CHAPTER 17 : Someone to cook for
16/01/2016
It was the smell, more than the light of day, that woke Clarke up. It took her some time to understand what was going on, as she struggled to open her eyes. It didn't make sense, that smell. But not in a bad way… it smelled good.
And suddenly everything was clear.
Her eyes opened. All her senses were alert. Her stomach growled.
Food.
Someone was cooking at her place.
Wait. But she lived alone.
She straightened up, panicked. Who the fuck w… oh.
A second wave of realization hit her as she remembered Bellamy's curls tickling her face when he laid his head on her shoulder and fell asleep. He'd slept on the mattress in her workshop for the second time since they'd met, which was kind of surprising knowing nobody else ever slept at her place since she'd move in.
The truth was, she'd expected him to leave before she woke up. She was pretty sure he didn't intend to fall asleep on her couch.
So… was he doing what she thought he was doing?
She got up from bed, put an old sweater on, and was about to leave her room when suddenly - she was very aware of what she looked like. She stopped, her hand on the door handle, sighed then circled back around. She headed to the small mirror on the wall facing her bed and leaned in. She felt both relieved and discouraged at the sight of her face. Relieved, because she'd just avoided a catastrophe. Discouraged, because she looked terrible. Her hair was all over the place, her eyes were small, and she still had pillow marks on the left side of her face. Well, she had some work to do. She bit her lip, feeling guilty because she couldn't deny she wanted to look good for him. But it wasn't like she'd want anyone so see her like this. There was nothing wrong with her thoughts.
She straightened up, picked up her brush, and tried to put some order in those messy hair of hers. She ended up putting them in a ponytail. Quick, simple, effective. Her bedroom was linked to the bathroom – the smallest place of the apartment – which allowed her to wash her face a bit without having to face Bellamy first. Ten minutes later, she looked and felt much better. She still had to take a breath before she got out, though. The smell immediately intensified the second she opened the door. It smelled so, so good.
Clarke discretely made her way to living room and the counter on her right, as if she was afraid to disturb him. He didn't see her coming. He had in back on her, busy cooking what looked like… pancakes, she concluded, leaning on the side to see what it was. She smiled, watching his curls going all over the place simultaneously with each of his movements. She watched the muscles on his back and the way his shirt was sticking to his skin, because it was too tight. She knew he was… well… well built. But that was something she'd been refusing to focus on – which is probably why she was surprised to see how muscular he actually was. Was he always like this? Maybe…
She kept looking at his back and his arms and his curls for God knows how long, lost in her thoughts, until her eyes inevitably went down his body, reaching the curve of his perfect a-
Bellamy turned around.
Clarke's whole body tensed, her eyes widening in terror, terrified he'd seen her… staring at…
"Oh hey!" he said, a huge smile on his face. "Didn't hear you coming."
She'd probably lost ten years of her life in that moment. Her heart had stopped beating.
"Hey," she managed to say, swallowing hard, hoping her face didn't resemble a huge tomato.
She'd never felt so ashamed in her entire life. What was wrong with her. He was her friend. She probably just needed to get laid, it'd been a while.
Bellamy put the pancakes on a plate next to him, completely oblivious to what had just happened in Clarke's head.
"You slept well?" he asked.
Clarke cleared her throat, staring at her hands. Maybe she wouldn't be able to look at him the eyes ever again.
"Uh, yeah. You?"
"I'm getting used to that mattress," he smirked, and she looked up just long enough to see him winking at her, which made her lose three more years of her life. She tried to laugh it off, as if she wasn't struggling to breathe normally.
This was getting out of hand, and utterly ridiculous.
"So, I thought…" Bellamy started, "since you let me invade your personal space all the time, the least I could do is breakfast."
He put the plate of pancakes on the counter in front of her.
"I'm a great cook, by the way," he said, smiling proudly.
Clarke couldn't help but roll her eyes.
"Sure."
Bellamy crossed his arms, scowling exaggeratedly.
"Are you doubting my talent?"
"I'm just saying you can't be very objective," Clarke explained, shrugging.
She knew him well enough to know how to tease him. And this was exactly the kind of thing that led to a stupid debate between her and Bellamy.
She startled when suddenly, out of nowhere, Bellamy's face was only a few inches away from hers.
Clarke lost about fifteen additional years of her life. Damn, she wouldn't live long at this rate.
What the hell.
