From anonymous on tumblr: "Minty and Bellarke double date"
Bellamy has never seen Nathan Miller this flustered. Ever.
His best friend isn't the type to fidget with the cuffs of his shirt sleeves. He's not the type to smooth his hair––as if it's even possible for it to get messed up. He's never been the type to jolt in shock when his phone vibrates with a new text.
He's never been that type of person, until now.
"Dude, calm the fuck down," Bellamy says with a smirk when Miller nearly drops his phone.
Miller levels a lethal glare at him. "Fuck off, Blake."
"It's going to go fine," Bellamy says. "You've known him for two years. It's not that big of a deal."
"That means we've had two years to get used to being friends," Miller mutters. "What if we––what if trying to––"
"Date?" Bellamy interjects dryly.
"What if it doesn't go well? What if everything fucking crashes and burns?" Miller says.
"Well, it won't, because one, it's going to go fine, and two, even if for some ridiculous, unbelievable reason it doesn't, do you really believe Monty would stop being your friend?"
Miller lowers his eyes, turns his phone over and over in his hands. "No."
"Exactly. Now get your shit together, man. It's almost time to go and we don't have time to deal with any more of your angst."
Miller sneers at him as they head out of their apartment. "Sorry, could you remind me––who was the guy so nervous about his first date with a certain blonde that I had to tackle him to keep him from leaving the apartment with mismatched shoes and toothpaste on his face?"
"Screw you, Miller," Bellamy replies cheerfully.
Outside, Bellamy convinces Miler to drive them to the bar, hoping that concentrating on the road will help him calm down. Grounders isn't far away, so they could have walked, but Miller needs all the help he can get right now.
Bellamy's own phone buzzes.
I've wrangled Monty into the car and we're leaving work now, Clarke's texted. I'm a little worried he's going to hyperventilate.
What's wrong with him? Bellamy replies. Miller's been going out of his mind.
He's worried about what he's wearing, I think? He keeps groaning about how we should have picked a later time so we could have changed out of our teaching clothes into something "more flattering."
Bellamy snorts, but Miller's too busy muttering under his breath about how long the red light is taking to notice.
Trust me, Miller wouldn't care if he showed up in a potato sack.
Can I tell Monty that? Clarke replies immediately. He won't stop saying that he can't change the tide of their relationship if the moon won't cooperate. I don't even know what that's supposed to mean. And when I tried to ask he yelled at me about it being basic physics.
Bellamy raises his eyebrows at that. Monty Green YELLED at you?
Okay, he got a teeny bit louder than normal. It was a Monty Green Yell, not a real people yell.
Tell him if you want, Bellamy texts as Miller parks across the street from Grounders. But we're here. See you inside, princess.
They head inside and get a booth––Clarke's orders, because she claims a booth is more intimate than the high tables in the main bar area.
"Calm down," Bellamy reminds his friend one more time. Miller's got his arms crossed tightly while his jiggling leg is making their table tremble.
"Shut up," Miller replies.
"Hey guys!" It's Clarke's voice, and Bellamy turns to see the familiar golden hair and blue eyes.
"Hey Clarke," Miller greets her when she waves at him.
"Thank god," Bellamy says, though quietly enough she's the only one raising an eyebrow at him. He stands up to kiss her hello, noticing in his periphery that Miller's standing as well.
Clarke hums against his mouth, and when he pulls away she darts in to place one more peck on his lips.
"Hi," she sighs, squeezing him in a quick hug.
"Long day at middle school, princess?"
"The longest," she says. "Fourth period was especially heinous. The little monsters started a clay war. I gave out six referrals and nine detentions, and the instigator got suspended."
"Let me guess," Bellamy says. "Cage Wallace."
Clarke grimaces at the name of her least favorite student. "Who else?"
"Where's Monty?" Bellamy asks, noticing Miller looking pretty pathetic as he searches the bar for the familiar mop of dark hair.
"Bathroom," Clarke says. "But he should be here any second."
"That second is now," Monty pipes up as he appears by their booth.
"Hey man," Bellamy says, and Monty nods.
"Good to see you, Bellamy."
Monty turns toward Miller, who then clears his throat.
"Hey, uh, Monty. You look––you look good."
Monty smiles. "Hi Nate. You look nice, too."
"Okay!" Clarke interrupts brightly. "We're going to get the first round from the bar while you two decide what food we should order. Be right back!" She seizes Bellamy's hand and drags him away, and Bellamy can barely keep a straight face as Monty and Miller watch them with identical and poorly-disguised expressions of panic.
"You're evil," he tells his girlfriend as they wait at the bar.
Clarke shrugs. "Whatever it takes, Bellamy. Whatever it takes."
Bellamy laughs at her, and she bumps him with her hip. "Seriously, come on," she says. "Those two idiots need, like, a minute alone and they'll get over their nerves."
Bellamy glances back at their booth, sees two heads huddled a little closer than necessary over a shared menu.
Clarke follows his gaze just as Miller reaches out to brush Monty's hair away from his face. Monty catches Miller's hand before he can withdraw it completely, and just holds it. "See?" she says triumphantly.
"You can't blame me for being skeptical," he counters. "We were alone for our first date, and it ended in yelling and an ice cream cone being smashed in my face."
"Yeah, well, you're you," Clarke says, wrinkling her nose at him. "Nate's bark is much worse than his bite. And Monty is a precious cupcake, so they'll be fine."
"Hey!" Bellamy replies indignantly as the bartender finally brings their order. "Are you saying my bark is as bad as my bite?" It sounds a little silly when he says it out loud, but he still wants to know what she means by that.
"Oh, absolutely," Clarke says innocently, taking a sip of her rum and coke. Then she winks at him. "But don't worry. I happen to love your bite."
Bellamy leans forward and kisses her, nipping her lips before pulling away. "Good," he says, satisfied by the slightly dazed look on her face. "Come on, let's take these back to the booth."
But when they get there and set the drinks on the table, neither Miller nor Monty look up, too engrossed in each other to bother.
Clarke and Bellamy exchange a look, and then Bellamy clears his throat.
"Hey, I left my phone in the car."
Miller barely glances away from Monty long enough to toss his keys at Bellamy.
"I'll go with you," Clarke announces, shouldering her purse.
The second they're outside the bar, Bellamy looks at her. "Monty drove, right? He still has his keys?"
Clarke nods. "Yeah, and they can always get a cab."
"Let's get out of here," Bellamy says.
"So much for a double date," Clarke muses as they slide into the car. "I've never felt like such third wheels in my life."
"It's fine. We'll just go have our own date," Bellamy says, pulling out into traffic.
"Yeah?" Clarke replies, tangling her hand with the one he's not using on the steering wheel. "What do you have in mind?"
He flashes a smile at her, squeezes her fingers gently.
"You never did get to finish that ice cream."