"Bellamy."

Rolling his eyes, Bellamy shut the front door after Clarke. He wasn't in the mood to deal with his mom. They hadn't really spoken to each other since Winter Break, which was roughly two months ago. He was reasonably polite to her, she was still his mom, but it wasn't the same as before.

"What, Ma?" he shouted. The three of them had just walked in the door from a really nice day at the beach. He didn't want her ruining it.

"Can you come in here?"

Clarke turned around and looked at him, rubbing her arms. Octavia looked between their mother and him, and sighed, annoyed. "Mom," she warned.

"I got it," he said exasperatedly. "This shouldn't take long."

Clarke nodded shortly, adjusted the bag on her shoulder, and walked down the hall towards his room, Octavia in tow. Sighing, Bellamy rubbed his forehead, inhaled deeply to calm down despite not being mad, and then walked towards the living room. His mom was sitting on the couch. As he entered, she lowered the volume some.

"What?" he leaned in the doorway, arms folded. All he wanted to do was hop in the shower and rinse the sand off his body. Sand had an annoying habit of wedging itself in the most irritating of places, despite not having direct contact with it.

"Bellamy," she sighed and waved for him to actually enter. "Come sit down, please."

Rolling his eyes again, Bellamy unfolded his arms, stalked into the room, and flopped down on the couch. Sealing his lips, he pondered over what his mom could possibly want. Neither of them had made an effort to have a real conversation in the past sixty days.

"How was the beach?"

"Fine," he said curtly, removing his hat. Planting it on his fist, he spun it around to remain levelheaded. He wasn't pissed yet, but he had a nagging feeling that she was just going to end up saying something for him to end up that way.

Pressing her hands into her lap, she stared at him. Bellamy continued spinning his hat. Exhaling through her nose, she glanced at a commercial on TV and then back at him. "Alright. I really just want to talk about Clarke, Bellamy," she said plainly.

"I'd really rather you didn't," Bellamy countered, locking his jaw in place. I knew it, he thought to himself. Had she really not gotten the picture the last time they were together?

"It's not what you think," she hurried to correct herself. "I don't want - I didn't call you in here so I could talk badly about her."

"Sure you didn't," Bellamy answered, yawning. Spending half the day at the beach had made him tired. He'd probably just take a nap after showering.

"Bellamy," she said sternly.

Suppressing the desire to roll his eyes again, he cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"I know you and I haven't really spoken since your last break, and I know that I'm partially to blame."

"Partially?" he wrinkled his forehead. She gave him a look that told him to stop interrupting. Closing his mouth, Bellamy leaned back into the couch and stopped spinning his hat. If she wasn't planning on shit-talking, he might actually listen.

"Maybe a little more than partially," she relinquished that point. Swallowing, she looked down at her hands. "And I would like to apologize for the things I said about Clarke. It was wrong of me to pass such harsh judgment."

"Yeah, it was," Bellamy muttered.

Ignoring him, his mom continued, "You have to understand though… learning that my nineteen year old son had gotten his seventeen year old sister's best friend pregnant was heart-breaking."

Bellamy just stared at her.

"Anyway," biting her lower lip, she released it and carried on. "I was very upset that you'd done something so stupid. Between you and Octavia, you've always been the more irresponsible one, but I never thought you'd become a father before graduating college. I taught you better and… from all the years of her being over here, I know that Clarke is a good kid, and she knows better, too. So… you screaming at me that you were the father of her baby was not what I wanted to hear, at all."

"Well that's how it is, Mom," Bellamy said darkly, rubbing the back of his head. He couldn't tell where this little chat was going, and he didn't like the uncertainty. She didn't have to tell him that she was mad at him for getting Clarke pregnant. That was pretty obvious by the looks she'd given her over Winter Break.

"I understand that now," she said sharply. Bellamy stared at her skeptically. "It took me some time to come to terms with this situation, and the thought still upsets me because this is not what I wanted for you, but I've accepted that this is reality. A bright side to this whole thing is that you could've gotten a worse girl pregnant, so… I guess I thank you for not doing that."

