Archive of Our Own

The first time Clarke encounters Bellamy Blake, it's the first Friday of her sophomore year, and she doesn't actually know she's encountering him. She's at some back to school party with Raven, waiting in line for the bathroom, when she hears a guy somewhere nearby say, "What about Raven's friend? The hot blonde who was kicking ass at beer pong?" She perks up because that was totally her, and she's drunk enough to be egotistical about it. It's not hard to find the guys, a blonde with scruffy facial hair who was talking to Raven earlier and a grumpy-looking guy with dark curls.

Dark curls says, "Nah," the single word a complete dismissal. "Raven was way hotter, and you're already locking her down, so why bother?"

Clarke doesn't find it generally offensive when people think Raven is hotter than she is--she thinks Raven is hotter than she is, Raven is completely gorgeous--but the guy's tone rankles her. He sounds like he's comparing cuts of meat at a grocery store.

"Whatever, she's wearing an awesome pi shirt," says scruffy, which puts him back closer to Clarke's good graces. "Not all of us are shallow like you, dude."

"Hey, if I'm only getting one night, I might as well get what I like, right?" asks dark curls.

Scruffy rolls his eyes, but he looks kind of amused in spite of himself. "You're a pig."

Dark curls shrugs his shoulders. "If you've got it, flaunt it."

Someone jostles Clarke, and she realizes the bathroom line has been moving without her. She pulls her attention away from them, trying not to stew. It's not like it matters if some random dudebro thinks she's hot, or like she'd really want to hook up with anyone with such a shitty attitude anyway, but it still pisses her off, being dismissed so completely. The guy could at least have a little tact.

She ends up in line for the keg next to him an hour later and discovers he's actually pretty attractive up close. He probably does have his pick of most of the girls here.

She pretends to be very busy with her phone, which is a mistake, because he sees and says, "Oh, hey, what time is it?"

"Uh, quarter to one."

"Cool, thanks." Then he tilts his head at her, like he's seeing something new. "You were playing beer pong earlier, right?"

"Yeah."

He nods, mostly to himself. "You're really good."

"Thanks, that's how I know I'm getting the most out of my college education," she says. The keg frees up and she goes to pour, but he beats her to it.

"I got it."

"I know how a keg works," she snaps, and he holds his hands up in mock-surrender.

"Just trying to be polite, sorry, Princess."

"You suck at being polite," she says, which isn't entirely fair, as he hasn't said anything shitty to her, but overheard conversations count when they're that gross and shallow.

"Well, fuck you too," he says mildly, and Clarke fills her beer, and then one for him. She shoves it at him and leaves.

She meets him properly on Monday, when she finds out he's her tutorial partner.

*

Tutorials are one of the things Williams is famous for, and one of the big reasons Clarke came here in the first place. They're supposed to be intense and awesome, and when she saw her favorite professor from freshman year was doing a Latin poetry tutorial, she jumped on it, and somehow made it in. The first meeting on Thursday afternoon had been purely administrative, and Bellamy Blake had missed it. Indra, the professor, seemed unconcerned, just blazing past his name on the attendance list with a curt, "Bellamy already informed me he couldn't make this time slot." Clarke had been a little curious, but a conflict for the first class didn't really matter, since all the pairs would set up individual meeting times later. It just seemed kind of weird.

When she sees the guy with dark curls from the party sprawled at one of the desks on Monday, the only face she doesn't recognize, it's easy to figure out he must be Bellamy. She sits nowhere near him, but he still gives her a little salute, with a smirk, when he sees her. Clarke tries to tell herself there's only a one-in-nine chance she'll ever have to interact with him again for this class, but she has a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach that Indra confirms as soon as she starts reading out the pairs--she goes alphabetically, and Blake, Bellamy is the first to be paired off, with Griffin, Clarke.

She can see him looking around for some sign of who she is, and she gives him the same little salute back. He stifles a laugh, like this is hilarious.

Clarke has to admit it is, a little bit. In a sick way.

After Indra finishes the pairings, she says, "Go find your partners and I'll pass out the syllabus. You'll need to decide who will be writing the first paper; I suggest you review your schedules carefully if you're worried about your workload for any weeks in particular. The syllabus lists what time each pair will be meeting, based on the preferences you gave me during the first meeting--the first pair will be Bellamy and Clarke one week from Thursday, anyone meeting earlier in the week will start on the following week so you have time to complete the first assignment. If the times don't work for anyone, let me know immediately. You'll also need to figure out a schedule for when you'll be emailing your papers to me and your partners. It has to be at least three days before the meeting. Let me know once you've decided, and then you'll be free to go."

Bellamy comes over to her and sprawls into the chair next to her instead of the one across the room. What is it with some guys and having to take up the maximum amount of space?

"We meet again," he says. "What are the odds?"

"One in nine," she says, and is annoyed when he laughs.

"Bellamy," he says, offering his hand. She shakes.

"Clarke."

"Nice to formally meet you. And, I hate to break this to you, but you really shouldn't be giving anyone else shit for being impolite. Glass houses and all."

"Thanks for the constructive criticism."

"Well, that's what tutorial partners are for, right?" Indra hands them both schedules, and Clarke studies hers way more intently than she normally would so she doesn't have to look at him. "Is this your first one?" he asks.

"Huh?"

"Your first tutorial."

"Oh, yeah."

"Sophomore?"

"Yeah."

"Junior." It's a surprise; she had him pegged for a senior. He looks a little old for a junior, and the party was in a co-op, usually senior housing.

"Do you have a preference for writing or responding first?" she asks.

"I'd rather respond," he says, scanning the syllabus. "But it's not a strong preference."

Clarke pulls out her organizer and checks it against the A weeks; Bellamy watches with more interest than she really feels like the activity warrants. "What?"

"Most people have gone digital with their schedules," he says. "I don't see a lot of day planners."

"I like day planners."

He shrugs. "Just an observation."

