Octavia Blake was objectively a beautiful young lady. She was only a sophomore, but captured the interest of many older male students. Exhibit A: Lincoln, the senior soccer captain.

However, Octavia Blake was not beautiful when hunched over a toilet bowl, spilling the contents of her stomach.

Once they arrived to the apartment complex Clarke assumed housed the Blakes, Bellamy carried Octavia through the living room and attempted to reach the bedroom, but stopped once she started coughing and pushed herself down, bolting for the bathroom.

Clarke followed behind and hung in the threshold of the small apartment, unsure of her status. She took in the kitchen and living space, noting the left door led to the bathroom and a small hallway had three doors branching off, naturally leading to sleeping quarters. The kitchen was small and dimly lit, but incredibly clean. The sink was a pristine white and nothing sat on the counters. The living room was equally tidy with one couch, one chair and a large TV sitting directly on the ground. She couldn't help but compare the apartment to her own house, and thought of the extravagant amounts of space her and her mother shared; it was obscene and unnecessary.

Clarke finished her survey and realized Bellamy was hovering outside the bathroom door, but not venturing inside. "Letting her learn a lesson?" Clarke joked.

Bellamy turned and his face looked pale. "I hate vomit."

"Don't you work at a kid's pizza playscape?"

"I told you, I don't do vomit duty. I can't."

Clarke rolled her eyes and shut the front door behind her. "Move."

Bellamy put his hands up and scooted to the left. Clarke gently knocked on the bathroom door and entered before Octavia had the chance to respond.

The good news was Octavia's aim was true and there was no residual mess. However, her hair was sticking to her forehead in a cold sweat that Clarke was sure must be uncomfortable. She pulled the extra hair tie off her wrist and gently gathered the hair off the younger girl's neck and face, twisting it into a loose bun.

"Thanks," Octavia whispered.

"No problem," Clarke said. "How are you feeling?"

Octavia raised her arm to show a thumbs up.

Clarke laughed, "Stupid question. Do you need to throw up more?"

Octavia shook her head.

"Okay, good." Clarke got up and found mouthwash and face wipes among the assorted contents under the bathroom sink. She gently rubbed Octavia's makeup off and ordered her to swish the mouthwash. Octavia spat it into the toilet after a few seconds. Close enough. Clarke was careful to make sure the toilet was flushed and Octavia looked presentable before calling to Bellamy for him to help with transportation. He looked relieved when taking in the bathroom's innocuous state.

"Time for bed," Bellamy said, gently lifting Octavia. "Meet me in the kitchen?" Bellamy said to Clarke and she nodded, forgetting their agreement to eat and talk.

Clarke sat at the small dining table and again noted its simple, clean style. Bellamy returned several seconds later. "Your house is so-"

"Small?" Bellamy offered.

"Clean." Clarke countered.

Bellamy turned and began rummaging through the refrigerator for leftover pizza. "Well, we've been evicted from a place or two, and when my mom is in charge of the house work we never get our security deposit back." He said this matter-of-factly and popped a plate of pizza into the microwave.

"So you clean?"

"Octavia helps." Bellamy added, watching the plate spin in microwave's light.

"Did you know she was going to the party?"

Clarke noted Bellamy's jaw clench. "No. Otherwise I would have gone right away."

Clarke nodded, that made sense.

"I just don't get it." The microwave dinged and he put the plate in front of Clarke, starting a second cycle for himself. "She's never lied before. And she's never been the trashy, drunk girl at a party."

"She likes a boy," Clarke sighed. "And you have a habit of punching boys that talk to her."

Bellamy considered her comment. "True. But I just wish she would have let me know so I could watch out for her."

"You can't control other people," Clarke said gently; she knew from experience. No matter how much she pleaded with her dad, she couldn't stop him from accepting the blame for her mother's crimes.

"You sound like my anger management class." Bellamy snorted, bringing his plate of pizza over and joining Clarke at the table.

Clarke was surprised; she didn't know Bellamy was taking anger management classes. "What would your class say about your hand?" Clarke asked quietly. Bellamy's knuckles were still red and the middle was split, dried blood caked around the injury.

"Let me get that," she added and got up to wet a paper towel. She came back and dabbed at the wound.

Bellamy took the paper towel from her hand and held it against the cut himself. "It's not a big deal."

"It will be a very big deal if Principal Jaha finds out."

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

"He won't talk. He's too much of a coward."

"Lincoln? He's a soccer star! People will notice on Monday when he comes in with a black eye, Bellamy-"

"I didn't punch Lincoln," Bellamy said and took a bite of pizza, moving his eyes to stare at the table.

"What?"

"I punched Finn." Clarke put down the piece of pepperoni she was about to bite and blinked her eyes to make sure she was processing this information correctly.

"You punched Finn Collins?"

"Yes."

She buried her head in her hands. Perfect. Not only did Clarke admit to sleeping with a taken guy for 8 months in front of a crowd, she was slapped. THEN, the school's resident bad boy defended her honor and punched Finn. She could only imagine the ridiculous love square the school would concoct by Monday.