"Clarke is a nice girl," Bellamy commented. His mom nodded in agreement. With stalled conversation came silence, silence they were accustomed to. Except now it felt awkward, stifling.

"I called you in here to tell you that I'm proud of you," her voice sliced the silence in half. Caught off guard, Bellamy turned and studied her face, checking to see if she was being honest. He hadn't heard that from her since middle school. Turning to face him, she smiled a bit.

"For getting her pregnant?"

"No," losing the smile, she made a face. "I'm proud of you for stepping up and doing the right thing. In that aspect, I did raise you properly. You're finally acting like a responsible adult and it… I hate that these circumstances brought it out, but at the same time, it makes me very happy."

Bellamy lost the sharp edges and actually paid closer attention. She hadn't been lying when she promised no negativities about Clarke.

"You didn't hesitate to let her move in with you when her parents kicked her out; a frat house is not the ideal place for a young, pregnant girl, but you let her stay anyway. You've brought her home for every single break, you take her to her appointments, and you stand up for her. I'm very proud of you, Bellamy, for taking responsibility. And I also called you in here to tell you that I am going to help the two of you," she took a deep breath.

"What do you mean?" Bellamy questioned.

"You mentioned a while back that her parents want nothing to do with her," she clarified, tucking hair behind her ear. "And I'm sure you two have realized that you'll need a place to stay once school ends in May." Bellamy stared blankly at her. What was she implying? Was she politely kicking them out? "Clarke's pretty big now, definitely bigger than the last time I saw her. How far along is she?"

"Seven months."

"And the baby's name?"

"Tristan," Bellamy answered.

"Hm. A boy," she said simply. Shaking her head, she cracked her knuckles. "You better hope he takes after her."

Bellamy smiled a bit at her comment. That sounded like something Clarke would say.

"You guys are only here for two weeks," she said smartly. "When you head back to school, I will begin the process of transforming your room into a bedroom/nursery. It'll be a tight squeeze, but… you'll manage. When he's actually born, I'll be here to help Clarke get used to being a mom. She graduates in June, so it's going to be a crazy two months for both of you."

"We actually have a lot of stuff already. We had a baby shower," Bellamy shared.

"When?" His mom questioned.

"Last month," he answered shortly. "The guys went out and bought some stuff for us."

"Your frat brothers threw you a baby shower?" she asked for clarification.

"Yeah," Bellamy shrugged casually. "We got some good stuff, too. They gave us formula and diapers and clothes and… Miller gave us a car seat."

"I'm shocked and impressed," she said in a low voice, still astounded. "If that's the case, give me a list of things you still need, and I'll go out and get them."

"Okay," hopping up from the couch, he started to leave. He really wanted to feel steaming water pounding against his skin. Clarke had finally gotten him to venture into the water with her; a thin layer of sand and salt coated his skin and that was fine for the beach. Now that he was home, he felt grimy and wanted it off.

"And Bellamy?"

"Yeah?" he turned around.

"Please don't drop out of school," locking eyes with him, she held him in place with her words. It was a plea, and he could tell she was struggling to remain calm for the moment.

"Mom."

"You two are young parents and I know it's going to be hard," she cut him off. "It's going to be incredibly stressful and crazy and everything. At times you are going to want to give up; I know because I felt that at times with you and your sister, and I was in my late twenties. But, please, promise me that no matter how hard it gets, you will not drop out of school."

"I can't drop out," Bellamy replied after verifying that she'd finished. She didn't have to make that request. Clarke would literally kill him if he dropped out of school. Plus, there was so much riding on his graduation. He needed a real job so he could make enough money to get him, Clarke, and Tristan their own place; Bellamy definitely didn't want to live with his mom for the rest of his life. He'd quit a lot of things in his life, but college wasn't about to go on that list. "I've got a family to take care of."

Placing his hat back on his head, he left her to the television.

