Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Can I get your autograph?”

Bellamy whipped his head around to see a perky brunette in a tube top holding a sharpie out to Murphy, surrounded by her giggling friends encouraging her. 

“Sure, sweetheart.” The scowl that was permanently etched on Murphy’s face was instantly replaced with a flirty grin. “Who should I make it out to you? Wait, no, let me guess.” He took a step back and examined her, exaggeratingly tapping his chin in thought as she relished in the attention. “Starts with an A? B?” He guessed, squinting at her. “No, no. M?” He tried again. “I? Wait, I? Is it I?” The girl beamed, nodding eagerly. “Irena? No, Isabella? It’s Isabella, right?”

“Oh my God,” She whispered, her eyes widened in disbelief. “How did you know?”

“It means beautiful in Italian, doesn’t it? I just figured a pretty girl like you must have a pretty name to match.” Murphy added a playful wink, enough to make her swoon. He was definitely laying on the charm thick tonight. 

“Your necklace,” Bellamy pointed out monotonously, gesturing towards the locket with her name etched on it, and rolling his eyes, but she ignored him. He caught Emori staring daggers at the pair and silently dreaded the inevitable argument they were sure to get into on the way home. 

They weren’t famous – not in the slightest. They started out as a small garage band in high school after Bellamy was gifted an old drum set for Christmas and Murphy realized his raspy voice could pass off as decent singing. It was either start a band or spend the afternoon throwing rocks in the quarry so with Miller as their unofficial manager, Spacekru was born. Murphy was against the name from the start, but Bellamy thought it was unique. After that, things sort of fell into place. Murphy met Emori, the first girl that didn’t run away screaming when he hit on her, and she happened to be a beast on bass. It was just supposed to be a way of fighting boredom and passing time in their small town (or in Bellamy’s case, a way to blow off some steam and let out all that pent up teenage angst he had built up) but somewhere along the line, they ended up really liking it, and more importantly, they got really good at it. Bellamy wasn’t just randomly hitting his drum sticks anymore and Murphy learned more than two cords on the guitar. When they all got accepted into Ark University the next year and decided to get an apartment together in the slightly bigger college town, it only made sense to continue the band. Echo came later. She lived in the apartment underneath theirs and knocked on their door one morning when they were practicing, “First of all, it’s nine am, shut the fuck up. Second of all, you guys aren’t half bad. But I could help you suck less.” Much to Murphy’s dismay, she knew all the chords on the guitar. She moved in a month later.

No one believes them when they say it was all pure luck. After opening up for better bands at the bar down the street or playing fifteen-minute sets of Greenday covers during intermissions, Miller came across a Battle of the Bands flyer posted on the bulletin board at the university library. He signed Spacekru up after another band fell through in the last minute because their lead singer was arrested for pissing on the statue of a mustang in the center of campus (which was so punk they should’ve won by default) and by some miracle, they won first place. That’s when they first gained some popularity and became relatively well-known in their college town. And he’s using well-known very loosely. Everything happened so fast. Miller found a connection through his boyfriend Monty, a sound engineer, and got them in the studio. They recorded enough songs to scrap together an album named Delinquents and self released it within a couple months. So, no, they weren’t famous. Spacekru had a small group of loyal followers on their Facebook page and about 800 monthly listeners on Spotify but they weren’t ready to drop out of school and pursue their rock star lives just yet. Outside of their college town, they were pretty much nobodies. Actually, even in their small college town they were nobodies. Nobodies that made somewhat bearable music that sounded better than it really was to a room full of drunk college students.

Which is why Bellamy was surprised to hear someone ask for an autograph. It had happened a couple times before, but always by a starry-eyed freshman that thought Murphy was cute and guys in bands were automatically cool. 

“Hey,” Echo nodded, breaking Bellamy away from his thoughts and handing him a beer. “You okay? You were going pretty hard tonight.”

Spacekru had just finished their gig at Eligius, a popular college bar. They performed only six songs – four from their album and two covers. Bellamy was exhausted. His arms were sore and sweat was still dripping down from his hair. He had gone all in tonight, expressing his anger over the fact it’s been three months since Octavia had contacted him – not a single phone call or even a text since their falling out. Against his better judgement, he had left her a voicemail before the show, sounding all-too pathetic and desperate. He knew he shouldn’t have. After all, she was in the wrong, but Bellamy wanted to know that she was okay. And despite everything, he missed her. It was clear he had a lot on his mind when his troubles followed him on stage. He had messed up his drum solo in the last song and fumbled through his backup vocals, leaving him disgruntled with himself and unsatisfied with their performance. He knew he wasn’t the only one. Emori missed a bass chord and Murphy just wasn’t in sync with the rest of them. 

“It was just an off night,” Echo reassures him, patting him on the shoulder comfortingly. 

“M’fine,” he said, knowing Echo knew him well enough to know that he was not fine. 

“Van’s all loaded. Wanna head home and I can distract you from whatever’s bothering you?” Echo offered, raising an eyebrow suggestively. What Bellamy really wanted to do was take a shower and go to sleep for ten, maybe twelve, hours. But Echo and he had been casually sleeping together for a while now and he knew better than to pass it up. She was always excellent at getting him out of his own head and giving him some too. “And Bellamy,” Echo leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Don’t shower.”

—————————————————

Bellamy woke up in bed naked and alone the next day, which wasn’t unusual. He squinted at the alarm clock on his nightstand and saw it was approaching noon and he had slept in, which was uncommon for him. When he emerged out his bedroom and lugged his way into the kitchen, he noticed the whole apartment was empty. Miller had spent the night at Monty’s and he figured Echo went for an early morning run followed by a kickboxing class or something. He assumed Murphy and Emori had made up by now, but he didn’t know where they were. He didn’t really care either and decided to take pleasure in the rare occurrence of an empty apartment. 

He spent most of his day eating cold, leftover chinese food and watching the discovery channel. He attempted to work on his art history essay for a while but abandoned it halfway through and scribbled lyrics for a potential new song in the margins instead. Bellamy was solely responsible for writing all of their songs with the exception of their EP, Cockroach, which was Murphy’s doing. Bellamy took a break from doing nothing and absentmindedly scrolled through the band’s official Tumblr page, liking a video from last night’s gig, before switching over to their (not yet verified) Twitter page. Monty voluntarily put himself in charge of Spacekru’s social media presence and nobody cared quite enough to stop him, but Bellamy liked to check in. Sighing, he grabbed his laptop, prepared to get at least some homework done. He opened up Spotify, about to switch from the band’s account to his private account for his regular background study music when he noticed a notification. More due to the desire to procrastinate further rather than genuine curiosity, he clicked on it and read that a Spotify user added their song “Whatever the Hell We Want” and “Iliad” to a playlist named “angry music to get over my little dicked cheating ass ex-boyfriend”.

Taken aback, Bellamy lets out a throaty guffaw. His interest peaked, he clicked on the playlist. The cover photo for the playlist was a selfie of a brunette Latina sticking her tongue out with her arm around a pretty blonde girl. Weird. He wondered what the correlation was. 

He carefully scrolled through, taking each song into account, and was thoroughly impressed. It was the perfect combination of pissed off and sad mixed with a hint bitterness without being overly heartbroken and whiny. Their own song, “Whatever the Hell We Want”, was about breaking out of your shell, taking back your life, and being free while Bellamy wrote “Iliad” after his first real girlfriend, Gina, had dumped him leaving him devastated and pining. 

Bellamy fully admitted to being a bit of a music snob and having some pretty high standards but it was as if this girl crawled into the back of Bellamy’s head and took a tour of his personal music library. She had some classic rock like The Who and Rage Against the Machine, but it was mostly obscure punk bands and indie groups like The God Awfuls, Gang of Four, and Jerry’s Kids. She included artists he liked that not even his bandmates had heard of. 

Intrigued and impressed, he clicked on the profile of Clarke and saw the same pretty blonde girl smiling in the profile picture. She had five more playlists and only twelve followers. He laughed at the titles from “on the rare blue moon i decide to work out” to “holy shit i’ve been at the library for seven hours pls hElp it’s finals week and i’m going loony TUNES”. Finding artists ranging from Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears blues and the genius Captain Beefheart to ones even Bellamy was unfamiliar with like a hardcore Scottish group called Kings of Nuthin and a Chinese grunge band named Brain Failure. Her playlist “bow-chicka-wow-wow (get it girl)” was unsurprisingly filled with sex songs and “car ride jamz that make me feel like i’m on a road trip with my best friends ridin w the top down and singin at the top of our lungs” was mostly old school pop music. 

Her remaining playlist, “the top ten hits of my heart”, featured only one from Spacekru’s album. Bellamy wrote “Slay Your Demons” after his mom died and he was going through a really rough time in his life. He almost deemed it too personal to release. 

Without thinking too much about the fact he was probably already half in love with this girl solely based on her music taste, he clicked to play her playlist and focused his attention back to his homework. 

—————————————————

“After going solo, I went on tour, became filthy rich, won a Grammy, and got married to a Kardashian.” 

Bellamy sat at a booth at the City of Light, a high-end bar on the outskirts of town, feeling perfectly content listening to his friends rattle on while drinking a pint of beer. 

“And then you woke up and realized it was all a dream and you were still the same sad jerkoff late for psychology class?” Monty confirmed with a chuckle.

“Yes, but I’m telling you, dude. Dreams can predict the future.” Murphy declared confidently, nodding his head. 

“Make sense. I had a dream I murdered you,” Emori smiled sweetly as his face dropped, making them all laugh. 

“I’m gonna get another round,” Bellamy announced to the table. 

“Okay but last one. Can’t be hammered during the set,” Miller told him, his eyes finding the clock. 

“Yes sir,” Bellamy mocked with a phony salute.

“I perform better when I’m drunk,” Murphy insisted, taking another swig of his beer. 

“Oh yeah? What about the time you forgot the words to “End of the World” and just sang na na na for like two minutes?” Bellamy reminded him. 

“Please,” Murphy scoffed. “The audience was drunker than I was. They didn’t even notice.”

“They might’ve noticed when you threw up on stage right after though,” Echo said chuckling. 

Bellamy got up to leave just as Harper asked, “But wait, which Kardashian did you marry? Very important.” He headed towards the bar and inwardly groaned at the amount of people surrounding it. Bellamy leaned against the side of the counter, waiting to get the bartender’s attention who was busy flirting with a girl who looked a little too old to be hanging out here, when his eyes fell upon a pretty blonde girl. She was seated at a table in the corner a few feet away facing Bellamy so that he could see the look of annoyance etched across her face. She sat across from some guy with slick, gelled-back black hair wearing a suit that was far too fancy for this place. Bellamy couldn’t miss the girl’s unmistakable uninterested body language. Besides her pinched expression and rigid posture, she was physically turned away from him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and probably only half-listening to him. Bellamy could only really see the back of the guy’s head but could hear his boisterous voice being carried perfectly over the music. 

"I have to say I was surprised when you suggested to meet here. I expected a woman of your caliber to have classier taste.”

“What can I say? The drinks are cheap.” She gave him a tight lipped smile in return, tapping her foot in impatience. 

“Yes, I noticed that,” he responded. “I find alcohol to be a luxury. I could never be bothered to indulge in drinking games and cheap beer like some barbarian boy in a fraternity. I much rather a fine bottle of wine or a nicely aged scotch – nothing after 1976 of course. 

“Well I quite enjoy my unpretentious vodka cranberry, thank you very much.” The girl rolled her eyes at that. 

“Feel free to order another...vodka cranberry,” he said with a hint of disgust, “You know money is no object for me.”

“No, I’ll probably need something even stronger,” she muttered, taking another sip of her drink. 

“You know my watch alone cost $13,000?”

She choked on her drink. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The man smirked, taking her disbelief as impressed. “Only the finest.”

Bellamy snorted at his shameless brag which caught the girl’s attention. Her eyes darted to him and Bellamy turned away quickly despite knowing he’d been caught clearly eavesdropping. The corner of her lips turned up slightly as she faced the guy again. 

“You know, there’s also a band on later that I wanted to see,” she mentioned coyly. 

Bellamy’s ears perked up at that. Could she be talking about Spacekru?

“A band? I mistook you for a fan of classical music.”

“Yeah, this is more of a punk rock band, which I’m sure is right up your alley,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of course if you don’t like it, I would hate if you felt imposed to stay.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d want to relocate this soirée. I know this elegant eatery just a few blocks away if you’d like to get a bite,” he suggested. “Or perhaps you’d rather skip right to dessert and we can go back to my place.”