"I can write first," she says. "If we're meeting Thursday morning, you want to say we need to send papers by 12:01 Monday morning?"

"12:01?"

"Midnight is ambiguous."

He shakes his head with a small laugh. "You know, you seemed like more fun at that party. Do I just bring out the worst in you?"

"Something for you to find out," she says, overly peppy. "12:01 Monday morning?"

"Whatever you say, Princess."

"Great. I'll tell Indra. See you next week."

He still looks more amused than offended. "Looking forward to it."

*

The papers are a minimum of four pages, one for translation, three for analysis. Clarke finishes hers on Saturday afternoon and emails it to Bellamy. It's pretty solid, she thinks; she's not interested in Latin as a major, but she took it all through high school because her mom thought it would help with vocabulary for the SAT, and she enjoyed it. She convinced her mom it would still be useful in college by pointing out all the Latin roots in biology and anatomy. It's a nice break from all her hard sciences.

"Only you would take a Latin poetry tutorial as a blow-off course," Raven had teased, and Clarke stuck her tongue out.

Bellamy's waiting outside Indra's office when she gets their for their first meeting, long legs stretched out in front of him and blocking half the hallway. She purposefully kicks his foot.

"Someone's going to trip."

"Nice to see you too," he says, and any sarcasm his voice is offset by his amused smile. He might actually mean it. "My first week of classes was fine, thanks for asking."

"Glad to hear it."

"Now's when you tell me how yours was."

"Fine."

He looks like he's going to say something else, but he shakes his head and settles on, "Someone else is in there. She'll open up the door when she's ready."

Curiosity gets the better of her. "Have you taken a tutorial with her before?"

"Yeah, Greek Tragedy, last semester."

She can't help perking up. "Oh, really? That looked really awesome."

He flashes her a smile; it is, objectively speaking, a very nice smile. "It was, yeah. Are you a Classics major?"

"Biology and Public Health. For med school."

"Ouch."

She shrugs. "I like it all right. You're Classics?"

"History and Classics double major, yeah."

Indra's door opens and a student she doesn't know comes out. Indra looks at them. "Give me a minute, Bellamy, Clarke."

"She's secretly nice," Bellamy tells her.

"I took her Ovid and Catallus course last semester," Clarke shoots back. "I know."

He looks begrudgingly impressed, and Clarke thinks about forgiving him for the party.

Then she sees his comments on her paper.

His response is almost as long as her original paper, even though it only has to be two pages. He disagrees with her translation, her interpretation, her everything. Indra has them both read their papers aloud first, and as soon as Bellamy finishes his, they're off, arguing about the nuances of words, the cases of the nouns, the tenses of the verbs, Roman history, mythology, and custom. She forgets Indra is even there until she cuts in with, "Times's up in five minutes, so the two of you might want to come to some conclusions."

Clarke looks down at her paper, which is covered in notes and actually has a really solid translation of the poem on it, and then up at Bellamy. He looks about as dazed as she feels. "I'm pretty happy with this translation," she says. It feels a little like surrendering, even though it's as much hers as his.

Bellamy nods. "Yeah, I think it's good." He frowns. "I still don't think the piece is as optimistic as you do--"

"Death of the author," Clarke says. "We can agree on the words without agreeing what they mean."

"Yeah, but--"

"I think if you start going again, I'm going to be late for my next class," says Indra, but she looks pleased. "Good work, you two. I thought you'd work well together."

Clarke chokes, because she nearly strangled Bellamy at one point in there, but she guesses she didn't, so there's that.

Outside the office, Bellamy salutes her again. "Same time next week, Princess?"

"Looking forward to it."

She's going to rip his paper apart.

*

The scruffy dude, Wick, has a party on Saturday, and Clarke braces herself for another round of asshole Bellamy, but to her surprise, there's no sign of him. She wants to ask Wick about it, but that would involve admitting that she knows he and Bellamy are friends and that she was looking for him, which is just totally unacceptable.

Instead she gets to know Wick, whom Raven seems to actually like, flirts with some senior named Finn, crushes everyone at beer pong, and then goes home. To her surprise, Bellamy's paper is in her inbox, sent at 11:37 that night.

She tries to adjust her understanding of Bellamy Blake to include writing papers on a Saturday night instead of going to parties; the best she can come up with is that he's sick and can't do anything more exciting in his current condition.

*

Clarke does an after-school art club at the public library on Wednesdays for whichever kids show up from the elementary and middle school. It's the only time she really gets to do art these days, even if it's mostly not her own, and it's almost always the highlight of her week. The kids range from "cute and artistic" to "complete terrors whose parents just want them out of the house," but Clarke worked as a camp counselor and babysitter all through high school, and she knows all the tricks.

It's early October when she notices Octavia, one of the older girls, never leaves right away, so instead of taking off immediately herself, she gets Bellamy's paper (already mostly covered in notes and corrections) out of her bag and goes over to join her.

"Do you mind if I sit here? I've got some work to do."

"Oh!" says Octavia, surprised, and smiles. "Yeah, of course."

"Waiting for your parents?"

"My brother."

Clarke nods. She's definitely old enough to be unsupervised in the library, but Clarke remembers being left in places, waiting for someone to give her a ride home. It's nice to feel like someone's at least noticed, from what she remembers. She made friends with a lot of librarians.

She gets absorbed in her own work; her response paper is mostly done, but she's planning to fine-tune it a little, and she always gives him a ton of notes too. She's started adding drawings to the margin when she particularly disagrees with him; this one definitely deserves a vomiting face.

"You're not seriously trying to argue with me about that, are you?" asks an amused voice by her side. She jumps about a foot in the air and whirls on him.

"Jesus, Bellamy, you scared the shit out of me!" she hisses, trying to keep her voice down. He sprawls into the chair next to her. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? You're the one hanging out with my sister, Princess."

Clarke looks back at Octavia, who smiles at her. "You know Bell?" she asks.