Clarke grunted a little as Bellamy flipped through the channels. The glow from the television washed the walls blue, illuminating their faces in the darkness. Bellamy was seated normally; Clarke was stretched out on the remainder of the couch, legs hanging over the farthest arm, head on Bellamy's knees.

"What?" he put the remote down.

"Nothing."

"Is he kicking you again?"

"Like crazy," she muttered.

"You are really active," he started rubbing her stomach. "Maybe he'll be a soccer player, an internationally famous soccer player, like David Beckham."

"Whatever," Clarke mumbled. "I just want him to stop kicking me."

"You're upsetting your mom, Tristan," Bellamy said evenly. "Stop kicking her."

Clarke appreciated him addressing her stomach. It wasn't changing Tristan's agenda, but it was cute. Tristan had powerful legs; one time he'd kicked her so hard she'd woken up from a nap. She was truly grateful for the moments when he went still – long enough for her to rest, but not long enough she began to worry.

"Two months left," Bellamy commented, whistling at the end. "You scared yet?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "Maybe when the day comes."

"Are you going to get an epidural?" he questioned.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"How much pain I can take," she replied. "And if I really want to be injected with another needle."

"I don't like needles either," he admitted, dancing his hand over the apex of her stomach. "I've already told you that I couldn't have kids. Sounds terrifying and painful and gross."

"If I was scared, you're not making it any better," she said plainly, rubbing the side of her neck. Reaching for the remote, she changed the channel to one talking about celebrity drama.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I'd only want to be a girl for one reason."

"What?"

"Boobs," he smiled widely.

"Seriously?"

"Hell yeah," he said happily. "Boobs are awesome. And yours are huge."

"Bellamy!" she snapped.

"Sorry," he lost the smirk.

Silencing themselves, they got lost in an over-the-top report of an unnecessarily extravagant wedding. "Do you want to be in the room with me?" Clarke asked finally. She'd been meaning to ask him at the start of Spring Break.

"What, the delivery room?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" he asked, taken aback. "Like, really?"

"Yes, Bellamy," she said with far less enthusiasm.

"He-yeah," he nodded excitedly. "Of course I'll be in there with you." Bellamy started bobbing his head to a silent song.

"I have another question."

"Yeah, anything," he agreed without even hearing it.

"Prom," Clarke ignored his agreement.

"What?" Bellamy's smile vanished.

"Prom," she repeated, clearing her throat. She'd dreamt about Prom since entering high school. The decorations, the music, the memories. It was silly, but Clarke had wanted it all for so long. She and her mom were supposed to go shopping for the perfect dress, she'd get her hair done in some fancy style, and she'd dance with her friends.

"Umm," Bellamy paused and thought. "When is it?"

"The last week of April. So… next month."

"Are you sure you wanna-"

"I don't want to say that I missed my Prom because I was pregnant," she said roughly. A lot of her senior year experience had been abandoned because of that very reason. She just wanted one night, one night to feel like a normal senior again. It was Prom, and then graduation. Those were the last huge events of her high school career.

Clarke wanted both.

"But that's so close to your due date," Bellamy pointed out. "You don't want to be the girl who goes into labor at Prom."

"I sincerely doubt that Tristan will come early. He's having too much fun bruising me internally," she argued. Rubbing her tongue over the roof of her mouth, she awaited Bellamy's response, which didn't come. "And I'm not due until the middle of May." Bellamy still didn't say anything. "You don't want to go, do you?"

"It's not that, Clarke."

"Then what?" tearing her attention from the TV to his face, she shot him a glare.

"I…" looking down, he saw her face. Pasting a smile on, he immediately returned his attention to the bright screen. "You know what? You're right; I don't want to go. But, it's going to make you happy, so… I will go back to high school with you. I'll even go dress shopping with you. How 'bout that?"

"Sounds great," Clarke cooled her eyes and looked back at the TV. "Did something traumatic happen to you at Prom?"

"What are you talking about?" Bellamy rubbed the end of his nose.

"Why don't you want to go?"

"I don't know," he shrugged listlessly. "It's… I don't know. Prom is just guys in formal wear getting up on girls in formal wear. The music is shit, there's no alcohol, and… yeah."