Soirée? Eatery? Who even talked like that? What a douche. 

“Really?” The girl deadpanned, her tone sharp. “That’s where you think this night is heading? Back to your place?”

Bellamy let out a chortle at her clipped tone and the snobby guy’s total ignorance. The girl’s eyes briefly flickered to Bellamy again, sharing a smirk. 

“You’re right,” the man crowed, clapping his hands together. “I’m getting ahead of myself. I haven’t even told you about my trip to Europe. Oh, it was lovely.” 

She let out an exaggerated sigh as she leaned back and downed her drink. The guy launched into an animated story about his trip to France while she ran her thumb around the edge of her glass, the boredom evident on her face. She looked up at Bellamy again. He didn’t turn away this time. Instead he met her eyes and mouthed, “Want help?” 

She held his gaze for a moment longer before raising her eyebrow. He took that as a yes. Bellamy turned back to the bar and held up his hand, signaling the bartender for two vodka cranberries. 

“Is that –“ Bellamy shouted, making his way over to her table. “Wow! Hey...you! It’s been ages!”

The girl watched him, amused. “Oh my God! Bob?!” He made a face at the fake name and she shrugged helplessly. “What are you doing here?” She exclaimed. 

“I’m only in town for the weekend.“ He pulled a nearby stool to the table, letting it scrape annoyingly across the floor before joining them and taking a seat. “Hey mate,” he turned to the guy and finally seeing that his face matched his sleazy personality, “You don’t mind, do you?” 

“Actually —“ he protested.

“Good man!” Bellamy slapped him on the back, before turning to the girl again, who he noticed was even prettier up close. 

“So how have you been, Bob?” She inquired with too much enthusiasm, a giggle threatening to spill from her lips. 

“How do you two know each other?” The guy asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. 

“High school,” she answered at the same time Bellamy said, “Camp.”

They exchanged a look. 

“Well I mean we met in uh, camp, but we went to high school together,” she lied. 

“Here, I got you a vodka cranberry,” Bellamy slid the drink to her. “This place only had scotch from this year. Ick. Could you imagine?”

“I completely understand,” the guy agreed, the joke going totally over his head. 

She stifled a laugh, trying to maintain serious. “Thank you,” she took a sip so she didn’t ruin their cover. 

“It reminds me of the time I wintered in Aspen and the concierge at the hotel tried to serve my seven course meal on a silver platter — instead of pure gold,” Bellamy mimicked the man, using a haughty voice. “As if!” She couldn’t help it. She burst into a fit of giggles at his merciless mocking. 

“I’m sorry, Cage,” she struggled to catch her breath and remain calm, “Bob and I should really catch up.”

“Fine,” he pursed his lips in displeasure, “Perhaps we should reschedule.”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t,” the girl corrected. “Listen, Cage, I’m not sure we’re a good fit.”

“Should’ve known,” Cage muttered bitterly. “You can pick up the tab for this tremendous waste of my time.” He huffed in chagrin and stalked off immediately. 

They both waited a moment before erupting into laughter. 

“Oh my God,” Bellamy cried, “What an arrogant tool!”

“Thank you so much for saving me!” She gave him a genuine smile and he got to appreciate the way her eyes sparkled with it. “And for the drink.”

“My watch might only cost about thirty bucks and it was a technically a Christmas gift but hey, I can afford a $7 drink,” he clinked his glass against hers before chugging it. “So what was that? A bad Tinder date?”

“Worse,” she wrinkled her nose. “A set up by my mother.”

“No!” 

“Unfortunately,” she shook her head in disgust. “His folks are close friends with mine which is the only reason I didn’t end up strangling him with his own overpriced tie.”

“I would’ve rather been disowned,” Bellamy sympathized. 

“Oh trust me,” she held out her hand to indicate a minuscule space between her two fingers, “I was this close.” 

Bellamy grinned, ready to retort, appreciating their easy banter when he felt a light nudge from behind. 

“Dude, you get lost on the way to the bar?” Bellamy turned around was greeted by Miller, staring at him expectantly. “Or just distracted, I see,” Miller smirked, noticing his company. Her cheeks flushed faintly and she looked down, playing with her hands. It was adorable. “Hate to tear you away but you’re on in five so get your ass backstage,” Miller ordered gesturing towards the rest of the band. 

“Sorry to cut this short but I gotta go,” Bellamy apologized, getting up to go, and the disappointment weighing down on his shoulders. “You should stick around though, I heard there’s this cool band playing that I think you’d like.”

“Wait,” she said, stopping him in his tracks, “Don’t I get to know my savior’s real name?”

“Bellamy,” he told her. “Bellamy Blake.”

“Well thanks for the rescue, Bellamy Blake.” She smiled, lighting up the whole room. 

“Anytime.”

He didn’t realize he had forgotten to ask her for her name until he was already backstage and he kicked himself for it. 

—————————————————

“Thank you everybody and good night!” Murphy yelled into the microphone as they all scrambled offstage. 

“Shit, that was amazing!” Emori declared, as Murphy placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek noisily. Bellamy threw his arm around the two of them and Echo whooped with glee, everyone still in high spirits from their performance. The after-show buzz must’ve spread to Miller, Monty, and Harper because they all cheered and applauded as they approached the booth. 

“You guys were awesome!” Harper complimented, giving a side hug to Bellamy to avoid his sweat. 

“Bellamy, I swear, you were on another level today! That was the best drumming I’ve seen from you in a while!” Miller exclaimed. 

And Bellamy knew it too, if the shit eating grin on his face wasn’t indicator enough. He might’ve been showing off for a particular person. He hadn’t spotted her in the audience but it got crowded quickly and he couldn’t see very well past the bright spotlights. “Thanks, thanks!” Bellamy hurrahed. “It felt really good!” 

“If you guys performed like that every night, I sense a successful second album in the near future!” Monty encouraged. 

“And I sense even more money!” Murphy shouted, throwing a celebratory fist in the air and making everyone laugh. “Cha-ching!”

He turned to scan the room for the girl that occupied his thoughts for the majority of the performance. 

“Oh hey! I almost forgot. Look who we ran into!” Monty stepped aside and she appeared directly behind him, as if Bellamy thought her into existence. Her cheeks were splotchy and tinted red. Her eyes glazed just enough for Bellamy to notice she must’ve had a few more drinks during the show. 

“Everyone, this is Clarke!” He introduced as they all nodded and waved in greeting. “Clarke, this is Emori, Echo, Murphy, and —“

“Oh, Bob and I go waay back,” she winked at him, feeling giddy. 

“Bellamy,” he reminded her. 

“I got the B right,” she shrugged, suppressing a smile. 

Everyone dispersed back into their own little pairings and stumbled back into the usual booth while Bellamy hung back. 

“Clarke,” he repeated, enjoying the way her name felt in his mouth. “Glad I don’t have to keep referring to you as the pretty blonde girl in my head.”

“That’s generous,” she tittered, blushing, “I thought my nickname would be something along the lines of ‘poor pathetic girl that needed saving.’”

“Hmmm. Maybe Princess is more fitting,” he replied cheekily, gently tugging on her braid crown. “I mean I was your knight in shining armor.” 

“I think you’re giving yourself a little too much credit,” she teased, “Most knights don’t come in a tattered Misfits muscle tee.”

“Exactly,” he gave her cocky grin, “I’m one of a kind. And besides, most fire breathing dragons don’t come in the form of a pompous ass in an Armani suit.” She laughed at that, snorting and playfully pushing his shoulder. Classic flirty move.

“Consider me impressed, by the way. You were incredible, if that wasn’t obvious,” Clarke praised, twiddling with her necklace shyly. 

“I mean it was but it’s always nice to hear from a fan,” he joked. 

“Jerk!” Her insult held no malice. 

“We were the band you came here for, right?” 

“I have no idea what you mean,” she feigned innocence. “I just like this place because the drinks are cheap and the bathrooms are clean.” 

“That’s not what I heard,” he taunted. 

“You usually take it upon yourself to eavesdrop on other people’s dates?” She challenged, cocking her eyebrow. 

“When a pretty blonde girl’s involved?” Bellamy’s arm brushed against hers. “Always.”

“Fine,” she gave in. “I know of your band. I didn’t hate your first album.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he continued to tease her, enjoying getting her riled up, “All I hear is that you’re the president of my fan club and you have a life size poster of me on your bedroom wall.”

“You wish!” She scoffed. “This was my first time ever seeing you guys live! I didn’t even know your name!”

“Oh please,” he waved her off, “Bob? C’mon, it was clearly a ruse. You’re so transparent.”

“Oh no. You’ve seen right through me,” Clarke deadpanned. 

“I knew it.”

“This is why Murphy’s my favorite,” she snarked. 

The smug expression on his face dropped. “You wound me,” Bellamy clutched his heart, feigning offense. 

She giggled again, shaking her head fondly at his antics. She wondered if she usually giggled this much or if she was just tipsy. 

“So Clarke,” Bellamy was feeling confident. 

Or maybe it was because of him. 

“Bob,” she responded seriously. 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“It suits you!” She insisted. 

“I was wondering if —“

“Hey Bellamy,” Echo interrupted, “Monty needs help with the amp. Some drunk dude tripped over it and now it’s not working.”

Bellamy let out an exasperated sigh. Talk about bad timing. 

“And we need help loading the van. You know you’re the brawn of the group!” Echo exclaimed.

“Hey! I thought I was the brains!” He argued.  

“And that, babe, is why you’re NOT the brains.” Echo patted his head comfortingly.

“So who’s the brains?”

“That’s Emori,” she told him.

“Then who’s the beauty?” He retorted.  

“Murphy,” she answered, “Duh.”

“So what are you?” He snidely asks, flicking her earlobe.

“I’m the bitch.” Echo smirked.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he muttered as she walked away.

“I heard that!” She called out. 

Bellamy threw Clarke an apologetic look and shrugged helplessly. “Go ahead!” Clarke urged, waving him off. “Duty calls.”

“To be continued?” Bellamy points a finger at her. 

“To be continued.”

—————————————————

It was more like the end. When Bellamy had returned from fixing the amp and loading the van, Clarke had disappeared. He looked for her at their next couple of gigs but she never showed, much to his disappointment. When it became long enough to where Bellamy was questioning if she was really as great as he remembered or if he had built her up in his head, he very casually asked Monty about her. From the look he exchanged with Miller when he told him her full name, he was being far from subtle. He lasted a whopping two days before he broke down and Googled her name, finding all of her connected social media sites. 

He scrolled through her instagram, @clarkegriff96, until he was 72 weeks in her finsta and found out she was 21, transferred from Stanford and now attended Ark University, was a art major, and thought pizza bagels were the best invention known to man. And no, he hadn’t made it up all in his head. She was as great online as she was in person. Maybe even more so online because of the bikini pics and tweets that thoroughly explained her latest Game of Thrones theory. 

It was mildly concerning how easy it was to find out so much information about a stranger. 

It wasn’t until she tweeted out a link to a Spotify playlist that he made the connection that he knew her. 

Clarke was...Clarke Griffin! THE Clarke Griffin. The one with the small dick ex-boyfriend that cheated on her! The one who’s playlist he’s been listening to for over a month now. He couldn’t believe he didn’t recognize her. Granted, Bellamy had only seen the girl’s Spotify picture that first day and never bothered to give it a second glance but...it seemed impossible. The girl with the coolest music taste Bellamy has ever come across of was the same beautiful blonde girl he found so alluring at the bar. 

Bellamy didn’t believe in fate but this was bigger than a coincidence. 

“Jesus, have you moved from that spot all day?” Murphy said, slamming the front door shut and pulling Bellamy out of his thoughts. “I can’t tell where the couch ends and you begin.” Startled, Bellamy jerked back and quickly shut his laptop. “Shit, were you watching porn man?” Murphy glanced back at him as he opened the fridge. “In the middle of the living room? Have some class.” 

“Says the guy drinking milk we all share straight from the gallon,” Bellamy retorted. “And no, you pig, I’m doing homework.”

“For what class? Sexual studies?” Murphy snorted, heading to his room. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

Once Bellamy was left alone again, he opened his laptop halfway to reveal an out of focus photo of Clarke jumping mid-air and holding a sparkler on the fourth of July...of 2015. Sighing, he closed out all the tabs and picked up his textbook to really get some work done. 