"We're tutorial partners," says Bellamy. "You're the art teacher here? When do you sleep?"

"At night," Clarke says. He's trying to look at what she's written on his paper, so she stuffs it in her notebook. "I didn't know you were from around here." Williamstown is small enough she kind of forgets anyone is from here.

"Yeah," he says. "You ready to go, O?"

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Watch my stuff?"

Bellamy watches her go and then turns to Clarke, more earnest than she's ever seen him. "Thanks for keeping her company."

Clarke shrugs, feeling a little awkward. "I was just planning to work anyway. It's nice of you to help your parents out."

His face twists up. "Yeah, that's me. Mr. Nice Guy."

"I didn't mean it in a bad way."

He runs his hand through his hair. "No, I know." His smile most straightens itself out. "You want a ride back to campus or anything? It's on my way."

"Oh, uh, no, that's fine. I live in Garfield, it's like ten feet away."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow?" He smirks. "I can already tell it's going to be a disaster, your notes are a mess."

She rolls her eyes. "Maybe if your paper wasn't such a mess--"

He laughs, like they're sharing a joke. They might be, really. Bellamy Blake never does what she expects.

"Bye, Princess," he says, and she replies, "Bye, asshole."

*

"Does your brother pick you up every week?" Clarke asks Octavia the next Wednesday. She feels a little bad pumping Bellamy's little sister for dirt on him, but not bad enough to not do it. She's curious.

"Yeah," says Octavia. "I take the bus sometimes after school, but he likes it better if I'm not home alone."

"What about your parents?"

Octavia looks confused. "They're dead. It's just me and Bell."

Clarke sits with that statement in stunned silence for a long minute. She sort of figured Bellamy helped out, since he was in town, but he's--well, she doesn't know what he is, and it would be really shitty to ask Octavia instead of him.

"We're getting lunch," she tells him after their tutorial the next day, dragging him out of the building by the arm.

"Uh, okay," he says, looking confused. As usual, they spent the entire session yelling at each other; she threw a book at him at one point, but it just hit his shoulder and didn't do any real damage. And he doesn't seem to hold any grudges when they leave, anyway; she's surprised to find she doesn't either. "I have work at one."

"Work?"

"Work. You know, for money."

She takes him to the dining hall, but he stops outside, arms crossed over his chest. "I don't have a meal plan."

"Of course you don't," she says, annoyed with herself. "I'll swipe you in, I have guest meals."

They grab food and sit down at a table in the corner, as private as she can get.

"So, to what do I owe the honor?" he asks.

"What's your deal?"

He chokes on his water. "What's my deal? You're the most hot and cold person I've ever met, how can you--"

"Your sister told me it's just the two of you," she says, mostly so she won't have to hear his opinion of her. "You made it sound like you were just helping out."

"You assumed I was just helping out." He looks down at his plate, playing with a forkful of spaghetti. "Mom died my freshman year. The college was really understanding about it. I took a year off to get my shit together, came back and finished the spring semester once I'd gotten custody and everything sorted out. They waived the rules about living on campus until senior year so I could stay with her, and here we are."

"How old was Octavia?"

"She's eight years younger than I am, so ten when mom died, thirteen now."

Clarke nods. "My dad died when I was fifteen," she offers. "I can't imagine taking care of a sibling on top of that."

He shrugs. "There wasn't really an option. If she went into foster care--I couldn't lose her too. She's my responsibility."

"Why didn't you tell me? When I asked if you were helping out."

He gives her a smirk. "I didn't want you being nice just because you feel sorry for me. That would be weird."

She has to laugh at that. "Don't worry. I'd never be nice to you just for that."

"Good. So long as we're clear."

*

She's stopped expecting to see Bellamy at Wick's parties, so it's a total surprise a few weeks later when he interrupts her flirting with cute Finn.

"Hey, Princess," he says, looking kind of irritable. Clarke's drunk enough to be unabashedly happy to see him, and she wraps herself around one of his arms. He has nice arms. He laughs softly. "Hi," he says again, face clearing for a smile.

"Hi! I didn't think you were gonna show up again. Do you know Finn? This is Finn."

He doesn't smile at Finn, and Finn doesn't smile back at him. Clarke guesses if she were Finn, she might not be happy about herself clinging to Bellamy either. "Yeah, I know him. Hey, Collins."

"Blake. I didn't know you two were friends."

"We're tutorial partners," says Bellamy. Clarke's going to be a little hurt, even though they're really not friends, in most traditional senses, but then he adds, "She's awesome. She hit me with Ovid a few weeks ago." That makes her beam.

Finn nods and turns his focus back to her. "Clarke, did you want another drink?"

"Another?" Bellamy asks, sounding dubious. He looks down at her. "How many have you had?"

"Probably enough," she decides. "I'm pretty drunk."

"You don't say." He gets his arm free, but puts it around her shoulders instead. "Come on, let's get you some water or something."

"Sure," she says, and gives Finn a vague wave. She'll find him later, if she feels like making out. He'd probably be okay with making out.

"What did you do?" he asks, sounding amused. "I thought you were good at beer pong."

"I am good at beer pong. This was Kings. Fucking Kings."

He laughs, warm and solid. Bellamy's laughs feel kind of like hugs, she thinks, and then decides she's really way too drunk. "Fucking Kings," he agrees.

"You haven't been here in a while," she observes, and then tries to snap her fingers, but the coordination isn't all there. "Because of Octavia?"

"Yeah," he says, getting her a bottle of water from the fridge. "She's sleeping over at a friend's house tonight, so I figured I'd come out."

It's early November, chilly edging toward cold, but the house has a nice porch, and Clarke's feeling overheated, so she tugs Bellamy until he follows her out. She sits down against the wall, and he barely hesitates before joining her.

"You're not drinking?"

"I had a beer," he says. "But I want to be good to drive if there's an emergency."

She has to smile at that. "You're a really good brother," she says. "But don't worry, I won't be nice to you about it."