"It sounds like your Greek formals," Clarke replied sarcastically.

"Wrong," Bellamy held up a contradictory finger. "There's alcohol at the formals. Speaking of which, one contributing factor to my agreement is that I wanted to take you to the Greek Hearts Ball."

"Why didn't you ask me?" That was news to her.

"You would've said no."

"You're right," sighing, she readjusted her head in his lap. Bellamy snorted at her response. Moving his hand from her stomach to her head, he teased fingers through her hair. "But regardless of how shit Prom is, you still have to go. It's the last thing you do before you walk across a stage, receive a diploma, and get thrown into the real world."

His fingers felt nice.

"Did you even go to your Prom?"

"Of course," he yawned. "I didn't bring a date though; my friends and I all decided it'd be cooler to go stag. We stayed for an hour and then promptly left to retrieve alcohol and girls. We were unsuccessful in both endeavors, so we just party-hopped. I succeeded in getting insanely drunk, and it was wonderful."

"What about the girls?"

"Nah. I was a good boy that night."

"I'm shocked."

"As was I."

"Bellamy." Clarke could do nothing but roll her eyes.

"What? I lived a rockstar lifestyle in my younger years, Clarke. You know that," he said simply, like that made up for everything. Tossing the remote aside, he looked at the clock. "It's late and we should be getting to bed. See? I can be responsible."

"Yeah, okay," Clarke snorted and eased up halfway.

"I'm still a rockstar," he pressed, grabbing her hands. Exerting some effort, he pulled her up to her feet, and then waited a few seconds to make sure she didn't fall backwards. Proud of his efforts, he turned the TV off, bathing the room in darkness. "I've just toned it down a bit since getting with you."

"I'm going to bed," stepping around him, Clarke began her slow, uncomfortable walk to his room.

Trying to make her laugh, Bellamy whipped his shirt off and swung it around his head.

"These abs are coming with you. Hold on," racing to the front, he turned around and started dancing backwards in her direction.

"You're so lucky that I can't run," she hissed.

"Or what?" he fired back, still dancing. Seizing her hands, he swung her arms up and down. "You wouldn't do anything, Clarke. Touch these and all is forgiven." Forcing her palm open, he ran her bare hand over his abdominals. Rolling her eyes again, she pulled her hand back and motioned for him to be quiet. He did have a point; his abs were fantastic. Like he could read her thoughts, he raised his eyebrows twice and continued swinging her arms up and down until they made it to his room.

He did make her laugh. Just a little.

Clarke perused the racks, digging through the formal remnants. Most of her classmates had long since bought their dresses, which explained the less than spectacular selection. She was partially to blame. Prom was in a month and she hadn't even started looking. Pieces of her conversation with Bellamy came to mind. He'd brought up some good points, all things she'd thought of herself. At the beginning of the year, she'd honestly considered not going. She didn't want to be the pregnant girl at Prom. And what if the unthinkable, her water breaking, actually did happen? That'd be worse than showing up in the same dress as someone else.

"Highly unlikely now," she muttered to herself. In spite of all the frightening possibilities, she decided to attend last month. She wanted to hear the bad music, see her classmates dressed up in their finest attire, eat the cookies and other food items her school budgeted for, and most of all, she wanted to dance. That was her main motivation. At every single dance she'd ever attended, she danced until her entire body, including her dress, was soaked with sweat. It was far from cute, but it was a sign she'd had a good time. And she'd always been with Octavia and their friends. Which included Finn.

Now those memories felt tainted.

"No," she mumbled. Shoving those memories to the darkest corners of her mind, she continued looking. A mom walked past with her daughter in tow, staring. Clarke looked up just in time to see the mom seize her daughter by the arm and pull her down the center aisle, avoiding her completely. Pregnancy's not contagious, she thought. Shaking her head, she moved to another rack, desperate to find something.

"What about this?" Bellamy called over.

