Lexa steps into the shower and finds comfort in the cold water that runs over her head. She breathes in, imagining how the darkness of the room and the complexity of her non-relationship with Clarke slip off of her with the water, running down the drain and disappearing. She knows that when she comes back out, it'll envelop her again and she'll be submerged and drowning in it, but for now she doesn't care. She doesn't like drama - she never has. She likes things simple and well done or not done at all, but there's something about Clarke, she thinks, that keeps pulling her back. Clarke, who is all but simple and all but well done.
She thinks of Costia for the first time in months and relishes in the fact that it doesn't hurt anymore. She thinks of the way she used to kiss her every night and every morning, and she doesn't miss it anymore. She thinks of their first and twentieth and hundredth and last date, and it doesn't sting anymore. She thinks of their wedding day and how Costia refused to show up, and it doesn't kill her anymore.
She steps out of the shower, covering herself in a towel. As she reaches for the door, something stops her - she hears Clarke, breathing heavily and grunting. Lexa feels like an intruder, but can't help but place her ear against the door. She listens to the blonde try to stifle moans, cutting off grunts of pleasure, until she finishes with the whisper of the brunette's name.
"Are you avoiding me?" Lexa asks Clarke, closing the restroom door behind her. It's quite ironic that they're having a private meeting in a public restroom once again, but it's the only way Lexa can be alone with Clarke.
"No," Clarke lies, turning to the mirror and adjusting her make up as Lexa walks up next to her.
"Are you sure?" Lexa comments, admiring Clarke's reflection.
"Don't be so self-absorbed," Clarke snaps back. "Not everything I do has to do with you."
"Fine," Lexa sighs, giving up. "I'll see you later, then." She leaves the room and Clarke can't shake off the aching in her chest.
The music is so loud that Clarke wonders if she's ever going to hear again. Stumbling through the neon lights that glow in the darkness of the club, she reaches the bar and orders a shot of tequila. The dancing around her annoys her - well, it seems like today everything annoys her - because the dancers stumble into her, making her spill her drink.
"Fuck," she yells, but it doesn't matter because no one hears her. "Another!" she says to the bartender who's also dancing, nodding to the beat as he notices her.
"Hey," someone next to her says loudly into her ear. Turning around, she finds Anya standing next to her. Clarke nods, acknowledging her, but then turns back to the bartender. "Clarke, right?" The blonde rolls her eyes.
"Yeah," she says, purposely not loud enough for Anya to hear, but she reads her lips and understands.
"I'm Anya!" she shouts back.
"I know," Clarke groans.
"Can we talk?" Anya asks and Clarke sighs.
"Whatever." They shuffle through the dancefloor until they make their way outside of the club. The fresh air is nice and Clarke wonders if she should just stay outside instead. "What do you want?"
"Listen," Anya begins. "I get the feeling you don't like me, but -"
"I don't," Clarke says, too grumpy to be polite.
"Right. Well, it turns out your friend Lexa is the only decent girl around here," Anya says a bit drunkenly and Clarke nods because it's true. "And I can't get her off of my fucking mind." Clarke feels herself fill up with jealousy, but she just nods again because she understands the feeling.
"What do you want from me?" Clarke nearly growls. "My blessing or some shit?"
"I can't find her," she groans, sitting down on the sidewalk. "I wanted to ask you for her number, but now that I say it out loud, it doesn't sound like such a great plan."
Clarke sits down next to her, sighing. "I don't have it," she says sadly and Anya thinks she's lying, but she's not. They stay there, together, drunk, and lonely for Lexa. "I can get it for you, though," she finds herself saying after a few minutes and Anya's eyes light up. She speaks the words before she understands them, and when she does, they're already in the air so she can't take them back.
"Really?" Anya asks in disbelief.
"Sure," Clarke sighs, convincing herself that it's for the best anyway - to keep Lexa from chasing Clarke around before the blonde gives in; to keep Lexa busy and help her get Clarke off of her mind so that Clarke can do the same. Anya and Clarke exchange numbers so that the blonde can text her the number when she gets it. Anya walks back to her hotel room, happily, while Clarke stays, sitting on the sidewalk.
Clarke stumbles into the hotel room at 4:12 in the morning, out of tiredness more than drunkenness. She feels drunk - she wishes she was drunk - but she isn't. Lexa is already in bed, sleeping peacefully, taking over most of the bed, but Clarke doesn't push her to the side. Instead, she lies in what little bed is still free, her right foot dangling off. She sighs.
"Mmm," Lexa groans in her sleep and Clarke thinks she's awake.
"Sorry," she apologizes for waking her up.
"Clarke," Lexa says so softly that Clarke has to lean in. When she does, she realizes that Lexa is still asleep.
"Yes?" She replies anyway, remembering an article she read once that said sleeptalkers always speak the truth.
"I'm..." she mumbles something, but Clarke doesn't catch it.
"You're what?" She leans in closer.
"I'm trying to sleep," she groans and Clarke leans back. Maybe she's actually awake. "but Clarke is... my mind..." She quickly leans back in.
"Clarke is what, Lexa?" She asks curiously.
"She's...so..." Lexa breathes in deeply and Clarke is growing impatient. "beautiful." Clarke can't help but smile.
"Lexa is beautiful too," she whispers to her, and she is - so, so beautiful. Lexa half-smiles.
"I think I might..." Lexa whispers back, "fall for her."
"No," the word slips out of Clarke's lips. "You can't." There's panic in her voice, but she keeps it low so as to not wake her.
"I can't," Lexa agrees.
"Clarke isn't good for you," the blonde says sadly, and she doesn't know why but her eyes well up in tears. Maybe she's just tired. Lexa only sighs in return, not uttering another word for the rest of the night. She dreams of Clarke and Clarke and Clarke. And Clarke, who cannot fall asleep, stays up and thinks - of Lexa and Lexa and Lexa.
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