Bellamy's hand gently brushed against her wrist, "hey. I'm sorry." Clarke allowed her hand to be pulled into his. "I saw him with Raven and I just lost it. This night was a bit more than my self control allotted for, and I'm sorry if it made you feel worse." He stared at her so earnestly, she found herself letting go of the bunched up anxiety.

"This is a mess I made." Clarke said finally. "Not you."

"I didn't help," Bellamy grinned and returned to devouring his pizza.

"But you did. I'm stupid but he deserved a slap."

"Punch," Bellamy corrected.

"A punch, right." Clarke could feel the tension slip out of her shoulders as she sat and easily joked with Bellamy, eating lukewarm leftover pizza in a small kitchen.

"What are friends for." Bellamy shrugged.

Clarke raised her eyebrows. "You told me not to be your friend a week ago."

"That was before you held my sister's hair while puking so I didn't have to."

Clarke laughed. "That's it? That's the marker of friendship?" Bellamy stared at her lips and how they curled around her laugh; it was intoxicating. He wanted to be the one to make Clarke laugh forever.

He just smiled and nodded. They sat at the table and talked about the beginning of their nights. Bellamy's presence took away the sting enough for Clarke to tell about her humiliation with a tilt of humor and Bellamy re-enacted the ridiculous antics of Dropship customer's and their children.

"It's two," Clarke noted, staring at the small clock on top of the stove.

"Shit, I can drive you home." Bellamy yawned.

"I feel bad…" Clarke countered, only partially true. In reality, Clarke didn't want to return to her too big house and contemplate how empty it felt without her father. Being in Bellamy's small apartment feeling so cared for made her realize how cold her own dwelling with Abby was. She provided Bellamy with an opening, and she would patiently wait to see his reaction.

Bellamy was unsure of Clarke's intention. She very clearly just stopped seeing (and having sex with, a jealous voice reminded him) Finn; was she trying to make a move on Bellamy? Was she trying for a rebound? Or was it more innocent? Bellamy thought Clarke was beautiful, especially since he had the chance to study her up close. Not to mention her tank top and short skirt left little to his imagination. He also was thoroughly impressed with her talent… her drive… her humor… her resilience… But him, bloody knuckled, and her, sore cheeked, was not the way to come together.

"You could…" Bellamy hesitated, "...stay." Clarke smiled and Bellamy's heart soared.

"I mean, we don't have a lot of space. But you can take my bed and I'll take the couch."

Clarke's heart ached a little with his sweetness. When was the last time a boy offered to make any sacrifice for her, no matter how small? Finn wouldn't even concede a radio channel for her.

"I'll take the couch!" Clarke offered quickly but Bellamy shook his head.

"My mom might stumble in, I don't want her to be surprised and drunk. That's a bad combination for her."

Bellamy's mom was a subject they carefully skirted around, other than his comments that led Clarke to believe she was much worse than Abby. Clarke didn't want to push him; their friendship was so new. It had been ages since she really let someone into her life and she didn't want to compromise it so early.

"Do you… do you want to share? I don't mind," Clarke added quickly, holding her breath. If he didn't think she was hitting on him before, he probably did now. Honestly, it wasn't Clarke's intention. Bellamy was attractive, but wore far too much black and cut too much school for him to be her type. He also was caring… protective… angry… and many other adjectives she was still sorting through. She just wanted company and reassurance someone cared.

Bellamy swallowed. This whole night was one test of restraint after another. "It's a twin, princess. I would flatten you. The couch is fine."

Clarke smiled and ignored the small pull of rejection. "If you say so."

They cleaned their dishes and he lead her down the hallway to the furthest door. Bellamy's room was sparse with a Smith's poster on the wall, a twin bed, neat dresser and skateboard leaning against the closet door. Clarke also noted with amusement he had four pairs of vans lined up against the end of the bed: gray, black, maroon and navy.

"Let me get you a shirt," Bellamy said dutifully, fishing in his top drawer and tossing the found article into Clarke's hands.

"Black. How did I know?" Clarke teased. Bellamy grimaced and stood uncomfortably as Clarke surveyed the place.

"Your room is very you," Clarke concluded.

"This is terrible. I demand to judge your room while you stand and watch."

"That can be arranged." Clarke said quickly before thinking of the double meaning in her words. Again.

"Another night. Sleep well, princess."

Clarke didn't hate the nickname anymore. She didn't hate it at all. "Goodnight, Bellamy Blake." Clarke said smiling. He turned to leave. "Bellamy?" Clarke said before he could close the door.

"Yeah?" He stepped back in.

"Thank you. For everything."

He nodded in recognition before closing the door gently.

Clarke pulled off her party clothes and slipped into the well worn black fabric. The shirt smelled like him and she smiled when she wrapped the bed's blankets around her shoulders. Surrounded by Bellamy Blake; not the worst way to fall asleep.