"Oh good."

"Is that why you aren't looking for anyone?"

"Anyone for what?"

"A girl." She frowns, remembering. "I guess that's why that's why you just pick the girls you want."

He frowns. "What?"

"Because of Octavia."

"No, what about picking girls?"

"You said you only get one night, so you just go for the girls you really want."

"When did I ever say that?"

"I heard you talking to Wick," she says. "That first party. He was telling you to hit on me, and you said--"

"Oh fuck," he says, and she hears the thunk of his head hitting the wall. "You heard that?"

"Yeah." She shrugs. "Kind of shallow, but I guess it's pretty hard to date when you're taking care of a teenager." She grins. "Plus, if I could hook up with me or Raven, I'd definitely pick Raven, so I don't blame you. But I'm glad you didn't, she really likes Wick."

"I can't believe you heard that," he says, rubbing his face. "Fuck."

"It's okay," she says. "I don't really think you're a totally shallow douchebag anymore."

"Great." He pushes the bottle of water at her. "Seriously, drink that."

"You're still kind of a dick."

"I know."

She leans her head against him; it's just cold enough that she can see her breath, and everything in the world feels fragile and perfect. Bellamy's warm and good against her side. "I'm kind of a dick too."

"I definitely know that," he says, but his voice still doesn't sound quite right.

"You don't have to feel bad. You didn't know I could hear you. Everyone says stuff to their friends they wouldn't say to other people. I'm not offended you don't want to fuck me."

He huffs. "You're really drunk."

"I think I'm down to pretty drunk."

"Just drink the damn water."

*

He drives her home, and she wakes up mostly not hungover (plus) but really, really fucking embarrassed (minus). It's not like she necessarily minds Bellamy knowing that she heard him being a jerk, but the whole night was really kind of weird. She's been flirting with Finn for the last few weeks, was all ready to maybe finally hook up with him, and as soon as Bellamy showed up she forgot Finn existed, and instead dragged Bellamy, a guy she doesn't even really like, outside so she could snuggle with him on the porch. In fucking November.

And also tell him he's a dick who doesn't want to fuck her.

She doesn't look at her phone or her email; instead, she drags Raven to breakfast and makes herself three waffles.

"Rough night?" asks Raven, amused.

"Shut up."

When she gets home, Bellamy has emailed his paper for this week. She takes Indra off the email and replies, Thanks.

Her phone buzzes ten minutes later when she's working on her biology homework. When she sees it's a text from Bellamy, she turns it over without glancing at the preview. It buzzes three more times before she finishes her problem set and finally lets herself look.

so listen seriously i don't care if you think i'm a dick, i am a dick

but it really really bugs me that you live in a world where you don't know i think you're gorgeous and fucking amazing

you're not the kind of girl anyone should be able to hook up with just once

you're definitely not the kind of girl i could hook up with just once

She stares at the phone, mouth dry, like it's been turned into cotton. Her eyes keep darting back up to gorgeous and fucking amazing, and she finds herself taking a screenshot of the texts, filing them away for later, like she could somehow forget.

She has absolutely no idea what to say.

*

Finally, in desperation, she shows Raven, who insists on Facebook-stalking Bellamy. Clarke thinks she's safe when they discover he's not on Facebook, but Raven finds him in the campus directory, and he's probably the only person ever who manages to look hot in his ID photo. "You have to go to his dorm and hit that," she declare. "Immediately."

"He doesn't live in a dorm. He lives off-campus. In a house. With his teenage sister. He's her legal guardian. That's why he just hooks up with girls once."

Raven raises her eyebrows. "How have you never mentioned this guy before?"

"I was hoping if I never brought it up it would just go away."

"Let's review from the beginning, okay? You overhear him talking shit about you at a party."

"Just saying, you know, he's not into me, he's just gonna be with these girls for one night so he wants to make sure he gets what he likes, blah blah, douchey douchebro things."

"Right."

"And then the next Monday I find out he's my tutorial partner. And, god, he just rips everything I write to shreds. Our tutorial sessions are basically fistfights. I threw a book at him once. But then we get out and he's just like, great, same time next week?" She runs her hand through her hair. "And then I found out his sister was in my art class at the library, and she told me he was her guardian. He didn't even tell me, he just pretended he was helping his parents out. Because he thought I'd feel sorry for him and start being nice."

"And then he cockblocked you."

She frowns. "I think we both kind of cockblocked me. Finn just didn't seem as exciting when he showed up. And I think he hates Finn? It was hard to tell. I was drunk."

"And then those texts."

Clarke closes her eyes and leans back on her bed. "And then those texts."

"And you're still vetoing finding out where he lives and going to hit that immediately."

"I should at least text him back, but what do you say to that? Thanks?"

"Text back: we can hook up way more than once," says Raven, and Clarke rolls her eyes. She doesn't even think it's true, because Bellamy still must have a ton to do, and he has to take care of his sister, and there's just no way he could date her, even if he wanted to, and he didn't just mean he wanted to fuck her a lot. And she's not really sure she'd date him, because he's still Bellamy, right? And she's not sure that's what she's looking for.

Consider my world view altered is what she finally sends. And then, because she can't help it, Thanks for taking care of me last night.

He texts back almost instantly. any time

*

She doesn't see him until Wednesday, when she's waiting for him with Octavia. She thought about leaving early, but Octavia expects her to stay now, and Clarke feels like an asshole letting her down just because of some slight awkwardness with her brother. Her entire relationship with Bellamy has been slightly awkward, right from the start, so really, what else is new?

He doesn't sneak up on her, just sits down next to her and says "Hey," like a fairly normal person. One who takes up way more space than he needs, granted, but aside from that.

"Hi," she says. She's sketching instead of commenting on his paper; she's got that pretty much done, and it felt like it might be kind of passive aggressive. Now that he's here, the sketching feels stranger, more personal.

She didn't know she had a "normal" with Bellamy Blake, but now that it's gone, she really misses it.