"There are many things you can question about me," he said, his stare way too intense for this type of conversation. "My cooking skills are not one of them."
Clarke couldn't move. She didn't even quite understand what he'd just told her, her attention focused on how close he was. Too close.
"O-okay," she stuttered.
Bellamy straightened, a smile at the corner of his lips. Clarke let a long breath out, not totally recovered from what had just happened. She picked up the fork beside her, glad to have something else to look at.
"Let's have a taste of these pancakes, then," she said, picking up the maple syrup already beside her.
Clarke ended up eating way more than she originally planned, and was forced to recognize Bellamy was good at this. They were the best pancakes she'd ever eaten, which made her very curious to know what else he could cook.
"I've been taking care of my sister ever since I was a child. Cooking for her was probably the best part. My mom was a great cook, too. She taught me a lot," he explained to her.
He was seated in front of her, his head resting on his arms crossed on the counter. He'd been mostly watching her eat, which she'd stopped doing because it was already too much.
"Then I cooked for someone else," he said, his voice lower.
He didn't have to say who for her to understand.
He straightened and sighed.
"I guess I missed it. Having someone to cook for," he said, playing with his hands.
Clarke smiled, touched by his words.
"Well, I missed having someone to have breakfast with. It happened in so long," she said.
Bellamy looked up.
"When was the last time?" he asked.
"Uhh…" Clarke took the time to think about her answer. "Probably with Lexa. Back when I thought she was the love of my life."
She still had this idyllic memory of her in her head. She remembered the frenzy of her heart beating at the sight of Lexa next to her, as she was waking up. She truly was in love with her.
"What happened?" Bellamy asked, hesitant, as if he was scared to upset her.
Clarke shrugged.
"Life happened. I loved her, she loved me. But at some point, it's just not enough," she said. "We realized we were both happier without each other. So, we moved on."
Bellamy was staring at her, but he didn't seem to be there with her. He was frowning, lost in his thoughts. After a few seconds, he nodded.
"Did you regret it?"
Clarke remained silent for a while, not because she didn't want to tell him, but because she'd never really thought about it. It was just… obvious to her.
"It's never easy to let go of someone. I had to grieve this imaginary future I wanted to have with her. But no, I don't regret it. 'Cause it was just that, a fantasy," she said, surprised to find the words so easily.
She watched Bellamy clenched his jaw, confused to see him so… disturbed by what she'd just told him. Then, the realization hit her.
He was projecting himself on her. He'd been looking for answers, and she wasn't sure she'd given him what he wanted.
Suddenly, she didn't what to say or do. She should've been careful with him. He probably didn't need to hear these kinds of things. He was probably really hurt. She wanted to take his hand, to reassure him, but hesitated.
She didn't have the time to think about it for too long, because the next second Bellamy shook his head, then grinned.
"So, am I Gryffindor or…?" he asked, teasing her.
Clarke smiled, relieved.
"Gryffindor. Definitely."
01/03/2019
"Oh, fuck!" Clarke exclaimed, out of breath.
It was pouring, just like she'd predicted. They were both running, Bellamy holding his bag above his head, a few feet away from her. They were both soaking wet.
"Here!" she heard Bellamy said.
He stopped finally, opening the door to a building entrance. Clarke sped up, eager to finally have a roof above her head and feel warm. She entered the building, Bellamy closing the door right behind. Clarke leaned on a wall, catching her breath, listening to the muffled sound of the rain outside. Neither Bellamy nor her said anything for a few minutes, both exhausted by the race against the weather.
Then, out of nowhere, Bellamy burst out laughing.
Clarke turned towards him, frowning.
"What's so funny?"
He didn't answer, still laughing and looking at her. Clarke couldn't help but smile, as she noticed his hair going in every direction, his clothes sticking to his body, the drops of water running down his face. He looked a bit ridiculous, and she probably looked the same.
"Sorry," Bellamy said, calming down.
He still had a sly smile on his face, though, which lead Clarke to cross her arms.
"I told you it was about to rain," she said, as if she was lecturing a child.
Bellamy smiled even bigger.
"I know. Again, I'm sorry."
He walked past her towards the elevator.
"C'mon. My apartment is on the 3rd floor."
~oOo~
"Here," he said, handing her a shirt, sweatpants, a pair of socks and a towel.
"Thank you," she said, as she took them.