—————————————————

Bellamy didn’t believe in fate. He believed that if you wanted something to happen, you’d have to pick yourself up by your bootstraps and make it happen. The world wasn’t kind and the odds were never in your favor. But then again, maybe he was wrong. So Bellamy decided to test the universe. If it was really fate, he wouldn’t have to seek her out. It would just happen. Therefore, for the next two weeks he didn’t give Clarke Griffin another thought (lie), save for the occasional (frequent) late night listen to her excellently crafted Spotify playlist (which he deemed okay because it was made public). He had pretty much forgotten about her (such a lie). He was leaving it in the hands of the universe (which meant he was too chickenshit to actually do anything about it). He refused to cave in and ask Monty for her phone number (meaning he was nervous because she didn’t ask Monty for his phone number either). Maybe he was reading way too much into it (maybe he imagined that she was flirting with him). It was like a science experiment. (There’s nothing scientific about fate). For once, he was prepared to do nothing and be rewarded (he was scared). 

He had finished his classes and spent the rest of the day holed up in the library that he didn’t even notice it got dark out. While deciding whether he had the energy to stop by the deli for a sub sandwich on his way home, he realized Miller had the van. The dusty orange van technically belonged to Bellamy and was his most prized possession after his first drum kit but it unofficially became the band’s shared mode of transportation since Murphy’s rundown Vista Cruiser couldn’t fit all their instruments. Pulling out his phone, he shot Miller a text. Thankfully, he responded quickly, instructing him to meet him at the studio. The studio was really a dingy old recording booth where the university radio station was produced, which is where Monty worked. Bellamy hadn’t been there since Spacekru self-recorded their album and forgot what a uphill trek it was from campus. He must’ve been more out of shape than he thought because he arrived out of breath and panting, eyes scanning the room for Miller. He spotted Monty instead, in the corner sorting through a pile of wires. 

“Hey Monty,” Bellamy nodded, trying not to breathe too heavily. “Have you seen your pain in the ass boyfriend? I’m so ready to go home and knock out.” 

“He’s probably being a pain in the ass in the back,” Monty said, barely looking up and jabbing a thumb behind him. 

Bellamy went to go down the narrow hallway in that direction but stopped short when he looked through the glass into the sound booth where a pretty blonde girl sat wearing headphones and talking animatedly underneath the flashing red “ON AIR” sign. And not just any pretty blonde girl. It was Clarke Griffin. If the wind wasn’t already knocked out of him, it certainly would’ve been after this. 

“Is that – uh, Clarke?” Bellamy asked, focusing on keeping his voice even. 

“Huh?” Monty looked up. “Oh, yeah. She’s filling in for Harper this week.” 

“Clarke...uh, Griffin?” He must have been dreaming. The universe was supposed to be an asshole. Where was the cruel, cold world he’d spent the last 23 years living in? This meant he’d have to rethink his whole philosophy on life. 

“Yeah? You know her, right?”

“No!” Bellamy protested, a little too loudly, resulting in Monty giving him a strange look. Bellamy cleared his throat and tried again, nonchalantly. “I mean, uh, yes. We met.” Monty nodded, still side-eyeing him a bit.

“Okay I did find the sound board and I did not knock down a bunch of boxes in the storage room,” Miller walked in announcing, carrying audio equipment. “Oh hey Bellamy,” he said when he noticed me. He fished out the keys from his front pocket and tossed them to me. “Here. She’s making those sounds again. Might wanna take her to the shop.”

“Gee thanks. I’ll do that,” Bellamy caught them easily. He looked around, stealing a glance at Clarke through the window, and sat down in the recliner in the corner. “So whatcha guys up to?”

“Ugh, inventory.” Monty groaned. “Didn’t you say you were tired?” 

“Uh, no, no.” Bellamy denied, shaking his head profusely. “I thought I’d hang out here for a bit and uh, catch up with you guys. What’s new?”

“Since we talked this morning?” Miller raised his eyebrows suspicious. “Nothing.”

“Right, right, right. I was talking to...Monty,” Bellamy corrected. “It’s been a while since you’ve come by the apartment.” Which was technically true if a while was four days. 

“Um,” Monty said, exchanging a look with a Miller. “Well actually in my digital media class...” Bellamy slowly tuned Monty’s voice out because his attention was completely captivated by Clarke as she pulled her headphones off and came out the sound booth. 

“Hey Monty, I’m all done here so I’m gonna head out, okay?” She said, packing up her bag, not noticing Bellamy’s presence. 

“Hi!” Bellamy jumped to his feet. She paused for a moment and then blinked, as if she didn’t know he was speaking to her. 

“Bellamy?” She sounded surprised. “What, are you stalking me?” 

“W-what?”

Oh crap. Bellamy started to panic racking his brain and imagining that he must’ve accidentally liked an instagram picture from last February or something and now she knows he Googled her. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Bellamy opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He didn’t think this far ahead. He wasn’t thinking at all. His mind went totally blank. 

“He was meeting me. We’re roommates, remember?” Miller answered for him, rushing to the rescue. “And apparently he’s forgotten how to speak to a human woman.”

“Yeah, no, sorry, hi! I was meeting Miller...which he just said,” Bellamy awkwardly chuckled. “I, um, needed the van.”

“Oh, uh, cool,” she gave him a forced smile. “Well it was nice seeing you but I am going home. I have so much homework to catch up on.” Clarke explained politely. She was acting weird. I mean, so was he but at the bar, they had easygoing conversation and were definitely vibing. Now it seemed like she couldn’t get away enough. 

“I was actually just about to head out too!” Bellamy interjected as she turned to leave. “Do you want a ride?”

“I thought you said you were going to hang with us,” Monty reminded him, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion. 

“Well I see you two all the time. I’m sure nothing’s changed,” Bellamy replied through clenched teeth. 

Clarke hesitated before slowly nodding, “Sure. That’d be great.”

They said their goodbyes to Monty and Miller (ignoring their knowing smile) and got into the van where Bellamy reached over to switch on the music. The blaring sounds of “Fall in Love 2008” came blasting out the speakers at full volume. 

“Shit, sorry.” Bellamy dove to lower the volume and change the setting to the radio instead of his burnt CD. “Years of drumming have ruined my hearing so I gotta jam out at max.” 

“Was that, uh, Brain Failure?” Clarke asked, turning towards him with interest. 

“Uh, yeah.” Bellamy’s face heated up. 

“Wow, I’ve never met anyone else who listens them,” Clarke nodded with approval. 

“Yeah, I just discovered them,” he said, not wanting to weird her out even more by mentioning it was through her Spotify. “So where’d you disappear off to the other night?” Bellamy inquired curiously. It had been bothering him. 

“Hmm?”

“You know, that night at the City of Light. I went to go help the band and when I got back, you were nowhere to be found.” He had wondered what scared her off. He thought they were having a good time. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I had to run. I didn’t think you’d notice,” she halfheartedly explained. 

“I said to be continued, didn’t I?” 

“Well I guess it’s continuing now,” she looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. He remembered that smile. 

“So are you new to the radio station? I’ve never seen you around.” Bellamy asked.

“No, not really. I’m just filling in for Harper while she’s visiting her folks. Monty introduced me to his little world a while ago. I was originally doing the midnight showing but he would try to force me to play those god awful remixes of pop songs they play at clubs and honestly, I would rather die.” Clarke confessed, fiddling with the ends of her hair. “So now I do the 3am show and probably have less than a dozen listeners, who are either drunk and/or truck drivers passing through town, but I have complete creative control and I love it anyhow.” And Bellamy could tell she really did by the way her piercing blue eyes lit up and the corners of her lips turned ever so slightly. “Yeah, I love music. I mean I know everyone does but like I really love it. But I mean, who am I telling? You’re a whole musician, you get it.”

“Yeah, no. I definitely do.” Bellamy agreed. “So do you play?”

“Oh no.” Clarke chortled in response. “God, no. My, uh, dad played the guitar and he used to sing to me when I was little. I used to just sit on the counter listening to him for hours until I fell asleep. But me? I definitely didn’t inherit the talent. I can’t carry a tune to save my life. Seriously, I can't even hum properly. I am musically handicap.”

“Oh come on, I don’t believe that.” 

“No, it’s true. I guess I take after my mom in that department.” Clarke said, then pursing her lips into a grimace after a moment. “Or maybe not...I mean I paint and draw and stuff. I’m an art major. So I guess that was the capacity of my artistic abilities.”

“You are?” Bellamy asked, playing dumb as if he didn’t see her artwork of the ravine overlooking the river she posted on her instagram with the caption “the product of a rainy afternoon, oolong tea, and nothing to do :)”. 

“Yeah, I mean I’m no Pollock or anything and finding a job will be next to impossible but...” Clarke trailed off sheepishly. 

Bellamy opened his mouth to protest before he realized he definitely did not see her tattoo design for her friend Niylah or her portrait of her friend Wells, so instead he replied, “Oh I’m sure you’re just being modest. You must be good if you’re namedropping obscure artists. The only artists I know are the ones the ninja turtles are named after.”

“Jackson Pollock is not obscure,” she laughed. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes as he changed lanes. There was a brief beat of silence as the song faded out and transitioned to the next track. 

“God, I love this song,” she gushed. 

“You know the Dead Kennedys from the first beat?”

“Of course! Give Me Convenience or Give Me Death is the album that single-handedly shaped punk music today.”

“Ooh that’s debatable,” he replied. “I don’t want to be too mainstream for your taste but Dark Side of the Moon quite literally influenced every future rock artist ever.”

“Ah yes, but Pink Floyd was ‘73. Rock was redefined in the ‘80’s.” Clarke pointed out, drumming her finger to the beat of the song. 

“A woman after my own heart,” Bellamy declared dramatically, holding his hand over his chest and making her giggle. There was the trace of the girl from the bar in her laugh and it made him hopeful. Bellamy turned the dial and raised the volume as he and Clarke bobbed their heads in unison. With the sound of the music so loud, Bellamy didn’t even hear the engine sputter and groan as the car slowed down. “Uh oh.” Bellamy tapped his foot on the gas but to avail. “No, no, no, Ursula, come on!” 

Clarke turned the knob to lower the sounds of Jello Biafra’s voice booming. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! This just..happens sometime.”

“What?!”

“I’m sorry!” Bellamy exclaimed. “Miller told me she was making noises again but I didn’t think she’d die on me!” 

“And I guess you didn’t see the blinking check engine light either?” 

“It’s alright. Don’t worry. This happens all the time,” he reassured her. 

“And you still let me get into this death trap?” Clarke crossed her arms and glared at him. 

It was safe to say the moment was ruined. 

“Just give her a few minutes,” Bellamy promised, patting the dashboard tenderly. 

After several minutes had passed, Bellamy tried to start her up again but the engine stalled out. 

“Sorry?” Bellamy grimaced at the horrible noise coming from the car. 

Clarke sighed. “Okay, we should probably call Triple AAA or something.”

“No, let me text Murphy. He can be here in twenty minutes,” Bellamy suggested. When he didn’t reply to his urgent message within a couple minutes and he felt Clarke’s expectant eyes on him, Bellamy pulled out his phone and called him instead. The line rang once, twice, three times, and then cut straight to voicemail. “Ah geez, he’s not answering! I’ll try Emori.” Even though he knew Emori barely remembered to have her phone on her most of the time. “They can give you a ride home and then they can give me a jumpstart or whatever the hell’s wrong.”

“It’s fine. My apartment’s like three block’s from here. I can just walk.” Clarke told him, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“No!” He protested. “It’s dark and it’s late! I can’t let you walk home by yourself.” 

“I’m a big girl, Bellamy. I walk home at night all the time,” Clarke assured him. 

“Let me just try Murphy once more,” he offered, listening to the drones of the dial again. “Son of a bitch,” Bellamy swore when he was met with Murphy’s obnoxious voicemail again (“Text me, it’s not the 1950’s”). 

“What about Echo?” Clarke asked, her tone suddenly sharper. 

“She’s out with this guy Roan right now,” he told her. 

“She is?” Clarke looked confused. 

“And Monty and Miller don’t have a car which is why they rely on me,” he explained. 

“Not very reliable,” she commented dryly, earning herself a dirty look from Bellamy. 