Gorgeous and fucking amazing, she thinks, when he looks up from her sketch and smiles at her.

"You're actually pretty good."

"She's an art teacher, of course she's good," says Octavia.

"She's a pre-doctor," Bellamy shoots back. "She just teaches art on the side."

"She can hear you," says Clarke. She looks down at the drawing, just a landscape, nothing special, but she likes drawing hills. "Art's the kind of thing you can always do, no matter what you study." It's what her mom told her when she wanted to apply to RISD.

"Or you could just do art, if you like doing art," says Bellamy, easily.

"I could also starve to death."

"I don't know your mom, but I doubt she'd let you starve to death."

Clarke smiles down at her picture; she was pretty sure he didn't know anything about her family except what she'd told him, but it's nice to be sure. "She might if I decided to quit medicine and become an artist. Besides, I like pre-med. So shut up."

"Very mature," he teases, flashing her a smirk that makes her stomach flip. "You ready to go home, Octavia?"

"I've been ready," she says pointedly, and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow, Clarke."

All things considered, it actually is a pretty normal Bellamy interaction, and she's not sure if she's disappointed or relieved.

But the next day, when their tutorial involves swearing, yelling, and Bellamy actually ripping one of the pages of her response paper in half, she's definitely relieved.

*

"So, are you still pretending you don't want to bone your tutorial partner?" Raven asks on Friday.

Clarke opens and shuts her mouth a couple times and finally settles on, "Why?"

"Pathetic. Wick and his crew are going bowling. He said Bellamy's busy but Finn will be there. You can see if you like him when you're sober."

She's not really doing anything else, so she and Raven take her car over to North Adams, which is the closest available bowling. Wick's crew is apparently just Finn, which makes it feel a lot more like a double date than Clarke was expecting. Raven is unrepentant.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you not want to go out with him? I got confused because you so vocally don't want to go out with anyone else."

"I fucking hate you."

"I know."

Raven and Wick aren't exactly dating, but they're spending a lot of time together, Raven is getting laid, and they seem genuinely fond of each other, so Clarke can't help feeling warm and fuzzy about it. Raven hasn't been interested in anyone in a while, and it's kind of nice, seeing her joking around with Wick, flirting and teasing, so easy.

Finn is--fine. He's a nice enough guy, polite and good for a few jokes, but he feels--dull. His smiles are a little too easy to come by, and it doesn't feel like an accomplishment to make him laugh. She probably wouldn't be unhappy dating him, but it's the kind of thing she'd do just to be dating someone, not because she's that excited about him.

They're on their second game when he says, "So, you're friends with Bellamy Blake?"

"We're tutorial partners."

"You should be careful around him."

She frowns at that. "Why?"

He shrugs. "We were in the same entry freshman year. He just disappeared right before the end of winter study and never came back, no explanation, nothing. He showed up again during sophomore spring to finish the year, and no one knows what happened."

I know, she thinks, but if Bellamy hasn't told Finn, she's certainly not going to.

"Well, Wick might," Finn grants. "They were roommates. But if he knows, he's not talking. I heard he got arrested, but I can't believe the school would let him back in after that." He glances at her, considering. "Plus, he's a total manwhore, never sleeps with the same girl twice."

It's weird to hear Finn saying all the worst things she's thought about Bellamy, mostly because it makes her uncomfortably aware of how much she doesn't believe them anymore. Or, well, she does, but she doubts he's an asshole about it. She can't imagine he's anything but honest about what he wants from hookups, which is more than she can say for a lot of guys.

"He's a good tutorial partner," she says, with a shrug, and goes to bowl her next frame.

*

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, they do hand turkeys with finger paint, and Clarke is a total mess it by the time Bellamy shows up. Of course, this would be the week he shows up on time, before she's gotten a chance to clean herself off. He gives her a look that's simultaneously amused and kind of, well, hot, and she flushes all over.

"Do you always look like this right after you're done?" he asks, while Octavia's in the bathroom. "Because I could change my shift."

"We don't usually paint," she says, fighting to keep her voice even.

He helps her gather the paintings and hang them up to dry. "I wasn't expecting this to happen this week, honestly," he tells her. "Aren't you going home for Thanksgiving?"

"Nope."

He frowns. "Why not?"

"My mom works a lot. I'd see her for a few hours and be bored the rest of the time. It's not worth the flight back home."

"Where's home?"

"California."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Hang out, get some sleep. The dining hall's open, so--" He's staring at her, and she shoots him a glare. "What?"

"No. No way. You're not--it's Thanksgiving. Come hang out with us. I learned how to make turkey last year. I swear it's good. I can pick you up, if you don't mind coming over early so I can do it before I start cooking." He turns a little red around the ears. "It's not going to be anything fancy, but--"

"Just text me your address," she finds herself saying. "I have a car. I can drive myself over, if you really don't mind having me."

The text comes a little after she gets home from the library; it's the first thing he's sent her since the series of messages after the party, and she can't help scrolling up to look at them. She still feels like she doesn't know how to deal with the world where he thinks she's gorgeous and fucking amazing.

I'll bring a pie, she texts back, and gets a smiley face in return.

*

Their house is on the outskirts of town, small and run down and badly in need of a new coat of paint. The yard is a little messy, and there's a shitty car in the driveway; her stomach sinks, realizing exactly why he'd been embarrassed when he invited her yesterday. Either this is what he could afford after their mother died, or this is where he and Octavia grew up, and either way, it's not the kind of place most Williams students live. Clarke thinks that if she'd gained custody of a ten-year-old girl at age eighteen, her entire life would be in ruins. He has nothing to be ashamed of.

Octavia opens the door in flannel pajama pants and an over-sized Wonder Woman t-shirt. "Hey! You made it!"

"Yeah, thanks for inviting me."

"Bell's freaking out about cooking," she says, leading Clarke inside. "He's good at normal stuff, but Thanksgiving was always--" She bites her lip. "It was our mom's favorite holiday."