"It probably won't fit… but, you know, we'll just have to wait until your clothes dry out," he shrugged, embarrassed.
"It's fine."
Even if it wasn't fine, really, because she wasn't emotionally prepared to be in Bellamy's apartment, wearing his clothes, and talking about a past only she remembered. It was a lot too handle. She was so overwhelmed she could barely move, because somehow she felt like everything could go wrong within a second.
Bellamy pointed at a door on the left side of the corridor.
"This is the bathroom. You can change there. I'll go in my room," he told her.
His hand was still hanging in the air, and she realized he was letting her go first. She looked down and walked past him. It was a small place, which was only making things worse because it felt like she couldn't escape him. He was always near.
"Thank you," she repeated, opening the bathroom door.
She didn't have the courage to look at him, instead she hurried up into the room as if she was trying to hide from him. She sighed once the door was closed behind her.
It was just so weird. This wasn't how she'd planned out the day. She'd never wished to end up at his place, with him. It felt so intimate, like she shouldn't be there.
She turned the light on – the sky had darkened so much it almost seemed like they were in the middle of the night. The bathroom was small, with a shower on her left and a sink on her right. Bellamy's stuff was scattered a bit everywhere on small dressers.
She resisted the urge to observe everything she was noticing, shaking her head. She got to the sink, putting the pile of clothes down on a dresser beside her, and finally got a look at her face in the mirror.
She suddenly understood why Bellamy had laughed so hard. Her mascara had run down her face - making her look like one of these girls who just had a terrible breakup in Hollywood movies – her short hair was curling, her nose was red. Not her best look, frankly.
She took her shirt off and washed her face first, her eyes landing on Bellamy's toothbrush. That simple thing was enough to make her feel weird, as if she was invading his space. She turned around to pick up the shirt he'd given her. She held a breath as she put it on, but couldn't ignore the smell once it was on her. It smelled just like him, which she hated. She put the sweatpants on, which were falling on her hips, then the socks. Nothing fitted her, obviously, but at least she felt warm.
She hesitated before getting out of the bathroom. She had to count to three to have the courage to open the door.
The first thing she noticed was the sound of something boiling. Then, it was the smell.
Bellamy was cooking for her.
She tiptoed towards the living room, mostly because she didn't want him to notice she was done. She tilted her head to the side, until she was able to see him near the stove, his back on her. She was hit by the memory of him cooking breakfast for her at her place – a time when everything seemed so bright, so joyful. She never thought she'd see such a view again. She didn't think she deserved it, either.
She got closer, deciding that this time she wouldn't just stand there, watching him.
"What are you cooking?" she asked.
Bellamy turned around, seemingly happy to see her.
"Uh… something very original," he said, pointing at the pan. "Spaghetti alla Bolognese."
She laughed at his poor imitation of the Italian accent.
"Sounds good to me," she said.
She leaned in on the counter beside him, as he was stirring the tomato sauce with seasoning. She remained silent for a while, observing him.
"You cooked for me," she said, suddenly.
That made him stop to look at her.
"I did?"
She shrugged, as if it was nothing important. It actually was for her, at the time.
"Yeah. A few times."
They locked eyes, their arms almost touching. Clarke froze, unable to move. They remained like this for so long Clarke felt her heart beating faster, and had to look away. Bellamy didn't. It felt like he was trying to see through her, to understand what she was thinking. His stare was so intense, she had a hard time controlling her emotions. She was hoping her cheeks weren't red.
Bellamy focused back on the pasta, fortunately.
"It's almost done," he said.
A few minutes later, they were silently eating at the small table in the middle of the room, which according to Bellamy wasn't often put to use.
"It's good," Clarke said, wrapping spaghetti around her fork.
Bellamy shrugged.
"It's simple."
"Yeah. But it's good," she said, smiling at him.
Bellamy smiled back, his eyes searching hers. He seemed to hesitate before asking, "What did I cook for you?"
Clarke looked up, thinking.
"Mmh… Pancakes. A soup."
"My pancakes are great!" Bellamy proudly exclaimed.
Clarke laughed.
"They are."
She knew he probably wanted more details, but the words were stuck in her throat. She didn't know how much she would be able to talk about that time, before he'd start asking himself…
She shook her head, refusing to think about it.
She had an idea, suddenly.
"Where are the drawings?" she asked him, recalling why they'd come here in the first place.