“Okay, compromise,” Clarke interrupted him typing a colorfully violent text to Murphy. “I’ll call one my friends. They’ll probably actually answer their phone.” Clarke pressed the phone to ear and a moment later, someone picked up. “Hey Raven. I need a favor....I need you to pick me up. I’m with a friend and his car broke down....No, I’ll tell you later....Yes, please. As soon as you can....Okay, thank you. I’ll send you my location....Thanks, I owe you one. Bye!”

“She’ll be here in ten minutes,” Clarke told him. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” he apologized again. 

“Hey, it’s all good. It happens, right?” Clarke offered him an understanding smile. 

“Hey, at least the radio still works.” Bellamy smiled back at her, popping in a new CD. 

“Priorities,” she nodded as the beginning instrumentals of Joy Division slowly faded in. “So...Ursula?” Clarke wondered aloud.

“Yeah, my little sister named it during her The Little Mermaid phase,” Bellamy explained. “And the van came with a terrifying mermaid bobble head so it kinda stuck.”

“She named it after the villain?”

“Yeah, that’s Octavia, all right.” 

“Bellamy and Octavia,” Clarke mused. “Your mom had some pretty creative names.”

“Actually I named Octavia,” he told her. “Besides, you’re one to talk, Clarke.”

“My dad swore I was gonna be a boy,” Clarke shook her head with a slight smile. 

“You know, you don’t strike me as an Ivy league kind of girl,” he casually mentions. 

“How’d you know about that?” Clarke shifted her eyes to him perplexingly. 

“Oh uh, Monty must’ve mentioned it.” Bellamy averted her suspicion. 

“Oh, well, I’m not. I guess that’s why I transferred here,” she told him. “I only went to Stanford because that’s what was expected of me. I was a biology major, pre-med — just like my mom. After my first semester, I realized that it wasn’t right for me, like, at all. So here I am.”

“Brave princess.”

“So what do I strike you as?” Clarke challenges, raising an eyebrow. 

My next girlfriend, is what he wanted to say. But he pushed away that thought as quick as it had popped into his head. 

“Uh,” Bellamy laughed bashfully, “How should I know? I only just met you.” 

“And yet.”

“You strike me as,” Bellamy met her eyes for a moment too long, “...someone who’s eager to get home.”

“Not that eager actually,” Clarke admitted with a small shrug. 

“I have to tell you something,” he blurted out, breaking their eye contact. 

“Okay..”

“I know who you are.”

“Excuse me?” Clarke scrunched up her eyebrows in confusion. “I know you know who I am. We met at the bar. You saved me from an awful date. My name is Clarke. Any of this ringing a bell?” She was only half joking. 

“I – uh, well, the band gets a notification every time someone adds one of our songs to their playlist on Spotify,” Bellamy tells her, his eyes focused on the ground. 

“Okay...?” 

“You, uh, made a playlist a while back,” he coughed, “something about your ex-boyfriend. It was, uh, funny, actually. But it caught my attention because your music taste rocks so I scrolled through your song and stuff. Then after that night at the City of Light, you totally disappeared when I thought we were getting along okay. So I, uh, got kinda curious and might’ve, um, sorta looked you up. And then I realized that it was your Spotify account and it was just one huge coincidence.”

“Oh, uh, that’s...”

“I didn’t think anything of it! I just was bored and I was curious and your Instagram was linked!” Bellamy rushed to his defense, his cheeks heating in humiliation. 

“So I was right?” Clarke clarified. He looked back at her in confusion. “You were stalking me.” 

Bellamy let out a breath of relief when he realized she was joking. “Oh shut up!” 

“Hey, you’re the one who insta-stalked me,” Clarke pointed out. 

“...and Twitter a little bit,” he mumbled. 

“God, you’re obsessed,” she said playfully. “And you thought I was the creepy one with posters of you on my bedroom wall that I kiss goodnight.”

“Whoa, I never said anything about kissing them goodnight!” Bellamy accused her. “Maybe I wasn’t so far off, huh?”

“Shut up! I was paraphrasing!” 

“Yeah, right,” he threw his head back and laughed. “That was practically a confession.”

“Says the one who followed me into my place of work under the pathetic guise of needing to see Miller,” she shot back. 

“I didn’t even know you worked there!” He protested. 

“And then you offer me a ride and the van conveniently breaks down when we’re alone on an empty, abandoned road in the middle of the night!” Clarke teased him, bumping her shoulder into his. 

“Oh God,” Bellamy covered his face in embarrassment. 

“I’m just messing with you. You can relax, I’m not totally creeped out,” Clarke assured him. 

“But you are a little?” He double-checked. 

“I mean it’s a pretty big coincidence,” she joked. 

“Maybe it was fate.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Clarke asserted. 

“Neither do I,” he decided then. 

“You know, I’m kind of mortified that you saw that playlist,” she chuckled, “I was not in the best place.”

“I thought it was funny.” 

“He cheated on me,” she shared. 

“Oh you don’t have to —“

Clarke waved him off. “Oh, it’s fine. I don’t really care anymore. It wasn’t all that dramatic either. I overheard Finn, that’s my ex, on the phone and confronted him about it. He lied, obviously, and called me paranoid so I ended up following him and crashed his date with this other girl who he’d been with for like, ever...which I guess makes me the other woman. But anyway, I was more pissed than sad.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “That sucks. He sounds like a dick.“

“It wasn’t all bad though,” Clarke told him, “I made a friend out of it – Raven, the one who’s on her way right now. She was his girlfriend too.” 

“And you guys both just ditched him and decided to become best friends?” 

“Yeah, well. No point in us hating each other. It’s not like we knew. And say what you want about him but he had awesome taste in girls.” 

“That’s really cool,” Bellamy said. “Now let’s talk about this trend you have of dating complete jerks.”

“Oh God,” Clarke groaned, “Let’s go back to listening to the CD’s.”

“Clarke! I’m just trying to help you!” He shouted as she covered her ears with her hands. “C’mon, I took a psych class...once!” Bellamy grabbed her arms trying to pull them off her ears as she wrestled him off squealing, both of them cackling so hard that the hard knock against the passenger’s side window caught them off guard. Clarke yelped in surprise and saw Raven outside the car, motioning for them to put down the window. 

“Well isn’t this cozy,” Raven popped her head into the car, her eyes twinkling in the dark. Bellamy recognized the her as the girl from that selfie with Clarke. She was pretty – tall and fit with sharp features. She wore a red bomber jacket with a grease stain on it and had her dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. 

“Hey!” Clarke exclaimed. “When did you get here?”

“Oh, about four or five honks ago,” she said casually. 

“Oh sorry! We probably couldn’t hear you over the music,” Bellamy apologized, turning off the tunes. 

“Right,” she repeated, “the music.” 

“Raven, right? I’m –“ 

“Bellamy Blake.” She finished. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Clarke swatted her arm, shooting her a glare. “What?” Raven hissed. “I could’ve known him from his band!” 

“Please excuse Raven. She suffers from a major head injury.” Clarke said through clenched teeth.

“No I don’t!”

“You will when we get back to our place!” Clarke threatened. 

“Is that any way to treat a friend who’s doing you a favor?” Raven reminded her. 

Clarke stuck her tongue out in response. Very mature and very adorable. 

“Anyway, thanks for making the drive out here. All my friends are a piece of shit and Ursula here,” Bellamy patted his beloved van, ”has seen better days.”

“I can take a look at her if you want,” Raven offered.

“Really?”

“What? You think because I’m a girl that I don’t know anything about cars?” She challenged, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. 

“W-what? No! Of course not. I -“

“I’m just fucking with ya,” Raven laughed, punching his arm. “Pop the hood, Blake.”

“Oh, haha.” Bellamy ran his fingers through his curls. “Well, thanks, you’d be saving me a shit ton of money.”

“Hey, I ain’t cheap,” Raven called out. 

“You’re right,” Clarke kissed Raven’s cheek lovingly. “You’re free.”

“Piss off,” she wiped her cheek. Raven was hunched over the hood of the car as Clarke navigated with her phone as a flashlight. “Okay so the engine won’t start but the radio and dashboard lights are working. It’s not the battery. Of course not, that would’ve been too easy. Let’s see…”

Bellamy waited a few minutes as she worked, twiddling his thumbs and feeling completely useless. “So what’s the diagnosis, Doc?”

“You want the good news first or the bad news?”

“Good news?”

“The good news is that you have Clarke’s number now.” Raven tossed Bellamy his phone which he caught easily. 

“When did you get my phone?” Bellamy muttered, feeling his now empty pockets, as Clarke scolded her. 

“Bad news is that your van’s got a blown fuse.” 

“Oh,” he frowned. He didn’t exactly know what that meant but he knew it wasn’t good. 

“But,” Raven said, wiping her hands on her jeans, “It’s an easy fix. I just need a twelve amperage fuse to replace it with.” Again, he had no idea what that meant or where to get a twelve amp car fuse. “So how about I give you a ride home now and I can come by and fix it in five minutes flat when I get the new fuse breaker tomorrow morning? Your car should be fine sitting on the side of the road for one night.”

“Really? Yeah, thanks, that’d be great!”

“Anything for Clarke’s…” she glanced between the two of us, “friend.” With that, Bellamy grabbed his stuff and crawled into Raven’s car, careful not to trip over the empty McDonald’s bags, crushed red bull cans, and stack of papers she had scattered over the backseat. 

“Sorry about that,” Clarke mentioned offhandedly as she buckled her seatbelt from the front seat, “Raven believes the inside of her car and room should reflect the inside of her brain - messy and overflowing” 

“And supplied with the necessary equipment to commit a crime.” Raven smirked, starting her car and pulling off the side of the road. “Watch out for the axe on the floor, by the way.” He knew she was joking - mostly - but Bellamy was pretty sure he was still terrified of this girl. She’d probably get along great with Echo, which was an even scarier thought. He rattled off his address and the car fell into a comfortable silence.

“You know, Bellamy, I feel like we’ve grown close,” Raven proclaimed. 

“Oh, uh, have we?” 

“I mean I’m usually very close with the guys who have been in my backseat - I’d say at least around third base so…you kinda qualify!” Raven joked. Clarke, who had been longingly staring out the window, whipped her head around to shoot an incredulous look at Raven. Bellamy’s chuckle came out as a cough. “So,” Raven said, switching lanes with ease, “Did Clarke here invite you to our housewarming party this weekend?”

“Uh, no, she hadn’t,” Bellamy replied. “Did you just move in somewhere new?”

“Not exactly…well not me, at least,” Clarke told him, shooting daggers at her friend. “Raven just moved into my apartment last week since Finn was originally supposed to…and we all know how that turned out.” She let out a breathy laugh. “So it’s not much of a housewarming as it is an…apartment-warming, I guess. And it’s not so much a party as it is an excuse for us to get drunk with all our friends.” Clarke cleared her throat. “But of course, you’re welcome to come. I think Monty and Miller are coming. And feel free to bring everyone else - Murphy, Emori….”

“Echo,” he offered helpfully. 

“Right,” her mouth twitched. “The more the merrier.”

“Thanks,” he nodded. “I’ll check it out.” It felt awkward again. How did they go from talking like they’d known each other their whole lives to forced smiles and polite manners? Bellamy cleared his throat. “So did you want me to come by and pick up the van tomorrow or –“

“Uh...” Raven thought about it. 

“I can drop it off!” Clarke blurted out.

“And how will you get home, Clarke?” Raven asked. 

“Bellamy can drive me,” she shrugged softly. “I mean he does owe me a ride home anyway.” 

“Yeah, that works,” he nodded. “Thanks, that’s so nice of you, Clarke.” 

“Yes,” Raven agreed suspiciously. “It is.”

“It’s no big deal,” she insisted. 

“Right,” Raven deadpanned. “Because Clarke always makes home deliveries.” Clarke ignored her and connected her phone to the music. An old song by The Cure started playing a moment later and Bellamy silently approved her choice. Raven caught him nodding his head along to the music in the rearview mirror and shook her head. “Ugh. Don’t tell me you like this shitty music too,” Raven groaned. 

“The Cure is not shitty!” Bellamy and Clarke cried out in unison.

“Fine,” Raven said, “but they are depressing as hell. I don’t get why you can never just put on a nice One Direction bop. I’m not opposed to Justin Bieber either!”

“I am!” Clarke shook her head. 

They pulled outside his apartment building before Bellamy could admit to jamming out to their songs with Octavia. Raven promised to text him an update tomorrow and Bellamy thanked them both profusely. He shut the door behind him and tapped the roof of the car. He wanted to say something more but instead he waved and settled for, “See ya later, Clarke.”

