! What is up with that anyway? Are you even human? You could be a bot for all I know! You sure have as many feelings as one!"

Tired but satisfied with her rant, Clarke leaned against the wall facing her bed with a look that said "Your move."

So many thoughts quarreled in Lexa's mind; she wasn't used to the assault, and feared she might faint. She tried to clear her mind. She had hurt Clarke. More than she realized. Also, something else was making the blonde suffer. She sobered up, choosing to focus on that single fact instead of the myriad of emotions she was feeling.

"You say you have bigger worries; might I ask what they are? What is troubling you, Clarke? I would like to help if I can."

Once again, Lexa's honesty halted the worked up girl's attack. The brunette could see the fight leave her, and she looked small all of a sudden; almost scared. Lexa wanted to wrap her arms around her, tell her it was going to be all right. But all she ever knew were awkward hugs given to family members on special occasions, so she thought better of it. Clarke sucked in a breath and sunk down to the floor. Lexa was next to her instantly, both of them staring at the bizarre mural they were now facing. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Just as Lexa was getting up to leave, not wanting to intrude on the troubled girl any longer, Clarke spoke up:

"My parents want me to apply to med school. They're both doctors, and would like for their only child to carry on the legacy. Only I don't want to. I want to be an artist; everything my mom hates."

"No one could ever hate you."

The words were out before Lexa could stop them, only this time she had been expecting such a slip up to occur, as it had before in Clarke's presence, so she didn't pay any attention to them and carried on:

"I am expected to become a doctor as well. My mother says our family needs to be elevated, and with my grades and my focus, I was chosen to carry out the task."

Clarke looked at her with a mixture of awe and incredulity.

"How can you be so calm about this? It's not the Middle Ages, other people don't get to choose our destiny for us or dictate our future. We are our own women!"

Lexa remained unmoved by Clarke's motivational speech.

"We are who we are. The world is as it is. Taking charge means learning to make sacrifices."

"OK, Osho, got it. You're way too zen and too evolved to be mad at someone for taking away your freedom! Why do I even bother with you!"

Clarke tried to get up, but Lexa met her halfway, grabbing her by the wrist and looking deeply into her eyes.

"Clarke. I am not undermining your feelings. You are entitled to them. I am simply saying that anger will get you nowhere. You say you want to become an artist. Take measures toward that goal, instead of being passive aggressive and sabotaging your future yourself."

Her sky princess must not have expected her guest to be so wise, because she was currently looking at her like she had grown an extra head. Lexa gave her the smallest of smiles, bowing her head in the process, too shy to hold Clarke's stare. They both sat back down simultaneously, and silence reigned once more.

"What do you want to do with your life?"

Lexa wasn't expecting Clarke to say anything else, let alone ask her something personal—like she cared.

"I would like to be a writer."

"Because you want to starve and end up homeless?"

"Because it is the only way I have to express myself in the real world. Otherwise, I am afraid I would get pulled into my own imaginary one and would be lost to this one."

Clarke looked more and more surprised. Lexa knew the blonde was trying to lighten the mood with her last comment, but she had promised herself she would wear her heart on her sleeve for Clarke to see, in the hopes that she would deem her worthy of her friendship. She wasn't going to hold anything back. She only hoped her princess wouldn't ask her something she wasn't ready to hear; like how she was all that Lexa could think, write, talk to her imaginary friends about, how badly she wished to know everything about her and tell her all about herself—something she had never wanted to do before. No. Lexa hoped she wouldn't have to confess any of that anytime soon.