"That's how I am with Halloween," says Clarke. "My dad always made me these awesome costumes, even when I got older. We'd just dress up to give candy out. Now I try to make my own, even thought I suck at it."

Octavia nods, pulling herself together. "Anyway, this is our house. This is the living room, bedrooms are upstairs, there's the computer room, and Bell's back there in the kitchen." It's tidier than she would have expected, and it feels more lived in than worn out, even if most of their stuff looks like it's seen better days. There are pictures all over, Bellamy and Octavia and a dark-haired woman who must be their mother. Clarke tries not to stare at anything too much, even though she's horribly curious.

Bellamy comes out before she can embarrass herself being too creepy. He's wearing pajamas too, and t-shirt that shows off his arms. It would be distracting, but he's got a frilly apron on over it, and it's easy to focus on that.

"You should have told me I didn't need to bother getting dressed," she says, and blushes at his smirk. "I would have just come in my pajamas."

His expression softens. "Mom always said if we were really supposed to be giving thanks, we shouldn't have to get all dressed up for it. Kind of a family tradition. I should have warned you."

"Well, it's not like I got really dressed up for you or anything," she says, looking down at her sweater and jeans.

"You look nice," says Bellamy, absent, and that's what really gets her about him. It's not that he's (apparently) kind of into her, it's that he's so undemanding about it, like it's just another fact. Even the texts--those goddamn texts--were him clearing things up. If he was hoping they'd make her swoon into his arms, he's given no sign of it. "But if you want, you can just borrow something of mine. If you feel left out."

"I think that would be a little big on me."

"Yeah, it'd be great," he says, sounding pretty happy about it. Which is how she ends up in a pair of very baggy flannel pants with the drawstring tied as tight as it goes and the legs rolled up, helping Bellamy make Thanksgiving dinner.

"My dad was the cook in the family," she finds herself telling him. "He always cooked for holidays. After he died Mom and I didn't really know what to do. It's actually kind of better being here, honestly. When I was in high school we both tried to make it work, and it was just--" she shakes her head.

"Not the same."

"Neither of us is very good at this stuff."

"You're doing fine."

Her mother calls around three, and she takes the call outside. It's snowing a little, but not as cold as it could be. Bellamy's pajamas are surprisingly good at blocking the wind.

"Hey, Happy Thanksgiving."

"You too," says Abby. She sounds rushed, like she's calling between meetings. For all Clarke knows, she's in DC still; it's close enough she could have gone, but neither of them suggested it. "How are the dorms?"

"Quiet."

"Are you going to the President's house for dinner? Did you get invited?"

She worries her lip. "I'm actually at a friend's house." It's the first time she's ever called him her friend without qualification; it doesn't feel totally real.

"A friend?"

"My tutorial partner." She realizes suddenly that it's not going to be true much longer. Their last meeting is a week from today, since they met a week before the other pairs, and after that, he won't be her partner anymore, and she won't see him except for a few minutes on Wednesdays, when he picks up Octavia from the library, and at occasional parties of Wick's when he has time.

"What's his name? Where does he live?" her mother asks, pulling her back to the conversation. "You didn't go out of town, did you?"

"No, he's local. Bellamy Blake."

"You didn't mention you had plans."

They haven't talked in a month, at least. They've barely emailed. It's not that she doesn't love her mother, it's just that keeping her updated on things feels exhausting most of the time. There are always so many questions. "It was pretty last-minute. He found out I wasn't going home and invited me over."

"That was nice of him. And of his parents, to take you on such short notice."

"Yeah," says Clarke. His parents aren't her mom's business. "Speaking of which, I should get back in."

"I have to go too. But I wanted to say Happy Thanksgiving, see how you were doing. I'm glad you're going to get to celebrate."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I'll grab a turkey sandwich later."

It puts a lump in Clarke's throat; she knows Abby stays busy on days like today so she doesn't have to think about her husband. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too. I'll see you in a few weeks."

When she goes back inside, she presses briefly against Bellamy, a quick, small contact. "Hey, did I thank you for inviting me?"

He looks down at her, surprised. "Not in so many words, but I wasn't offended."

"I know, but--thanks."

He smiles and gives her shoulder a quick squeeze. "Thanks for coming."

*

Dinner is awesome, and Clarke is reluctant to leave after. Her empty dorm seems less appealing than Bellamy and Octavia's warm house. Bellamy must notice, because he offers her a beer and the use of his couch.

"I'm driving. And underage."

"So sleep here," he says. "The couch is pretty comfortable. Unless you have big Black Friday plans."

She snorts. "Yeah, no. Just working on bio problem sets."

"So stay."

Octavia's upstairs in her room, doing middle-school girl things, so it's just her and Bellamy watching whatever bad made-for-TV Christmas movies she finds on Netflix. They come up with a universal drinking game (twinkly sentimental music, mention of the season, references to Santa Claus being real) and it's nice, relaxed. Friendly.

"Why didn't you tell your entry about your mom?" she asks, once she's buzzed enough to not feel weird about it.

"Collins tell you that?"

"Yeah."

He shrugs, takes a long drink from his beer. She tries not to watch his Adam's apple, but it's very noticeable. "I told Wick, I liked Wick. Everyone else--I didn't want a bunch of people I wasn't that close to telling me how sorry they were about it. I had enough of that from my mom's friends. I've always been pretty private, none of them knew I was local or anything. Thank god I'm not on Facebook, or I never would have been able to keep it quiet. I told the school, obviously, and all my professors know, because if there was an emergency with Octavia, I'd have to take off immediately, and I have some scheduling issues because of work. Other than that, it's no one's business."

It makes a lot of sense, really. She remembers how it was at school, after her dad died, all the condolences from the people she didn't know, no one knowing quite what to do with her. She was the girl whose father had died, and if she could have kept it secret from them, she would have done it in a heartbeat.