—————————————————

Raven called him the next morning at an ungodly hour with more bad news. Turns out, after Raven replaced the blown fusible link, she found the faulty starter. He may not have known anything about cars but he knew that was expensive. She threw around a bunch of big, confusing mechanic words and he had to interrupt her, “Raven, Raven! I need you to tone down the car talk.”

“Basically,” she explained in layman’s terms, “Your van’s a piece of shit.”

“Thanks,” he replied dryly. 

“Seriously, when’s the last time you got it checked out?” She asked because apparently, Ursula had a clogged fuel filter as well. She told him she took it to the car shop she worked at part-time but it would still be another two days for the parts to deliver because their small town auto shop didn’t hold car parts from vehicles before 2000. Spacekru didn’t need it this week to transport their instruments or anything but it still sucked taking the university bus to class and mooching off of Murphy’s ride. At least Raven was offering him a good price. “You might as well just pick it up when you come to our housewarming party. It’ll be ready by then,” Raven said. “You are coming, right?” 

“Yeah,” he decided. He had nothing better to do and maybe Clarke and him would hit it off again. 

“Excellent!” Raven exclaimed. “Clarke will be thrilled.” He hoped so. 

When Friday rolled around, he was nervous. He couldn’t decide if a button-up shirt was too fancy or if he should stick with his prized Def Leopard shirt. Was he wearing too much cologne? Why was he so nervous? It wasn’t like this was a date. He groaned and flopped back onto his bed. Crushes were the worst. He wasn’t used to this. Not that he was highly desired or anything, but in his experience when he was interested in a girl, they just always happened to like him back. He heard Emori call out that Murphy and her were ready to leave, eager to start drinking. He was fairly sure they didn’t even remember meeting Clarke at the bar but hey, any excuse to party. Echo was meeting them there later since she was out with Roan again and Monty and Miller were probably already there. Bellamy got up, sighed in the mirror, and changed for the third time. 

Bellamy’s hair just wasn’t cooperating. After changing two more times and styling his hair with gel and then washing it out and then using Murphy’s hairspray, Bellamy was finally ready. They had arrived at the apartment half an hour later despite Emori’s impatience. There were less people here than Bellamy had expected but the apartment was small enough that it looked more packed than it really was. Murphy and Emori disappeared almost as soon as they stepped inside. Monty was busy playing DJ and controlling the music. Bellamy ran into Miller briefly before he recognized a friend from class and promptly abandoned him. And Clarke was nowhere to be seen. So Bellamy was standing by the front door by himself, both hands shoved into his jean pockets, feeling like a total idiot. He decided to head to the kitchen to get a drink so he’d have something to do with his hands. He needed to relax. He cracked open his beer and took a sip. This was, after all, just another party - like the millions of others he’s been too before. It took a couple of beers and a lengthy conversation with this dude named Shaw about everything wrong with the movie Gladiator before he was having fun. The sound of melodic laughter forced him to tear his attention away from the two girls named Luna and Gaia lively debating about their theology class. He saw Clarke, throwing her head back and talking animatedly with Murphy, of all people. That only slightly worried him. But it was also a perfect in. Bellamy politely excused himself and approached the pair.

“Clarke, I am so sorry.”

“Bellamy!” She shrieked, a clear indication she was far from sober. “Whatever for?”

“That you had to be subjected to mind numbing and potentially painful conversation with this jackass,” Bellamy said, jabbing a finger towards Murphy who responded with the swift flick of his middle finger. 

“No, no! He’s actually, like, really funny!” Clarke insisted. “Probably like the funniest guy I’ve ever met.”

“And that’s how I know you’re drunk,” Bellamy replied. “That’s the only way you could ever endure hanging out with the likes of him.”

“Wonder what that says about you ‘cause I am your best friend, ya know?” Murphy retorted, throwing an arm around Bellamy’s shoulders. 

“Don’t let Miller catch you saying that.” Bellamy shoved him off. “The only reason I’ve put up with you for so long is because you’ve got decent pipes and a pretty face. It’d be a bitch to find a replacement.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty, Blake?” Murphy puckered out his lips. 

“I think you’re a dick,” he shot back. 

“Hey, you better watch yourself,” Murphy warned, slapping his arm lightly, “before I tell Clarke how long you spent playing dress-up for this party.”

“Piss off!”

“Bellamy, you did dress up!” Clarke squealed, fixating on his fit as he joked around amicably. Murphy was wearing a Bruce Springsteen shirt, making Bellamy look even more out of place. She scrunched up her nose. “You look so fancy!” Clarke cooed, smoothing out his dress-shirt with her hand. He tense up at the contact. “But I think I prefer your messy hair and band t-shirts,” Clarke declares as she reaches up to touch his curls. 

“Noted.” He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head a bit. 

“Especially in that picture of you in that Smiths’ muscle shirt!” Clarke groaned, thinking back to the photo of him she saw earlier. “Your arms looked so good. You have like, really nice arms, did you know that?” 

On some level, Clarke knew she was saying things aloud she wouldn’t have even dared to think if she was sober but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Bellamy was hot. It wasn’t like that wasn’t new information to anyone with eyes. 

“It must be because you’re a drummer,” she added seriously. 

“Must be.” He repeated, amused. 

She zoned out for a bit as she tried to remember if they still had those chocolate-covered pretzels in the cupboard because she had a sudden craving, before Murphy went off to find Miller with a knowing smirk because “he knows where he’s not wanted.” 

“So when did you see a picture of me in my Smiths’ tank?”

“On your instagram,” Clarke answered honestly. “Then again on your Facebook. You stalked my social media so I felt it was only fair. And lemme tell you, my friend,” Clarke brought her face closer to his. “I learned a lot.”

“Uh huh,” Bellamy grinned. “Like what?”

“Like you are stupidly pretty. And your camera quality doesn’t do you justice. You know,” Clarke hiccuped, “I don’t even like The Smiths! But your freckles looked so cute!”

“Wait a second,” Bellamy stopped her in disbelief. “You don’t like The Smiths?“

“No, I think they’re overrated and mumble too much,” she asserted. 

Bellamy gasped dramatically. “That’s blasphemous. Have you heard The Queen is Dead album? In fact, please listen to the song ‘There is a Light That Never Goes Out.’ I think you’d really love it.”

“You can’t convert me into a fan. I’m standing my ground!” She declared, eager to continue. “Wait, I wasn’t finished! I also learned that you’re a history major with a minor in greek mythology which is so geeky that I made a mental note to make fun of you later. I learned that you wear glasses and you once met Billy Idol.  I learned that your favorite superhero is Green Lantern and we won’t even get into how wrong that is. I learned that you love dogs but you don’t have one and you have a bad knee because you’re an old man. I learned that you’re a Scorpio which makes a lot of sense. I learned that at least 96% of your pictures on instagram are of the band or you guys playing a show.” She stopped. 

“No, please, go on, I’m enjoying this,” Bellamy insisted, pressing his lips together to suppress a laugh. 

“You don’t post a lot of pictures of Echo though,” she murmured, looking down. 

“Yeah, she hates pictures,” Bellamy shrugged nonchalantly. “Anything else?”

“No,” she shook her head a little too fast and got dizzy. “I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night.”

“Wow, you didn’t even mention that Halloween I dressed up as Spock from Star Trek,” he pointed out. 

“Oh yeah,” she giggled, recalling the eyeliner used to extend his eyebrows. “That was super adorable!”

“Adorable?” Bellamy echoed in disbelief. “How much have you had to drink?”

“I’m still standing on my feet, aren’t I?” If there was one thing Clarke Griffin could do, it was hold her liquor. 

“You‘re still drunk.”

“That just means you need to catch up! Come on!” Clarke grabbed his hand and led him through the crowd. “This is where we keep the good liquor." Clarke passed him a suspicious looking miniature green bottle. She had a mischievous glint in her eyes and he raised his eyebrows warily before downing it all in one go. He curled back his lips and grimaced, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. 

“Agh, this is the good liquor? Tastes like you’re trying to poison me. What the hell is that – absinthe? Sambuca?” Bellamy wrinkled his nose and held back a gag as he took a whiff. 

“It’s Monty’s latest batch of moonshine. Tastes like bleach but gets you drunk a hell of a lot quicker than any bottle of vodka I know.”

“That’s...concerning.”

“I know right?” She grinned. “You any good at beer pong?”

“The best!”

Bellamy Blake was, in fact, full of shit. He absolutely sucked at beer pong. Terrible. As in, one time the ball went backwards and bounced off of Clarke’s forehead. They were getting their asses handed to them. It was him and Clarke, getting drunker by the minute, against Raven and Shaw, who dominated in the art of trash talk. They were getting creamed. 

“Something you should know about me,” Clarke told him hiccuping as he chugged another cup of beer, watching as it trickled down his chin. “I’m very competitive. I don’t taking losing lightly.”

“Okay.”

“So don’t lose.” Clarke patted his back. 

They lost — badly. 

“Ugh, my back hurts,” Clarke complained, groaning and rubbing it for emphasis. 

“Oh no, was it when I accidentally elbowed you while trying to make that shot and you bumped into the wall?” Bellamy looked worried. 

“No, it was from carrying that game.” 

“Okay, I deserved that.” Bellamy nodded in acceptance. “That was embarrassingly bad,” he covered his face in shame as Raven continued her excessive victory dance. “But it was an off game, okay? My wrist felt kinda sore and it threw me totally off balance. I think I deserve a rematch.” He defended himself. 

“Oh whatever,” Clarke rolled her eyes. “Just admit you suck.” 

“Never,” he refused. 

“It’s actually comforting to know that you’re not good at everything,” she offered helpfully, sighing. “Then you’d just be too perfect.” Bellamy snorted. That was far from the truth. “You have your whole cool drumming thing and I have my badass beer pong abilities,” she shrugged, hopping up to sit on the beer pong table. 

“I think you might be undermining my musical abilities by equating it to your skill of throwing a ball into a cup.”

“And yet that is a skill that you do not have,” she said teasingly, her eyes squinted and a smile dancing across her lips. “Costing me the game and tarnishing my reputation.”

“My apologies, Princess. How could I ever possibly make it up to you?” He shameless flirted, standing in between her legs and gently grazing his thumb across her knee through the tattered hole in her jeans.

“I can think of a few ways,” she lowered her voice, her eyes flickering down to his lips so quickly he could’ve imagined it. 

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Bellamy’s head leaned in a fraction of an inch just as McCreary drunkenly stumbled into them, punch spilling out of his red solo cup and all onto the front of Clarke’s shirt. Bellamy jolted away from her. She gasped at the cold contact against her chest and looked down at her stained shirted as the beverage dripped down her arm. 

“Are you kidding me, McCreary?” She shouted at him, her eyebrows furrowed. “You are such an asshole.”

McCreary laughed in response and raised his hands up innocently, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was an accident.” 

Clarke shook her head in irritation, examining her now drenched shirt that was starting to stick to her skin. 

“You alright?” Bellamy asked her. 

“Yeah, just wet and annoyed,” Clarke grumbled, shaking her hands to dry them off. “I’m gonna go clean myself up and change my top,” she sighed. “While I go do that, how about you get me a slice of pizza?” She fluttered her eyes at him hopefully. 

“As you wish, Princess.” Clarke smiled at that. “That’s a good idea anyway. Y’know, some food to soak up all the alcohol.”

“‘M not even that high,” she protested, rubbing her eyes sleepily before realizing she had makeup on. 

“You mean drunk,” he called after her with a smile as she walked down the hallway towards her bedroom. Bellamy headed towards the kitchen, running into Monty while grabbing a bottle of water and briefly chatting with him. Then as Bellamy was holding a paper plate, deciding between cheese or pepperoni, he felt a hand run down his arm. He turned, expecting Clarke, and was met by Echo’s intense stare. 

“Echo! When did you get here? How was your date with Roan?”

“Terrible,” she took a swig of her beer. “He said some dumb shit and pissed me off so I dumped him.”

“For how long? Until tomorrow morning?” Echo had a habit of making impulsive decisions when she was angry, which was pretty much all the time, and usually ended up regretting them. 

Echo glared at him. “Whatever. He has mommy issues and prettier hair than me. It never would’ve worked.”

“But you liked him,” Bellamy pointed out. “I mean you going on more than two dates with someone is practically unheard of.”

“Speaking of dates,” Echo scowled, “what’s up with the shirt?”

