Clarke considered herself to be an intelligent person. So when Bellamy came home, eyes bright and mouth full of stories, little things Finn had said or shown him that put a light behind his dark features, Clarke knew he would be around for a while. He wouldn't ask though, it wasn't his style. She watched him, his lips vibrating as he regaled her with little known trivia about her ex-fiancee's ancestor.

"Come here." She gestured with her hand, and he leaned forward. Her fingers brushed his curly hair away from his forehead, eyes sweeping over the sutures she'd done a week earlier.

"What's the verdict, Mom?" He asked. This was something of a routine for them. She would check his stitches, he would make some kind of crack about how she worried too much, or was overbearing, and light hearted banter would quickly turn into surprisingly real fights for two people who barely knew each other. Octavia thought it was hilarious. She had offered to move Bellamy in with her now that Lincoln was gone, but Clarke had suggested that it didn't make much sense for Bellamy to move all his things if he was only staying for a few days. It was now apparent that a few days would be turning into a few weeks, or more.

"Looks alright." She told him. "Those stitches will dissolve on their own."

"The wonders of modern medicine." He quipped. She rolled her eyes.

"By the way," She began, inexplicably nervous at what she was about to say. Maybe because he was so unpredictable, and generally opposed to people helping him out. "Your half of the rent is going to be 350. And that's outrageously cheap but I figure I've already paid the place off so I can cut you a break." She tried to say it casually, but his eyes snapped up anyways.

"What?"

"I mean you could stay with Octavia, but we both know Lincoln is going to be back almost every weekend, and I don't know how well the sock on the door policy works between siblings." She said with a shrug. She could practically feel his stare on her back as she stood to rinse out her cereal bowl.

"I don't get it. I'm only staying for a few days." He said slowly. Clarke slid her bowl into the dishwasher and then turned to face him with a sigh.

"Really? Are you sure about that?" Her gaze searched his face, which crumpled in thought.

"I mean… Collins has some great material that I would love to get through. I doubt he would be willing to send those journals back with me." He said slowly. "But…"

"So, 350 a month, for as long as you're here." Clarke repeated. He stared at her. It was an olive branch, all he had to do was take it. She was making this so easy on him, and he seemed to understand that.

"Okay." He nodded. Then-"thank you."

"Sure."

He'd met with Finn three times in the past week, this being the latest of those. Bellamy still didn't know the real reason Clarke had quit her job, and she suspected he was wondering what she was going to do for cash. Yesterday she'd gone down to the gallery, and talked to Anya about getting one of her pieces put up for sale. It had gone surprisingly well, and Clarke had a painting of the view from a pier off Kitsilano that would probably move quickly. All she had to do was take it in. It was a big first step.

"Collins asked if we were dating."

Clarke turned her head to stare at Bellamy.

"What?"

"He wanted to know if we were together." Bellamy said casually, leaning back into the couch. Clarke gaped at him.

"I-What did you say?" Not that it mattered. The answer was no. And Finn shouldn't have been asking anyways.

"I said we were. I told him we were living together. Which, actually, is true now." He mused.

"What? Why?" She croaked. If she knew Finn at all, he wouldn't have reacted well to that. He was always possessive, and she had a feeling even though they weren't together anymore, that hadn't changed.

Bellamy shrugged.

"I thought it was weird that he'd ask. I wanted to see how he'd react."

With a heavy sigh, she dropped her head into her hands.

"And?" She asked, voice muffled by her fingers.

"He wasn't happy. Are you ever going to tell me what the story between the two of you is? You're obviously not friends."

When she lifted her head, Clarke was met by two very curious brown eyes. Maybe he should know.

"He's my ex-fiancé. He cheated on me with my mechanic." The words came a lot more easily than they used to. It was Bellamy's turn to stare.

"What?"

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory." She muttered, standing up and heading for the fridge. If they were going to have this conversation, she needed beer. A lot of beer. She could hear Bellamy's footsteps behind her, and when she turned around they were almost touching. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Why didn't you tell me that?" He wondered, eyes searching her face.

"Because it's none of your business. And I thought it would make you feel weird."

A loaded silence settled between them, and Clarke handed him a beer. He took it, still frowning.

"You dated Collins?"

"Yes."

"You were going to marry Collins?"

"Yes."

"And then he cheated on you?"

"Yes." Clarke sighed. This was possibly one of her top ten least favourite conversations ever.

"And then you called him to ask for a favour?"

"Yes." She shot him a look, warning him that this conversation was about to come to an abrupt end.

"Huh." He took a deep swig of his beer, surveying her.

"Is that okay with you?" She muttered irritably. Talking about Finn never ceased to put her in a bad mood. It wasn't that she missed him, more that it embarrassed her, made her feel stupid. She'd had half a mind to get the word fool tattooed on her forehead after it happened. Bellamy tapped his fingers on the bottle, lost in thought.