"Sorry I pried," she says. "Went behind your back and found out from Octavia."

"I don't mind you knowing."

She worries her lip. "Why don't you like Finn?"

"Who said I don't like him?" She just looks at him, and he relents. "He's not a bad guy or anything. He's just--he's the kind of guy who tells a girl he'll call her even though he knows he won't, because he thinks if he just says he's not planning to call, he'll be a bad guy. I'm a dick, but at least I'm honest about it." He smiles. "He's not a good guy for you, definitely."

The answer makes her smile, for some reason. "What are you taking next semester?"

He looks a little thrown by the change in subject, but shrugs. "Uh, the usual, I guess. History, Greek, some intro philosophy course for my div 2 requirement, history of science for div 3. Why?"

"We're not gonna have a class together next semester."

He puts his arm around her, casually affectionate. "Gonna miss me, Princess?"

"Yeah," she says.

He actually looks surprised for a second, but recovers fast. "Well, don't worry. You're not ditching me that easily."

*

Her mother calls again on Saturday. "You cannot date Bellamy Blake."

Clarke's working on her last tutorial paper--it's not translation and analysis this time, but an overview of everything they've done. He's writing the same thing, and they'll share them during the last class, instead of one of them doing a response. She's having more trouble with it than any of her previous papers. It feels like she's summing up more than just the class, and she doesn't know how.

"What?" she asks.

"I looked into him--"

"Of course you did."

"You didn't tell me his parents were dead."

She lets out a harsh breath. "It's none of your business. He doesn't like talking about it. And who said anything about me dating him?"

"I'm sure he's a wonderful boy, Clarke. He seems very responsible, and what he's doing for his sister is amazing. But he's not a good prospect for the long term. He has his sister to take care of, and you have a future. A future that doesn't involve being tied down to some boy who--"

"You don't get to tell me my friends or my boyfriends aren't good for my future," Clarke snaps, rubbing her forehead. "And you don't get to decide who I date. You have to see how fucked up this is, Mom."

"Watch your language."

"Watch how fucked up you're being," Clarke snaps, and hangs up the phone.

She ignores her mother's calls and pretends it's because of classes ending and finals coming up, but she's mostly just pissed off. Abby hasn't called in months, and now that she is, it's because she thinks Bellamy isn't a good prospect. And Clarke doesn't even necessarily disagree, but that's because he doesn't have time to date, not because he might get in the way of the life her mother has carefully scheduled for her.

She does a lot of angry art, and Raven tells her she needs to get laid, which doesn't help at all.

*

Bellamy's stretched out over half the hallway as he waits for their final tutorial session, just like always. Clarke kicks his foot, also just like always, and he beams at her. "You're totally going to miss this," he tells her.

She sits down in the chair next to his, trying to take up as much space as he does, but she just can't do it. He might be partially a liquid. "I totally am," she agrees.

"Well, don't worry. I'll email you my schedule for next semester. We can set up a time for you to write short papers about your life and I'll comment on them and you can throw shit at me."

She laughs. "You also have to write short papers about your life."

"You never throw shit at me when you respond to my papers, though. You just do it when I say you're wrong."

"Just because you always say it like an asshole," she shoots back, and Indra's door opens before he can respond.

"Save something for the session," she says, dryly. "I can't have you two starting a brawl in the hallway."

They don't actually fight, though, that's the weirdest part. Their conclusion papers are creepily similar, and Indra even asks if they worked together.

Bellamy glances over at her, almost shy. "Nah, I guess we're just on the same page."

"Yeah," Clarke agrees.

Indra gives them both A's.

Outside, it's windy and bitterly cold, but they stand by Bellamy's car for a long time anyway. He's got his hands stuffed in his pockets and his hair is whipping around like crazy; there must be something perfect to say, but she can't come up with it.

"I've got to get lunch before work," he says, at long last. He sounds genuinely remorseful, like he's enjoying standing in silence with her in freezing weather.

"Yeah," she says. "You better email me your schedule. I'm holding you to that."

He smiles. "I will." He bites his lip, runs his hand through his hair, and then says, "Later, Clarke."

"Later," she says, but it doesn't really feel true.

*

She nearly texts him a dozen times over the next week, but every time she thinks about it, she just ends up scrolling back up to stare at the four texts he sent her after the party. How can it be possible to be so sure she knows exactly what they mean (he likes her, he likes her, he likes her) and so sure she must be wrong about it at the same time?

Instead of studying for her finals, she starts drawing him, making the lines of his face out of the words gorgeous and fucking amazing. She has to hide it when Raven's home, because she would never, ever live it down, and it's also really pretty creepy, but it turns out pretty badass. She wishes she could show someone, someday, but it's probably the most embarrassing thing she's ever done in her life, so she mostly keeps it under her bed and hopes no one ever looks down there.

And then, it's Friday night, and he's at her door.

She's wearing a tank top and pajama pants with mushrooms on them, and her hair is pinned up with three pencils. When she hears knocking she assumes it's someone trying to get her to go to a party, and she's already saying no when she sees him and her mouth snaps shut. He's got snow melting in his hair, and it feels impossible that she missed him this much.

"Fun trivia fact," he says, "I got a call from a United States senator today, asking me if I was dating her daughter."

Clarke opens her mouth and closes it. She's very aware that she's not wearing a bra. "Uh, yeah. Come in?"

It's the first time he's ever been in her dorm room, and she sees him looking around, trying to figure out what's hers and what's Raven's.

"She's at Wick's tonight."

"I know. I asked him."

"Oh." She licks her lips. "It's not really a big deal."

"Which part?"

"The United States senator part."

He nods. "Yeah, that's not the part I was focusing on either." He looks around for a seat and settles on her desk chair; she goes over and sits on her bed, which seems like a safe distance. He seems more real and possible in her room, and it's making her hands itch. "But it's kind of weird you never mentioned it."