Bellamy looked down as if he had forgotten what he was wearing. “What about it?”

“That’s your date shirt,” Echo stated matter-of-factly. 

“What?” Bellamy scoffed. “It is not. I do not have a date shirt.”

“I’ve only ever seen you wear that three times,” Echo said, ticking off the times on her fingers. “When you met Gina’s parent’s, your first date with Roma, and when we met with that fancy record company that tried to swindle us.” Bellamy said nothing. ”You only ever wear it to impress someone. So who are you trying to impress?”

“No one!” He lied. 

“Is it that girl? Clarke something? This is her party, isn’t it? Is this a date? Are you guys dating?”

“No!” Bellamy insisted. “I am not dating Clarke. I barely know her.”

“Good,” Echo declared. “Then you won’t mind if I do this,” she said before crashing her lips to his. 

Bellamy kissed back at first, falling into their familiar pattern of fighting for dominance as her tongue swept across his lip, but then he pulled her off of him, profusely shaking his head. “No, wait. I can’t.” He took a second to catch his breath. “Echo, I, uh, don’t think we should.”

“Look at you,” she pulled back, amused. “You must really like that girl.”

“No, it’s not that —“

“You’re smitten. I’ve never seen you like this. Did she give you a mixtape or something?” 

“No, no!”

Bellamy had once shared that the surefire way to his heart was for a girl to give him a mixtape. It was the most personal and romantic grand gesture to him. It was like a piece of your heart, the soundtrack of your soul, the ultimate i love you through music. 

Echo held his gaze for a moment before shrugging nonchalantly. “Okay, suit yourself,” she said indifferently, turning away and stalking off to find her next victim. 

It didn’t feel right kissing Echo when he was really interested in Clarke as a potential prospect and had nearly kissed her just moments before. He spotted Clarke, in a fresh new top, leaning against the fireplace and talking to a guy he didn’t recognize. He went up to her and tried to hand her a plate, “Hey, I got you pepperoni, is that okay?”

Barely sparing him a glance, she declined, “No thanks, I’m not hungry.”

“What? But you wanted pizza, remember?” Bellamy replied, confused. 

Clarke looked at him with a hard expression, her eyes flashing and her voice monotone. “I changed my mind.” 

“Uh, okay. Did you want to —“

“I’m actually kind of busy right now,” she snapped, her eyes flashing. She turned back to the guy and continued conversing. “As I was saying, Wells.”

Bellamy stood there for a minute bewildered and disheartened, waiting for her to introduce him or even acknowledge his presence but she turned her back to him and ignored him completely. She gave no indication that she wanted him there so Bellamy had no choice but to leave. He was frustrated and embarrassed and upset but mostly just confused. That girl was like hot and cold with him. One minute, they were flirting and having fun, and the next, he’s on the receiving end of her icy cold shoulder. He didn’t get it. Was she playing hard to get? Because she was definitely about to kiss him earlier. He knew she didn’t owe him anything but she went from fun and sweet to bitchy and uninterested in the span of five short minutes. It was rude, if anything. Huffing in annoyance, Bellamy went off to find Echo hoping she felt forgiving. 

—————————————————

He woke up alone the next morning, unsurprisingly, in a foul mood with the company of no one but a mean hangover. Echo must have had already left last night, moving on to another unsuspecting boy who had no idea what he was getting into, because Bellamy didn’t find her — probably for the best anyway. He hadn’t slept very long but still got out of bed and took his time in the shower, enjoying the scalding hot water burn his skin. His phone was dead and his charger was missing, surely an act of thievery by no other than Murphy. So he snuck into his room, noisily tripping over a shoebox collection full of guitar picks and ignoring his completely nude roommate in slumber entangled with Emori, and found his charger underneath a pile of dirty clothes. He trampled into the kitchen, gulping down two glasses of water and an Advil to rid himself of his headache when he heard scuffling outside the front door. Assuming the wiener dog that belonged to their nearly deaf elderly neighbor Mrs. Rothenburg had escaped again, he opened the door. Much to his disbelief, it was Clarke knelt down on the floor. She looked up at him surprised. 

“Clarke?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d be awake. It’s like 8am.”

“Early riser,” he supplied. “I know not very rock star of me but,” he shrugged. 

“I called.”

“My phone’s charging. What are you doing here?” He asked curtly. 

“I was dropping off your van,” Clarke explained, dangling his keys in her hands. “You didn’t get a chance to take it home last night ‘cause of all the, um, drinking, so I was just gonna leave the keys under the mat.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

There was an awkward beat. 

“Well here you go,” Clarke started to hand him the keys just as he blurted out, “Do you want to come inside?”

“Oh, uh, no, thanks but I should probably get going, I’ve got a lot of....stuff,” she trailed off. 

“Right.”

There was another beat of silence. 

“You know what, yeah, I can come in for a bit,” she found herself agreeing against her better judgement. He opened the door wider and she walked in, her eyes wide and she took in the apartment. “It’s clean,” she noted. “Again, not very punk rock of you.”

“Yeah, I’m forced to play mother hen around here or else it’ll get too chaotic,” he told her. “Did you, um, still need a ride back to your place?”

“Oh, no, no, I was just gonna take the bus or –“

“It’s no problem, I can –“

“No, really, it’s fine –“

“It’s the least I can do since –“

“Okay, okay. Yes,” she agreed sheepishly, “thank you.”

“So,” Bellamy cleared his throat, “what are you doing up so early?”

“I was volunteering,” she replied, “at the hospital.”

“Oh that’s cool.”

“It’s what I do on the weekends – every Saturday morning.” 

 “Ouch, and how’s your hangover?”

“Nonexistent.” She answered.

“How’s that? You drank more than I did?”

“Carrot juice and ginger. Surefire hangover cure, I swear my life on it.” She sits on the couch, ankles crossed and shoulders back, her posture rigid and uncomfortable completely juxtaposing her tone. “Strong taste but hey, if you can handle Monty’s moonshine.”

“Good to know,” he nodded.

“Sorry about uh, last night by the way,” Clarke apologized, ducking her head. 

“Oh, yeah now that you mention it.” He didn’t think she would bring it up. 

“Yeah, I was kinda drunk obviously but I know made some, um, suggestive comments.” She blushed, averting her eyes. “Something about your arms? I dunno, I’m sufficiently embarrassed and regretful so yeah, sorry.” 

“Oh, that?” He thought she was referring to her standoffish behavior. “Um, yeah, it’s fine. I didn’t mind.” Of course he didn’t mind. In fact, he encouraged it but apparently she regretted it, which was definitely a blow to his ego. 

“I wasn’t drunk enough to forget what happened though,” she added, finally looking at him. 

He raised his eyebrows. What happened? Their almost kiss? The fact that they had been interrupted by some asshole with the worst timing ever called McCreary and then she decided to ghost him out of nowhere. 

“About you totally sucking at beer pong!” Clarke finished lightheartedly.

Oh. Bellamy forced himself to join in with her laughter. He decided against confronting her about the almost kiss, chalking it up to her inebriated state of mind. “I wanna blame it on my drunkenness but I’m pretty sure I just lack basic coordination in general,” he admitted. 

“Hmm, I thought it was because your arm cramped up or whatever,” she joked. 

“Oh yeah!” 

Clarke threw her head back and laughed. Bellamy watched her admiringly. Her eyes literally shined when she laughed. She was like a damn Disney princess – almost too beautiful to be real. Screw it, he decided. He had to ask her about last night. If it was just a drunken act, fine, he won’t bring it up again. But he knew deep down it couldn’t have been. “Actually Clarke, you know last night when we almost —“

The door swung open with ease. “Why’s the door unlocked – oh.” Echo strolled in.

“Um, hi,” Clarke swallowed nervously. 

“Clarke, right?” Echo looked at her, carrying her heels in her hand. 

“Yup!” Clarke jumped to her feet hurriedly. “Um, I was just leaving.” 

“Oh, uh, okay, let me just grab my –“ Bellamy started to say, getting up to follow her. 

“No, no. That’s alright. I’m just gonna go now, okay?” Clarke rambled, holding a hand up to stop him and making her way to the door. “I parked the van right outside of, er, building B, I think? It’s next to a blue truck. Okay, bye!”

“Wait, I thought I was giving you a ride home?” Bellamy called after her, baffled. 

“I’ll Uber!” She blurted out before quickly rushing past Echo and slamming the door behind her. 

“That was...strange.” Echo commented. 

No kidding, Bellamy thought. What the hell was that about? 

“What was she doing here? I thought you said you barely knew her,” Echo wondered curiously. 

“I don’t,” Bellamy said quickly. “Well, we’re friends, I guess. Or acquaintances? I dunno.”

“Well you better get acquainted with your right hand because damn, that girl ran out of here quick,” Echo chortled. 

“She was just bringing back Ursula. It was at her friend’s shop, remember?”

“Good,” Echo said, “And don’t forget, there’s band practice tonight.”

“Wait a minute, Echo, where were you all night?” Bellamy noticed her outfit. “Sneaking back in the morning wearing last night’s clothes? That’s a walk of shame if I’ve ever seen one.”

“I spent the night at Roan’s,” Echo shared casually, taking a sip of her black coffee, “since you were being a prude last night.” 

He opened his mouth to say something along the lines of “I told you so” about getting back together with Roan but Echo pointed a threatening finger at him and warned, “Not a word,” before retreating into her room. 

Later that night, after band practice and a quick round of Call of Duty, Murphy burned the lasagna meant for dinner, leaving them all to starve and leading Bellamy and Miller to driving down an empty road around 3am. They were on the way back from a late night slash early morning food run to the nearest fast food chain with the windows down, letting the cool crisp air come in, and jamming out to Radiohead. Miller was already digging into his burger, dropping a gloop of ketchup on the dashboard, as Bellamy fought him for some fries. Miller used his greasy hand to mess with the radio, surfing through different stations, and before Bellamy could remind him he had complete music controls in the van, he heard a familiar voice. 

“Wait, wait, go back!”

He turned back the dial and there it was. Clarke’s voice. 

“— in an empty recording studio which really creeps me out but hey, this isn’t the Ghostbusters and I’m not Peter Venkman.”

“Oh that’s Clarke, isn’t it?” Miller asked. “I forgot she did the graveyard hour.“

“Now I’m sure my whomping total of about six loyal listeners recall my distaste of The Smiths but maybe, I judged them too harshly and they’re not as whiny and mumbly as I once thought. This guy I recently met — a friend of mine, I suppose — put me on one of their songs and now I don’t usually take music recs from just anybody, but it’s actually pretty great. I’m not sure it’s sending the right message either but my interpretation is that it’s a raw perspective on the irrationality and intensity of young love – when it’s powerful and passionate and all-consuming. When it feels like every little thing is the end of the world and it makes you stupid. While I’ve personally never experienced anything to the degree, it sure is nice when the music makes you feel like you have. And who knows maybe I’ll understand it one day. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Anyway, here is ‘There is a Light That Never Goes Out’ by The Smiths.” 

“Good song,” Miller nods in approval, turning up the volume. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy smiles to himself, “It really is.”

—————————————————

Bellamy walked out of his political science class on a Tuesday afternoon, with a pen in his mouth while he shoved papers into his backpack. As he waved goodbye to Bryan, he caught a glimpse of a familiar whisk of blonde hair bounce by through the crowd of students. Without thinking, he jogged to catch up. “Clarke! Hey, Clarke!” He called out. 

She turned her head around at the sound of her name and masked her surprise. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah well, don’t sound too excited,” he joked. “Fancy seeing you here, huh?”

“Yes, both of us here at the small town college we both attend? What a coincidence,” she deadpanned.

“So you must be a magician or something,” he said in an attempt to the ease the tension, “because that was quite the disappearing act you pulled last time.”

“Ha-ha,” she replied dryly, giving no explanation. 

“I, uh, listened to your show,” he told her. “I’m glad you liked the song – figured you would.”

“Thanks,” she said shortly. 

“Wait, wait. Are you mad at me or something?” Bellamy furrowed his brows. 

“No, why? Do I have a reason to be?” She crossed her arms, daring him to fess up.  

“No but I dunno, we’re friends right?” His voice small and his eyes wide. 

She looked at him, her expression softening. “Yes, yeah. Sorry, my day’s been kinda,” she waved her hand dismissively. “So,” she said sighing, “how’d you like my show?”