Clarke turned around to see, and nearly gagged at the sight. Swinging from a hanger was a teal monstrosity more suitable for an ailing disco ball than her. She couldn't think of anything else besides a rotating, blue orb when looking at it. The infinite number of sequins glittered in the store lights, nearly blinding her. "No," she said simply.

"You don't like sequins?" he hung it back up.

"I think my reaction said it all," Clarke returned to her search. "And I'm honestly surprised that you know what those are."

"Mom and Octavia always had Project Runway on," he answered, chewing gum. She glanced over her shoulder at him; he smirked and raised his eyebrows in response. Cramming his hands in his pockets, he strolled down the aisle. "What about this?"

"I hate yellow," she said without really looking at it.

"I like yellow," he countered, swinging it enticingly.

"You're not the one wearing the dress."

"I could wear the dress," he placed it back on the rack. "That'd be a sight for your little high school."

"Could you try to be serious?" Clarke sighed, a bit exasperated. She should've just waited until the weekend when she could go dress shopping with Octavia rather than take up Bellamy's offer to accompany her; at least Octavia's style succeeded Bellamy by miles. But with her luck, by then, the dress choices would be even more nonexistent.

"It's Prom," he blew a bubble and popped it with his teeth. "Absolutely not." Leaning against the rack, he stared over at her. "What's the theme, anyway?"

"Alice in Wonderland."

"Hm," Bellamy rubbed his chin. "Johnny Depp style or the old one?"

"Just Alice in Wonderland," Clarke answered, pausing to gaze at a pomegranate colored dress with a beaded strap going over one shoulder. "What was yours?"

Bellamy stopped chewing his gum long enough to dart his eyes back and forth, thinking. "I don't know," he gave up trying to remember. "There was an ocean involved." He watched her. "That's pretty. You like that one?"

"Yeah."

"Try it on," he said encouragingly, returning to his side of the rack. "I'll keep looking."

"You don't have to," Clarke said politely. His active role in dress shopping was cute, but Bellamy wasn't accurately grasping her style. Prior to the yellow and the sequins, he'd held up more hideous choices. He had gotten lucky once and shown her a really nice red one. The problem was that she couldn't fit in it; he'd quickly shoved it back onto the rack and moved to another cluster of dresses.

"I'm having so much fun though," he made a face at her and shifted through more hangers.

Clarke gathered three more dresses: a jade green halter one, a strapless red one, and a one shoulder black dress with white sides. Bellamy followed her to the dressing room and flopped down on one of the plush, red couches. He immediately broke his phone out and occupied himself with Pokemon Go. Clarke could hear the music reverberating from the confines of the dressing rooms.

In the privacy of the dressing room, Clarke stripped down, and reached for the first dress, the pomegranate one. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but stare. The hand extending towards the dress fell to her side as she analyzed the image. She was huge; her stomach looked like an overinflated beach ball, and there were still two months to go. Silently, she prayed she wouldn't gain anymore weight. Clarke had gotten lucky with stretch marks. There weren't that many because she'd slathered on lotions and cocoa butter at the appearance of the first discolored line.

This is not how I'm supposed to look right now, she thought.

Ripping her eyes from her reflection, she grabbed the dress and stepped into it. Slipping the beaded strap over her shoulder, she studied her reflection, and liked what she saw. It was beautiful. And tight. The dress was on, but there was no way the zipper would successfully go up the track. Biting her lip, she paused, stared a few more moments, and took it off. That was bound to happen, she told herself. She grabbed the green one, and the same thing happened, but worse. It barely came up past her stomach. Kicking it off, she slipped the red on one. Since the zipper was on the side, she attempted to get it up herself. It rose halfway and then stopped. Sucking in her stomach, she tried again. Nothing changed.

"Bellamy!"

"What?" he hopped up.

"I need help."

"You want me to come in there?"

"Yes," she sighed. Opening the door for him, he slid inside and shut it, pocketing his phone in the process.

"What do you need?"

"Zip me," she gestured to the open zipper.

"Alright," he said casually, grabbing hold of it. Holding her breath, she sucked in with all her might and fought her natural need to inhale. She felt and heard the zipper move.