"Does it bother you that I told him we were together?" He asked suddenly, eyes shrewd. Clarke blinked.

"Uh, not really. Except that it's not true." The last thing she needed was the embarrassment of Finn thinking she'd asked Bellamy to lie about that to save face.

"No." Bellamy acknowledged. "It's not."

There was a weird energy in the kitchen now, Bellamy's gaze sharper and more intense than she was used to. Under it, she felt her pulse quicken. She downed half her drink, but his gaze didn't falter.

"Bellamy." She finally said. He just raised his eyebrows. "Quit it."

The corner of his lips twitched into a smirk, and she shook her head.

"I don't know how Octavia put up with you." She mumbled, making her way back to the living room. She was itching to pull her acrylics out, now that she had a place to take her paintings. But Bellamy still didn't know, and for now she wanted to keep it that way. Having a stranger live with you was bizarre, and he already knew too much about her. With a start, Clarke realized just how little she knew about him in comparison.

"Well, I fed her." Bellamy said, following her onto the couch. "Although, I feed you too."

Clarke sighed. It was kind of hard to deny that, he had cooked almost every night. She hadn't eaten this well since she'd lived at home.

"Speaking of feeding." Clarke said, smiling pointedly at him. He glanced at the clock, and looked surprised at how much time had passed since he'd been home. It was just after seven.

"Oh." He got to his feet. "So now you like me again?"

She made a face.

"You give yourself too much credit. I like your cooking."

He grinned.

"Mhmm." But he was already making his way back to the kitchen. "You gonna complain if I make chili again? We still have some corn bread left."

"Why would I complain?" She asked, leaning back into the couch and closing her eyes. She could get used to having a personal chef. Not that he didn't come with some drawbacks.

"Because you like to complain." His voice floated in from the kitchen. Drawbacks like constantly being insulted in your own home. She didn't open her eyes, but made a sound of indignance.

"I do not like-"

"Yes you do. You're very…particular."

Clarke sat up, glaring at Bellamy through the gallery wall.

"What does that mean?"

He was quiet as he thought, chopping the onion in front of him and then dropping it into a pan.

"High maintenance?" He finally said, adding half a package of ground beef. Clarke scowled.

"You know, maybe that rent was too low, I could always-"

He held up his hands hastily, surrendering.

"Fine. You're not high maintenance. You're great." He muttered, shaking his head. Clarke snorted.

"You're lucky you're pretty." She said, standing up and making her way toward the fridge. Then, realizing what she'd just said, she froze.

"What?"

"I…" She turned slowly to face him. "I said you're lucky you're pretty." She raised her eyebrows, challenging him.

"Interesting." He cocked his head, studying her. "Are you hitting on me?"

Clarke sighed, setting her empty bottle down on the counter. They'd gone through a lot of beer this week.

"No." She said patronizingly, as though she were talking to a four year old. "I'm not hitting on you."

He didn't look convinced. Miraculously, the doorbell rang before he could reply.

"Saved by the bell." He murmured, as she turned to answer it. She shot him a look over her shoulder.

She was still smiling when she swung the door open, but it quickly faded to disbelief when she saw who was standing there.

"Finn?" She asked, blinking. "What are you doing here?"

He was smiling at her, much too genuinely for her comfort.

"Bellamy left his notebooks at my place. I was in the neighborhood, so…" He trailed off and held up a small stack of Moleskins.

"Um," Clarke reached out, taking them. "Thanks."

He hovered, and she found herself wondering if he could actually be so misguided as to think she would invite him in.

"Something smells good." He noted, peering past her into the loft. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Bellamy's making chili."

The chef himself chose to make an appearance at that very moment, striding confidently toward the door. He did look like he lived there, Clarke thought with amusement. She glanced back at Finn, who didn't look as impressed.

"Hi." Bellamy said, glancing between them. Clarke handed him the notebooks. "Oh. Thank you." He nodded at Finn. There was a chill there, between the men, and Clarke couldn't help but wonder if that had been there prior to this evening.

"Um, well, I'd better go." Finn said, slowly backing away. His eyebrow was creased with something, disappointment maybe.

"Bye." Clarke said tiredly. Bellamy gave him a wave, and then swung the door shut. When it closed, he turned to look at Clarke.

"Are you okay?" He asked. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine." But it occurred to her that she still hadn't gotten that second beer, so she once again headed to the fridge.

"I don't like him." Bellamy declared, following her back into the kitchen.

"You liked him just fine a couple hours ago." Clarke reminded him, pulling two bottles out of the fridge.

"Yeah, but I didn't know then." He said, taking the one she handed him. She sat at one of the bar stools, watching him as he resumed chopping vegetables.

"Know what?"

"That he's a dick." Bellamy said bluntly. Clarke just shrugged. She certainly wasn't going to deny it.