Bellamy got up, picking them up from the couch. She didn't even notice they were there when she'd come in. He handed them to her. She knew exactly which one she wanted.
"Here," she said, putting it in front of him on the table.
Bellamy sat down, his eyes focused on the drawing.
"That was the first time you cooked for me," she said.
She didn't have to look at it to know what it was – the small kitchen of her previous apartment, Bellamy with his back on her. If she had the time and the envy, she would add so much more details. Bellamy didn't say anything.
"It was for breakfast. You… uh, slept at my place because it was late… but we didn't… I mean…" Clarke tried to explain, babbling.
She realized, as she was talking, that he could interpret what she'd just told him in a whole different way. Bellamy remained silent, frowning. She had a feeling he wanted to say something to her, but didn't know how to. And it probably had nothing to do with cooking.
He sighed, put the drawing down, and looked at her.
"Claire…"
Clarke winced just a little, that fake name reminding her of the many things she was hiding from him.
"What happened?" Bellamy asked.
She heard the sadness in his voice, and she felt like her heart was ripped off her chest. She put her hands under the table, because she knew they would start shaking. She looked down, trying to breath normally.
It was the one question she'd been dreading he would ask.
"What do you mean?" she said, her voice shaking, as if she didn't know what he wanted to hear.
"I think you know what I mean."
But Clarke couldn't do anything, couldn't say it.
It was too much.
She heard Bellamy getting up from his chair, and when he kneeled down beside her she closed her eyes, because it only made things worse.
"Please," he begged, his voice so low.
She startled when she felt his hand take hers. She wanted to get away from him, but she didn't move.
"Look at me."
She couldn't.
But his other hand went to her face, gently moving her hair to the side so he could see her. His hand remained on her cheek, so warm.
Clarke sighed, then finally looked at him.
He didn't seem angry or desperate. No, he was smiling – but she could still see the sadness in his eyes.
"What were we?" he asked.
Clarke straightened, shocked.
"What?"
"I just… I know you were important to me. And I was important to you. But… why? Why all these lies?" he declared, the words coming out as if he'd been holding them in for too long.
Clarke was speechless. She should've seen this coming.
She straightened.
"You saw me at the hospital. You remember that, right?" she decided to ask him, because if they had to be honest tonight then they should be honest on this, too.
Bellamy eyes widened, surprised. He took his hand off her face, but she kept looking at him.
He nodded.
"That's why you were so insistent to see me again, is that it?" she asked.
Bellamy straightened and got up. She already missed the warmth of his hand on hers.
"Yes," he admitted. "Because it only confirms what I've been suspecting from the beginning. You cared about me much more than you want to admit."
She could see his whole body had tensed. His eyes were a battle of emotions. Clarke felt disorientated, defeated. What was she supposed to say? She knew she would pay for her lies, someday.
"And you know what?" Bellamy continued. "I don't even blame you for this. You probably have your reasons."
He sighed.
"You knew my closest friends. My sister. Yet all of you act as if you'd never met each other." he finally said.
Clarke felt like her entire world was ending. How stupid she had been, to think that he didn't know anything at all. To think she was protected, in her own bubble of lies.
She closed her eyes to hold back her tears.
Once again, Bellamy took her face in his hands, this time forcing her to look up at him. She opened her eyes and a tear fell on her cheek. Bellamy wiped it off with his thumb. She could barely look him in the eyes, but she could feel his breath on her face.
"Why?" he begged, his voice shaking. "Please, tell me why…"
He stopped, his voice stuck in his throat. He closed his eyes too, then leaned in just a little. Clarke caught her breath, but only their foreheads were touching. She could almost feel his nose against hers, the warmth of his skin. Without thinking, she put a hand on his chest, right next to his heart. He was breathing so fast.
Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.
They startled.
Bellamy's phone was buzzing.
But he didn't move, he remained in the exact same position, and Clarke didn't push him away. He didn't answer the call, and soon the room was silent again.
Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.
Bellamy sighed.
He waited for a few seconds, then took his hands of her face and moved away from her. Clarke immediately wanted to run back into his arms, knowing she shouldn't feel that way.
Bellamy picked up the phone, frowning.
"Lincoln?... What?... Oh. Yes. Yes. I'm coming. I'll be there in a few minutes," Bellamy said hastily.
Clarke got up, confused.
"What happening?" she asked.
Bellamy hung up, shocked.
"My sister had her baby," he declared.