“No so bad for an amateur,” he quipped. “Excellent music, funny commentary, I think you just found yourself a seventh listener.” She managed a smile. “You wanna grab some coffee or something?” 

“I have another class in ten minutes.” She frowned. 

“Oh okay. Well, we’re doing poker night at our place tonight if you wanted to swing by,” Bellamy offered hopefully. 

“I - um, can’t.” Her eyes darted away.

“Hot date?” He joked, scanning her face for any indication of what was wrong. 

“Yeah, actually.” She shifted uncomfortably. “With this girl, Lexa.”

“Oh.” Bellamy took an involuntary step back. “That’s, uh, great.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay so I’ll see you later!” Bellamy turned to leave.

“Wait,” she called. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Yes, I will let you borrow my Morrisey shirt for your date,” he remarked with no hesitation. 

She let out a huff of air in amusement at the reference to The Smiths’. “Cute, but no.” She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Actually I was wondering if you’d let me interview you.” He stared back blankly, waiting for her to elaborate. “Not for my graveyard hour but for Harper’s. I’m not really used to doing her show. She’s still back home and her show, unlike mine, is usually very popular and I’m running out of ideas.”

“Clearly if you’re asking me.”

“I just figured Spacekru is relatively known across campus so I thought maybe you could stop by for a bit and just answer some inane questions. Plus it could be decent publicity.” She chewed on her lip nervously. “You know what, never mind. It was a dumb idea. I’ll just -“

“Clarke, don’t worry. Of course I’ll do it.” Bellamy told her.

She sighed in relief. “Thanks.”

“What are friends for?” He grimaced. 

Bellamy walked her to class, listening to her talk about her day, his hand lingering a little too long on the small of her back. That night, while losing copious amounts of money to Emori playing poker, he covertly asked around the table about Clarke’s date, but the only thing anyone knew about this mysterious Lexa was that she was scary and wore a lot of eyeliner. Not helpful. A couple days went by before Clarke texted him about the details of the interview, telling him to meet her at the studio. He strolled in the next day wearing a Ramones hoodie and a backwards baseball cap. 

“Sorry I’m late, Murphy got a chopstick stuck up his nose and Miller and I had to form a one man crew with a pair of tweezers,” Bellamy rushed in and apologized. “Honestly, don’t ask.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she easily accepted his weird excuse.  

He snickered when he looked at her. “We’re matching.” He pointed to her Ramones crop top.

“Great minds,” she laughed when she looked down and noticed. She led him to the recording booth, explaining the logistics while setting him up with headphones and a mic. Monty was on the other side of the glass messing with the sound board. They had him speak into the mic for a quick test run that he used as an opportunity to jokingly recite the first few lines of Winston Churchill’s ‘We Shall Fight on the Beaches’ speech to which Clarke deemed him the biggest nerd on the planet — granted probably was not the best method to impress a girl. They settled in and Clarke passed him a water bottle, asking if he was ready. He nodded yes and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Don’t worry, it’s gonna be super casual,” Clarke assured him. “Just act like we’re having a regular conversation.” He took a deep breath and Monty flashed him a thumbs up. Clarke put on her headphones and counted down from three with her fingers before flicking on the ON AIR sign. 

“What’s up everyone! It’s Clarke Griffin here live on 98.9 WKBT coming at you from Ark University’s only college radio station. I got a little surprise for you guys. I’m here with a very special guest today. Let’s welcome lead drummer of Spacekru, Bellamy Blake. Yeah!” 

“Uh, hey guys, I’m Bellamy.” 

“He’s a little nervous. Can you tell?”

“Oh, that has nothing to do with being on air. That’s just the effect you have on me,” he flirts. 

“Oh boy,” she rolls her eyes. “So Spacekru is Ark University’s very own local celebrity rock band. They won first place at Battle of the Bands and self-released their album, Delinquents, a little less than a year ago. You’ve probably seen them perform at a nearby bar or club around town. If you don’t know who they are, you’re going to wanna check them out after this, I promise. So instead of hearing me drone on my controversial opinions on how The Beatles are overrated —“

“They are overrated!” Bellamy exclaims in agreement. 

“— or my thoughts on the latest Avenger’s movie while I periodically play trashy music, today we’re going to get to do a small Q&A interview with Bellamy Blake...while I still periodically play trashy music, but this time from his album.”

“Hey!” Bellamy protests in offense and Clarke chuckles. Bellamy spends the next few minutes sharing the story of how they all met and became a band while Clarke is quick to crack jokes and ease his nerves. 

“Now that we’re all pretty familiar with your origin story, we still don’t know where the hell the name Spacekru came from and while I give you props for creativity, I am curious.”

“Haha, it’s a little embarrassing, I guess. When we were all about ten or eleven years old, me, Murphy, Miller, and my little sister, Octavia, created this whole other world where there was like a nuclear apocalypse on Earth and we were the last survivors so we had to live in space while trying to figure out how to get back down to our planet. Basically, it was a game of pretend we used to play and I think we even tried to make a home movie about it and we called ourselves the space crew.”

“That sounds so adorable. Please tell me you have that home video lying around somewhere,” Clarke begged. “I need to see it.”

“God, I hope not. That’s perfect blackmailing material and you’re never getting your hands on it.”

Clarke fake gasped. “I’m offended. You really think I would do that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“This is why I prefer Murphy.”

“And I prefer Harper,” he shot back. 

“Get out of my office,” she said in a serious tone, pointing at the door as Bellamy laughed good-naturedly. The rest of the interview consisted of Clarke firing music-related questions at him like if you could go to any musician’s concert, dead or alive, broken up or still together, who’s would you go to (“Am I a basic bitch if I say Nirvana? Maybe MCR if I’m feeling particularly emo,”) or who in the band is the most likely to go solo (“None of are, hopefully. But I guess Murphy because he’s sorta used to being a lone wolf and he’s an asshole — oh shit, can i swear on the radio?”). After a while, he almost forgot that they were on the radio and not just doing their usual back and forth banter. 

“You’re good at this, you know,” he comments, “You have a nice presence, decent delivery, you’re charming.” She looks up at him, touched by the compliment. “Not at all like in real life,” he mutters. The smile on her face drops and she swats his arm, cursing under her breath.

“I’m pretty sure if you like your interviewer, then they’re not doing they’re job right,” Clarke said, “So let’s move on to the hard-hitting questions. Who are your biggest musical inspirations?”

“That’s hard-hitting?” He sounds unconvinced. 

“Shut up! I’m building up to it!” 

“Okay, okay, geez. Uh, lemme see, there’s the obvious ones like Kurt Cobain, Mick Jagger, Freddie Mercury, Stevie Nicks, David Bowie but then you have Debbie Harry, Kele Okereke, Jerry Garcia, Joan Jett, Jim Morrison, Rick Allen —“

“Thank you! That’s enough. I only needed like one or two.” Clarke interrupted him. “And I personally would’ve mentioned Jack White and Patti Smith. Unforgivable.”

“I was getting there!” Bellamy insisted. “Besides, I thought the fans wanted to know about me, not you.”

“With that snarky attitude, I’m starting to think this was all a terrible idea and you’ve got no fans at all.”

“C’mon, Clarke. We both know that’s all true. Don’t make me tell the audience about the life size poster of me you have on your wall.”

“Not this again,” she rolled her eyes. 

“In fact, let me tell you guys about how Clarke and I first met. I was at a club with some friends and Clarke was there stalking me, obviously. And —“

“No, no, Bellamy!” She wrestles for his mic and he puts out an arm to block her reach and continues talking, enjoying getting her riled up. “Stop!”

“And she’s wearing a t-shirt with my face on it that says Mrs. Blake. And you know, I’m trying to be polite but she’s going on about how she’s the president of my fan club and if she could have a lock of my hair -“

“Bellamy Blake!” She shrieked, giggling as she fights for the mic. “How dare you spread these lies about me? Ladies and gentlemen, that is so not true.” 

“Fine, fine, I’m joking,” he admitted, “...mostly.” 

“Completely!” She’s quick to correct. “Can we please be professional now?”

“Yes, yes, we can.” He nodded seriously. 

“Okay, does Spacekru have any upcoming new songs we can expect?” 

“There might be something in the works,” he teased. “Don’t worry Clarke, you’ll have new playlist material soon, I promise.”

“Any chance you’ll give us a little preview of one of the songs?” She raised her eyebrows in interest. “You have such a pretty voice and we’d love an exclusive sneak peek.”

“Miller would literally wring my neck.”

“Just like one line?” She begged. 

“Nope.”

“Please,” she pouted. 

“Sorry Princess, not even your cute little puppy dog eyes can convince me. But,” he says, feeling bold, “Maybe if you go to dinner with me, I’ll reconsider.”

“You should be so lucky, Blake,” she rejected him, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Ouch,” he mouthed to her, touching his chest as if he’d been wounded. “That was brutal.” She just smiled sweetly back at him. 

“Let’s get back to the Q&A,” she suggested. 

“Yes, let’s,” he agreed. “So Clarke Griffin, tell me, how long have I been your fashion icon?”

“Since you sported a unibrow and a Spock costume,” she retorted, bringing a guffaw out of him. 

“Funny, I thought it would’ve been around the time you were drooling over how nice my arms are,” he smirked. 

“In my defense,” she cried out, “they are really nice!”

“Folks, you can’t see but Clarke and I literally showed up wearing the same Ramones shirt. It’s a match made in heaven,” he declared. 

“Yes, but it looks so much better on me,” she smirks. 

“Ooh, and I don’t disagree,” he winks. She shakes her head at his shameless flirting but the corners of her lips are turned up slightly. “Next question,” he continues. 

“Excuse me, I am not the one being interviewed here!”

“If you answer the questions, I’ll give you an exclusive on a new song.” He bribed her. “It’ll be a lightning round.”

“Fine,” she gave in begrudgingly, pursing her lips. 

“Last song you listened to?”

“‘Bullet in the Brain’ by The Black Keys.” 

“If you could play any instrument?”

“Bass.”

“First concert you ever attended?”

“Aerosmith.”

“How was your date the other night?” 

She faltered. “That’s unfair. I didn’t ask you any personal questions during your interview!” 

“Uh, pardon me but inquiring about my favorite breakfast foods is very personal to me.”

“Seriously?”

“The people want to know,” he demanded. 

“The people want to know? Or Bellamy Blake wants to know?” He just shrugged in response. “Fine. It was good,” she answered, casting him a glance of annoyance which he returned with a satisfied grin. 

“Uh-huh. What was she like?“

“Gorgeous, smart, nice — basically the opposite of you. Must be why I liked her.”

“C’mon, Griffin, we all see through your facade. You love me,” he teased. 

“You’re unbearable,” she deadpanned. 

“Are you going to see her again?”

“Ding, ding, ding. Oh would you look at that? We’re out of time.” Clarke announced. “Your turn.” 

“A deal’s a deal.” Bellamy grabbed the pair of drumsticks in his back pocket, angled the mic, tapped them against the counter to make a beat.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s the bridge for an upcoming song,” he told her. 

“You’re such a cheater!” She exclaimed. 

“Hey, I gave you a hint!” He laughed. 

“Lucky for you it looks like we’re all out of time. Alright guys, I hope everyone enjoyed today’s segment. Thank you Bellamy for agreeing to this interview and taking time out of your day to annoy me insufferably."

“Anytime,” he grinned. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“Up next, we have Spacekru’s single ‘Rebel King’. Once again, I’m Clarke Griffin from Ark University’s 98.9 WKBT, signing off.“ She nodded to Monty and he pressed a couple buttons, turning off the ‘ON AIR’ light. She ripped off her headphones and sighed. “I hate you,” she declared, not even a hint of truth to her words. 

“No, you don’t.”

“No,” she sighed. “I don’t.” 

—————————————————

Bellamy was sitting on the edge of the fountain in the campus quad with his earphones in, eating a shawarma and flipping through the pages of his textbook before his next class. 

“Bellamy! Bellamy!” Clarke ran up to him, slightly out of breath, and waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention, breaking his trance. He blinks in surprise. “Damn, what’s got you so in the zone? I called your name like six times.” She sits down beside him, takes out one of his earphones and places it in her ear. “Ah, Guns of Brixton, makes sense,” she bobs her head along to the music and then steals a few fries from him. “And you’ve got the obligatory apparel. How fitting,” she nods to his oversized The Clash t-shirt and ripped black skinny jeans. “So anyway, I’ve got good news.” He closes his textbook, giving her his full attention. “The show was a big hit!” She squealed excitedly. “Like seriously! Sinclair said we haven’t had that many listeners since that one time Bree’s aunt came on the air. Our numbers hit triple digits! Can you believe it?”