"Is it up?" she asked earnestly. Red was one of her favorite dress colors. If this one fit, she was prepared to dance around the changing area in front of the triple-mirror.

"Not quite. Hold on," Bellamy grunted.

Deflating, she turned back to the single mirror and watched Bellamy struggle to zip it up. Grinding her teeth, she knew it wasn't going to go up any further. The dress wasn't made for pregnant teens. "Forget it," she said darkly, staring down. She couldn't even see her feet.

"No, I almost got it," Bellamy huffed.

"No, you don't," she said crossly. "Just let go. I'll try on this last one."

"Last one?" he stepped back and planted his hands on his sides. "I haven't even seen the other two?"

"That's because they don't fit either," she said angrily, throwing hair over her shoulder.

"Well that's… the black and white one is my favorite anyway," he answered. Clarke recognized his attempt to make her feel better, but it wasn't working. He didn't have an unappealing reflection. He wasn't the one trying on dresses and feeling like a whale. All she wanted was the perfect Prom dress. That wasn't a gigantic request. The repeated rejections were just making her feel worse about herself. "I'll be outside." Bellamy quickly left the changing room, leaving Clarke to herself and her twin in the mirror.

Dejected, Clarke hung up that dress and thrust it to the back of the pile. Removing the black and white dress from the hanger, she stepped into it and pulled it up. Thrusting her left arm through the shoulder strap, she took note of the side zipper. Side-zippers had just become her mortal enemy. Already, she could barely breathe. But she was determined; all she wanted was one dress to fit properly. "Bellamy?"

"Okay!" he hurried back in. Smiling kindly at her, he began zipping. It made it three-fourths of the way before coming to an abrupt halt. Clarke's hope crashed and burned like the Hindenburg. "Wait… wait, wait, hold on."

"It's not gonna go," Clarke said quietly.

"No, no, I got it," he replied quickly. Pulling it back down to the bottom, he stared at her face in the mirror. "Maybe if you just…"

"I'm already sucking in!" she fired back. His hints were poorly disguised.

"I wasn't going to say that, but okay," he fell silent. "I guess you can keep doing that, though."

Holding her stomach, Clarke shut her eyes and did her best to stop breathing or moving or anything that would stop the zipper in its journey to the top. It got relatively high and Bellamy stopped. Clarke opened one eye; three-fourths of the way. Opening her other eye, Clarke dropped her hands from her stomach, and let her hands fall to her sides. "I'm too fat," she pressed her lips together and glared at the girl in the mirror. Tears slid down her face.

"No, this dress isn't even that pretty, Clarke," Bellamy rubbed her shoulders. "Come on. We can find some other ones."

"I'm too fat for all the dresses out there!" she shouted angrily, crying harder.

"Clarke, you're not fat," he wrapped his arms around her. She was overcome by the body spray he'd put on that morning. "You're pregnant."

"I'm so fat," she sobbed, face buried in his shoulder. She sank down to the floor in a pile of polyester and taffeta. Bellamy hugged her tighter and let her cry. "All I want is a dress. Just… a dress." Rationally, she knew she was being overly dramatic. Stupid hormones.

"I don't think you're fat, Clarke," he said calmly, stretching his legs out.

"You don't….un-understand," she hiccuped. "I hate this s-s-so much. I'm huge."

"Because you're carrying a baby," he reasoned. Clarke knew that to be true, but still didn't want to hear it. None of the dresses fit; that's what mattered. A year ago, fitting into a dress had been no problem. Hell, seven months ago, fitting into a dress had been no problem. This wasn't fair. Four dresses. Four dresses hadn't fit, and she'd chosen large sizes. "Don't cry, Clarke."

She couldn't dam her tears.

"Okay… okay," loosening his hold on her, he stood up and straightened his shirt. There was a noticeable wet stain on his right shoulder.

"Don't… l-leave."

"No. No, no, no," he held up his hands. "I saw a dress."