"It's like mentioning my dad is dead," she says. "Except not, you know, awful. It changes what people think of me, and I don't like it. Everyone in my entry knew, and it just kind of sucked. So I don't tell people if I can help it." She groans and flops back on her bed. "I can't believe she called you."

"Apparently you were ignoring her."

"And that makes it okay?"

"I'm just passing on what I was told."

"I'm really sorry. That was completely--I'll call and yell at her, that's not okay."

"She told me it would be very difficult for you if you dated me," he continues. "I told her she was probably right. And she said I should tell you, because apparently you want to date me anyway."

"Oh," she says, because she didn't exactly say that, but--god, she's going to kill her mother.

He doesn't say anything else for long enough that she sits up to look at him, and then blushes so hard she's probably purple, because that stupid drawing was on her desk, and he's studying it intently.

"That's, um. That was just--it got kind of stuck in my head."

He smiles at her wryly. "I thought you weren't going to talk to me ever again after I sent those stupid texts."

"No, um, those were--those were fine."

He puts the picture down and runs his hand through his hair. "I'm really fucking crazy about you, you know? I don't know if I've been clear about that. I felt like an asshole telling you, because my life's kind of a mess, and I've got all this--stuff. That I have to take care of before I can even think about anything else. But I really like you, and I'm always thinking about you anyway, and I hope your mom was right about you wanting to date me, because it would suck if I just made this awkward."

It's actually really easy to get up and slide into his lap, easy when his hands come up to hold her by the hips, steadying her, easy to lean in and brush her nose against his. He's got this look of awe on his face, like he can't believe he's here. She wonders how long it's been since he got to like someone in the stupid, giddy way you're supposed to in college. Maybe he never got to at all.

"Your sister?" she asks, because if she starts this, she doesn't think she'll be able to stop. "Is she all set?"

He grins. "Sleeping over at a friend's. She told me, and I quote, go have some fun, Bell, god, you're pathetic."

"You are kind of pathetic," she says, and kisses him before he can respond.

Bellamy's arms slide up her sides, and he kisses back like he thinks he doesn't have time, like he wants to get all the kissing her he can out of the way now, in case he never gets another chance. She wants to tell him they'll have time, but that would involve stopping, and there's no way that's happening.

Her tank top is gone in seconds, and now she's glad she's not wearing a bra, because Bellamy's hands are rough and huge and clearly very experienced. She presses closer, breaking away from his mouth to gasp, and he moves to kiss her jaw, her neck, anything he can reach.

"There's really no good reason for us to have sex in my fucking uncomfortable desk chair," she tells him breathlessly. "The bed is right there."

It's a little tough getting themselves untangled--shockingly the standard-issue dorm chairs weren't really designed for making out--but once they do it's a lot better. Clarke gets his shirt off too and drags him to her bed, and he pushes her down and kisses her harder.

"You didn't have anything else to do tonight, did you?" he asks, sliding his hands into her pajama pants to grope her ass.

"Not a thing."

"Awesome." He pauses, looks serious. "I'm, uh. I don't get a lot of chances like this, so you shouldn't get used to it."

She kisses him. "I know. We'll figure it out." His smile is hesitant weirdly shy, considering they're half naked and she can feel his dick against her leg. She pokes him in the ribs. "Please don't get responsible on me right now, Raven keeps telling me I need to get laid really badly and I'm pretty sure she's right." She bites her lip and adds, "I'm crazy about you too. I don't think I said that."

The kiss this time is softer, slower, and he murmurs, "You didn't. You could say it more."

"I don't want you getting too full of yourself."

He laughs and tugs her pajama pants off. "Just on special occasions, then."

"Bank holidays and birthdays."

He looks down at her again, like he can't quite believe he's here, and she kisses him because it's kind of too much to take in, all that adoration. He huffs a little laugh against her lips, but slides his hand into her hair and kisses back, and Clarke has to admit, getting laid really does do wonders for her mood.

*

Raven is insufferable the next morning, between finding the picture of Bellamy on her desk and the actual Bellamy naked in her bed; Clarke throws her pillow at her and kicks her out so they can get dressed. She has a hickey on her shoulder, but it's at least easy to cover. Bellamy nips it before she puts her shirt on, and she sticks her tongue out at him, which turns into making out until Raven bangs on the door.

They let her back in and she sticks her hand out. "We haven't actually met. I'm the roommate."

"I'm the boyfriend, I guess," he says, glancing at Clarke as he shakes.

"He's the boyfriend," she confirms. "Are you getting breakfast with us?"

He checks his phone. "Yeah, I have time for breakfast."

They go to the dining hall, and Clarke teaches him how to use the waffle maker, because it's pathetic that he doesn't know. "I would have figured it out," he teases. "It's pretty self-explanatory."

"Nope, you'd be lost without me," she says, smug, and flips the waffle onto his plate. Raven grills him about what she calls his weirdo life, and he tells her how pathetic Wick is over her, much to her delight. It feels easy and natural, and she knows it's not going to happen again for a while, but she doesn't need it to happen a lot. It'll be nice, every once in a while.

She lingers by his car while he texts Octavia, even though it's still freezing outside. "Don't you have homework or something?" he teases.

"Shut up." She tucks her hair back. "I'm done with finals on Thursday, and I don't fly home until Tuesday. So if you're around--"

He kisses her. "Trust me, whatever free time I have, you'll be the first to know about it. And call your mom, I don't want her calling me again."

"I'll yell at her about that too. It's on my list."

"You can thank her for that," he says. "I probably would have talked myself out of it if she hadn't told me you insisted on dating me."

Clarke groans. "That is not what I said at all."

"Well, I'm insisting, then." He kisses her once more, fast, and unlocks his car. "I'm going to be in the library like all day tomorrow working on a paper," he tells her. "In case you're looking for a study date."

When she gets back to her dorm, Raven says, "I told you so."

Clarke gives her the finger and starts inking her drawing of Bellamy. She can cram for finals tomorrow.

After all, she's got a study date.