"Hmm." She mused. "Well I'm sorry that the honeymoon's over."

Suddenly, Bellamy put the knife down, looking up at her, his gaze serious.

"Did you want me to leave?" He asked. Clarke stared at him.

"What?"

"Did you tell me about Collins so that I wouldn't want to work with him, and I'd go back to Toronto?" He demanded. She gaped at him.

"Wh-No! Why wouldn't you work with him because of that? And why would I offer to let you stay here indefinitely if I wanted you to leave?" She asked, confused. He crossed his arms, evaluating her.

"I don't know, maybe because you're trying to be polite? Or because you feel like you owe Octavia? And what do you mean why wouldn't I work with him? The guy's a scumbag." He muttered.

"Yeah but you don't have to date him Bellamy. You just need some of his documents." She was incredulous, taken off guard by his outburst. "Where is this coming from?" She wondered.

He watched her for another few seconds, then picked the knife back up, sighing.

"I-Sorry. Forget it."

Maybe if she knew him better, she'd push it. But she didn't.

"Okay."

She was quiet as he finished preparing the chili, helping him wash the dishes while they waited for it to cook. It felt like there was something he wasn't telling her, but she let that slide. Dinner was delicious, as always, but she had no patience for the awkward silence between them as they ate.

"How's the book going?" She asked. It might be Finn-adjacent, but she was hoping he would look past that.

"Uh." He looked surprised. "Good, actually. I've sent some stuff to my editor, and they're happy, so."

"Happy editor sounds like a good thing." She agreed, breaking off a piece of cornbread.

"It is." His lips twitched. "I'm sorry if I was weird, earlier."

She shrugged.

"You're going to have to be more specific than that." She said, lips curling into a smile. He rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide his own grin.

"You're kind of a smartass." He commented.

"You're kind of one to talk." She pointed out.

And just like that, the weirdness was gone.

Later, as they sat in front of the tv, legs propped up on the table, Clarke realized exactly how much of a routine they had settled into. He'd only been here for a week, but every day he came home, made dinner, she did the dishes, and then they talked and worked and fought until it was too late to do anything else. He was sitting beside her, half-watching and half-writing, like he had the past few nights. It was almost startlingly domestic.

She stood up suddenly, and he stared at her.

"You okay?"

She nodded, grabbing her coat off the back of the couch.

"I'm just going to…" She trailed off, no real plan in mind. "Get some groceries."

"Do you want me to come?" He offered. "I mean I guess I should start chipping in…" He made a move as if to get up.

"No." She shook her head. "It's fine. I won't be long."

She grabbed her keys off the hook, and was out the door before Bellamy had a chance to notice how unsettled she suddenly felt.

It had been a year since she'd lived with anyone, and that person had been Finn. Now, having Bellamy here…it shouldn't be this easy.

Even the hard parts were easy. The bickering, and that weirdness at dinner, it didn't feel out of place.

He didn't feel out of place. But he was a stranger, and he would be leaving. And Clarke didn't like how used to having him around she'd become. Her feet took her to a bar a couple blocks away, and as the first shot went down she had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.

She needed to do something that had nothing to do with him. She needed to do something just for her, again.

When she woke up the next morning tangled in a set of sheets that were most definitely not her own, Clarke groaned.

"This wasn't really what I meant." She mumbled into the pillow, mostly to herself. Beside her, someone stirred. Clarke rolled over to find a blue eyed brunette blinking sleepily up at her.

"Hi." The girl said, smiling. She was beautiful, and entirely Clarke's type, but without the haze of liquor clouding her mind, Clarke couldn't wait to get out of this bed.

"Hi." Clarke said, forcing a smile. She sat up, glancing around the room for a clock. When she finally found one she leapt out of bed in shock. "Shit!" She muttered, grabbing her shirt from where it was crumpled on the floor.

"Is something wrong?" The girl, Clarke thinks her name might be Lexa, frowned in concern, tugging the sheets a little higher over her chest.

"No, I'm sorry it's just…my roommate will be worried. I forgot to text him last night."

Clarke doesn't even know if that's true, Bellamy probably wouldn't care, but it's ten in the morning and she had no desire to stick around for breakfast. Lexa shrugged.

"Okay, well…" She hands Clarke her pants, looking awkward. "You have my number."

Clarke's hands flew to her pockets, checking for her phone, when she pulled it out she found the screen to be black. It was dead. She groaned.

"Yeah." She nodded at Lexa, hesitated, then leaned over to kiss her quickly. "I'll call you." She had no intention of calling her.

As she practically ran from the apartment, Clarke recognized her own street. Great. She had just slept with one of her neighbours. She made the five minute jog to her building, slightly breathless by the time she was outside her door.

She tied her hair back, and crossed her fingers that Bellamy was out. As the door swung shut, Bellamy appeared in the hallway, eyes dark.

"Where," he growled, "have you been?"