"I don't want to try on anything else," wiping her eyes, she struggled to control her breathing. "They don't have dresses for fat, pregnant girls."

"No, you'll love it," stepping around her, he grabbed the door handle. "Just - hold on. I'll be right back. You'll love it, I swear."

Sniffling, Clarke toyed with the hem of the dress and reconsidered her decision to finally go to Prom. What was the point? Dress shopping made it quite clear that it wasn't going to be the Prom she'd fantasized about for the last four years. She could barely fit into anything, she didn't have any friends, and she'd be lucky if she could stand on her feet the entire night. The entire thing had turned into a miserable nightmare.

"Can I come back in?" Bellamy's voice permeated her despair from the other side of the door.

"Yeah."

"Check it out," reappearing, he thrust a strapless pale blue dress out towards her. Upping his enthusiasm for her sake, he danced it around a bit. "You said Alice in Wonderland, right? You'll look like Alice in this thing."

"Bellamy, it's not gonna fit," she swiped beneath her eye with her fist. Clarke had experienced enough unhappiness for the day.

"Come on," he coaxed. "It's a mermaid dress. Everyone fits into mermaid dresses."

"How do you know that?'

"Project Runway," he repeated. Placing it at the front of the hanging pile, he offered his hands to help her off the floor. Clarke begrudgingly rose and stared at it. Wiping beneath her eyes again, she studied the material, the design, the way it flared out at the bottom. She definitely wouldn't have picked it, but… it did look kind of nice. "Try it on, and if it doesn't fit, you can punch me. Anywhere you want."

Clarke looked at him.

"Except here, of course," he gestured to his crotch. "I need this."

"Okay," she consented, tying her hair back.

Smiling at her, he left her alone. "Call me in when you're done."

There won't be any of that, she thought. She wasn't going to call Bellamy in to help her pull a zipper halfway up its track. Unclipping it from the hanger, she gazed at the pale color. It was a little light for Alice, but it was close. And the bottom of the dress was astounding, eye-catching. Bellamy had been right about the mermaid part. Sighing, she blinked and stepped into the bottom of it and slid it up, all the way to the top. Like the black and white dress, it was one shoulder. "Damn side zipper!" she hissed, glaring hatefully at it in the mirror. Shockingly, it fit nicely; Clarke had adequate breathing room. Biting her bottom lip, she studied her reflection. The dress was appropriately tight. Her stomach was obvious, but the image wasn't bad enough to evoke the tears again.

"How's it look?" Bellamy called in hopefully.

"Zipper," she said simply.

"Got it," he popped back in and started zipping. Clarke watched it go up one-fourth of the way, then halfway, then three-fourths. With sudden hope, she watched with bated breath as it kept going. Please, please, please, she silently prayed. The zipper kept going, all the way to the top. Bellamy let go and stepped back.

"It fits," he said quietly.

"It fits!" she cheered. "It fits, it fits, its fits!"

"Oh, thank God," he exhaled and smiled widely at her. "See, I told you."

"It fits," she repeated, gazing at herself in the mirror. Glancing down, she still couldn't see her feet, but that was offset by the fact that they'd procured a Prom dress. Turning in a circle, she listened to the light whoosh of the material over the carpeted floor. Normally, her next thoughts would've moved onto what heels to buy.

"And who looks beautiful? You do!" he pointed ecstatically at her. "You want this one?"

"It fits, so yeah," she nodded blissfully. Bellamy wrapped his arms around, hugging her tightly.

"I can only hope to look half as good in my tux," he commented and kissed her cheek. Clarke reciprocated the sentiment and wrapped her arms around Bellamy, pressing her nose against his sternum, basking in the return of her Prom spirit. "All those girls are gonna be jealous."

"Of me?" Clarke questioned suspiciously.

"No, of me," Bellamy made a face before kissing the top of her head. "Yeah, you, Clarke." Courtesy of his gum, he smelled like spearmint.

Rocking in a circle, they slow-danced to what sounded like elevator music coming through the speakers.

As always, thanks for the reviews and all the follows and alerts. Makes my day.