“Who’s Bree’s aunt?” 

“She was a backup dancer for the Backstreet Boys. And we did even better than her!” She pulled out her phone and handed it to him. “Here, read the comments.”

@realjjohnson

lmao this was rlly funny

@kaitlynwithak 

interview?? did you mean bellamy blake and clarke griffin flirting for twelve minutes and forty two seconds straight?

@idratherbesleeping

So the Spacekru guy and the radio host are definitely sleeping together right? 

@ghary283 

I decided to check out @Spacekru’s music cuz of that interview yesterday and its actually really fucking good! #newfan

@omgitsjenny

Is it OK to start shipping people in real life bc the drummer from spacekru and the Ark U radio girl were soOoooOo frickin cute! 

@m_smithson75

Accidentally stumbled upon this yesterday and was BLESSED!! Didn’t even need to see their faces to know homeboy is in love with clarke wow 

@its_ashleyyyyy300

they have so much chemistry i love them need another interview ASAP 

“These comments are all about us dating and stuff,” he pointed out. 

“Yes, I know.”

“We’re not dating,” he said dumbly. 

“Yes, thank you, I’m aware.” Clarke sighed, exasperated. “It was probably from the flirty bit you pulled.”

“Bit?”

“You know, turning on the charm and asking me to dinner and all that.”

“Right,” he swallowed. “That bit.” 

“Can’t say it worked out completely in my favor though.” Clarke grimaced. “Lexa heard the interview and saw the comments and uh, let’s just say she wasn’t pleased. She think we’re going to inevitable fall in love with each other and she doesn’t wanna deal with the drama.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Clarke. Do you want me to talk to her? Tell her it didn’t mean anything.” He immediately felt guilty. 

“No, no, it’s fine. She made up her mind.” She shrugged. “Whatever, that is so not the point. The point is that they loved us!” She exclaimed. 

“Congratulations then! I’m happy your show went well,” he told her. 

“You don’t look excited,” she frowned. 

“Oh no, I am jumping for joy. I just don’t think cartwheels in the quad are entirely appropriate.” He quipped. 

“I wanted to thank you again...for agreeing to do the show in the first place. You earned me like major brownie points at WKBT. I know it’s just a silly college radio station but —“

“But it’s important to you. Which means it’s not silly at all,” he said seriously. “And I am happy for you. I mean it.”

“Does that mean you’ll consider doing another show with me?” She asked hopefully.

“I — I don’t know,” he said, unsure. It was hard denying Clarke of anything but doing the interview with her — the joking, the banter, the flirting. It got a little too real for him. And now reading those comments, Bellamy was beginning to think it wasn’t the best ideas. 

“C’mon, you’re not gonna make me beg, are you?” She pleaded with him. 

“Why don’t I ask Murphy instead?” Bellamy suggested. “He’ll eat up all the attention. Plus, he is the lead singer.”

“Nooo,” she whined. “Everyone wants to hear me and you. They say we make a good pair.”

“We do,” he agreed. 

“Please,” she pouted, looking too adorable for it to be fair. “What are friends for, right?”

Friends, he thought to himself bitterly. As if he was ever going to deny her anyway. 

—————————————————

Over the next week, Bellamy and Clarke spend practically every night together, beginning under the guise they would be strategizing for the show but instead they ended up watching all five of the Twilight movies in one go, before finally falling asleep on Clarke’s floor just as the sun peeked through the windows, with her head resting on his shoulders. Then it just became routine for Bellamy to show up after band practice with Indian food and play video games with Clarke and Raven, in which Clarke’s brows furrowed and her tongue poked out in concentration, determined not to lose for the sixth consecutive time. They drove half an hour outside of town in search of a food truck that sells authentic churros late at night because she had a sudden craving. He visited her while she was bored babysitting for Diyoza, a woman with a little baby girl with puffy cheeks and no teeth named Hope, feeling extremely domestic. They were head to head while playing pool before Bellamy bent over in attempt to shoot the last striped ball into a pocket, but he ended up cocking back his cue stick and forcefully jabbing a guy in the stomach which makes Clarke spit out her drink in laughter. He insisted she tag along to band practice but she was always quick to decline. Harper was back from home, her father in much better health, but Sinclair still allotted time for Bellamy and Clarke to be on air tomorrow. 

They were sprawled out on the hideous orange shaggy rug in the corner of her favorite record store, Underground Sounds, each flipping through endless stacks of vinyls and showing each other their favorites, her feet tucked underneath him. 

“Vinyls do sound better,” he insisted. 

“Oh totally. The sound quality is amazing,” she agreed. “You just sound like a pretentious prick for saying it.”

“Should The Kinks go in the yes pile or maybe pile?” He inquired, holding it out to her. 

“Yes pile, all the way. What kind of question?” She withheld the duh. 

“But I already have this one, it’s just really scratched up,” he told her. 

“Live version or studio?” Clarke took a sip from her coffee, curiously rummaging through the clearance bin. 

“Live, 1972.” 

“Yes pile,” she decided and he obliged. 

“Geez, how many albums does Journey have?” Bellamy complained, flipping over Frontier and reading the track list. 

“What do you have against Journey?” Clarke responded, not looking up from a Foo Fighters cover.  “They don’t have a single bad song.”

“Octavia used to play them on loop during her preteen years,” he commented offhandedly. “So any time I hear ‘Don’t Stop Believing’, my ears don’t stop bleeding.”

She snorted at his dumb joke. Clarke shuffled between her maybes. “You don’t talk about her much.” She snuck a glance at him. “I mean she’s in almost every one of your old stories but now you don’t mention her a lot.” She bit her lip, gauging his reaction. “Where is she now?”

He took a sharp breath. “I don’t know actually. Traveling, I assume. We don’t really talk anymore.” 

“Oh,” she frowned. “Well siblings fight, I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

“Not this time,” he said quietly. “She’s my sister, and I will always love her, but some things can’t be fixed.” 

She hesitated, taking a moment on whether or not to press the issue. She knew he loved his sister. She could hear it in his voice any time he brought her up. The way he spoke about her, it was as if she was his whole world. But sometimes he’d get this faraway look in his eyes and he’d look so sad, like right now. 

“Do you want to know the real reason I left Stanford?” She asked. “My mom’s a recovering drug addict.”

Whatever he expected her to say, it wasn’t that.

“My dad died in a car accident a few year ago and my mom was the one driving. She blamed herself for it — I think I did too a little. She got hurt pretty bad in the crash but the surgery went well and she got better. But then she got addicted...to the painkillers. And it was really bad for a while,” Clarke’s voice wavered though her face remained neutral, as if we were discussing the weather. “She’s been clean for a year now. And I’m so proud of her. She’s working again and things are good, I think.”

Clarke’s eyes teared up slightly and she sniffled. Bellamy resisted the urge to reach out for her hand, hold her, anything. 

“But it was really hard on me too. I felt like I had lost both my parents at the same time. I was just a kid and I was still hurting but I had to be strong for my mom. I was there for her, you know? Every step of the way. And I wanted to be – I don’t regret that or resent her for it or anything. But when things got better, I couldn’t leave fast enough. I felt like I was suffocating and I was sick of being mature and responsible and taking care of everything. I wanted to – no, I, needed, to get out of there.” Clarke looked up at him, her eyes watery and her voice small. “Is that selfish?”

“No,” he answered instantly. “No, no, not at all.” He stared at her, the sincerity seeping out. “Clarke, you are probably the most selfless person I have ever met. It’s okay to put yourself first.”

Clarke nodded and he rubbed her back comfortingly. The more he learned about this girl, the more he admired her. “I just...I dunno...I just wanted to share that with you,” she explained. “I felt like I could.” 

“You just had to one up my sister thing, huh?” He joked. 

Clarke’s sniffles bubbles into laughter and she wiped her eyes, thankful for Bellamy in that moment more than ever. 

“Okay but seriously,” Bellamy said, picking up a vinyl and showing her the cover, “another Journey record?”

They left the store, their hands full but their wallets emptier, and walked down the sidewalk to the ice cream shop down the street, their footsteps falling into a rhythm. Bellamy ordered a mint chocolate chip cone for her and vanilla for him (“So basic,” she declared,) and sat at the round table outside the shop window next to a sign with a cartoon cow on it advertising their flavor of the month. Bellamy licked at his ice cream eagerly, trying to stop it from dripping down the cone.  

“I got you something,” Clarke said sitting across from him and reaching into her bag. 

“What? From the record store?” He asked, confused. 

“No, I — I, uh, made it.” She told him sheepishly, sliding a CD across the table to him. “It’s no big deal. You just told me you like all my playlists on Spotify and my music taste and stuff so I figured I’d make you your own.” 

Bellamy eyes widen and his mouth gasped open in astonishment. “You – you made me a mixtape?” The corners of his lips turn up in disbelief. 

“Well not a mixtape exactly. Technically, I burned you a CD through an illegal website. It took me a while to figure it out actually. You’re the only person I know who still listens to CD’s and Ursula doesn’t have bluetooth so...” she trailed off nervously. “It’s just a bunch of pirated music that...you know, reminds me of you.”

Bellamy looks at her in awe for a moment, his heart swelling up. She fidgets under his intense gaze. Without thinking, he leans over and brushes his lips against hers, one hand gently cupping her face. Dropping her ice cream cone in surprise, she deepens the kiss, enjoying the taste of sweet vanilla and the warmth of his body. She feels her skin tingle, a hyperawareness spread all the way down to her toes. Her mind goes foggy and she swears she could stay like that forever until the realization dawns upon her.

“Wait,” she says, forcefully pulling herself off of him, slightly out of breath. “What‘re you doing?” She shakes her head in confusion, her forehead scrunched up. 

He scans her face in concern and reaches his hand out. “I’m sorry I —“

“You can’t!” She recoils away from his touch, pressing her lips together tightly. “I — I have to go,” she sputtered out, gulping uncertainly. 

“Clarke wait!” He jumps to his feet and calls out but she bolts in the other direction. 

Bellamy falls back into the chair and groans in frustration. He felt so stupid. He holds his heads in hands in defeat before seeing the CD still left on the table. He picks it up and notices the cover Clarke drew, a quick caricature of Bellamy sitting behind his drum set, holding a pair of drumsticks, and wearing a Smiths’ shirt. 

—————————————————

Bellamy sat in his car for ten minutes outside the WKBT station before finally mustering up the courage to go inside. He crept around the corner and saw Clarke in front of the computer. Resisting the urge to duck and run, he took a deep breath and willed his feet forward. She jerked her head up and was aware of his presence. 

“You’re here.” She blinked in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I promised you I would.” 

“Let’s just get this over with,” she said sharply, turning away. 

“Wait, can we —“

“I just want to do the show, Bellamy.” She snapped. 

He sucked in his cheeks at her tone and nodded. He followed her into the booth and she spoke quietly with Sinclair as Monty offered him half a smile in passing. 

She didn’t speak to him or even bother to spare him a glance until the show started. The first half of the show was awkward and uncomfortable. She did her introduction, not nearly as chipper, and moved on the questions, robotically asking them as if she was reading them off a card. He answered straightforwardly, keeping his responses brief. There were no jokes, no banter, and no fun this time. She announced a quick break and queued up a Van Halen song as she turned off the ‘ON AIR’ sign. They looked anywhere but each other, not speaking, the only sound that filled the room was the faint noise of Clarke grinding her teeth in irritation — a bad habit she quit years ago. Minutes went by and Clarke was sucking her teeth in boredom until Bellamy finally broke. 

“Can we at least talk about this?” He threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. 

“No.” She said in a clipped tone.

“The show is going terribly,” he pointed out, waiting for her to look at him. 

“Maybe if you responded with more than one word answers.” Her jaw clenched. 

“Maybe if you didn’t have such a bad attitude!” He shot back, baiting her into a fight. If they were fighting, at least they were talking. “Why are you mad at me?” 

“Don’t,” she warned, closing her eye for a moment. She didn’t want to talk about this. She wanted to finish this god-awful interview and go home and never have to see Bellamy Blake again. 

“I don’t even know what I did that was so wrong!” He cried out. 

Her head snapped to him, her chin jutting out and her face flushed with the anger stirring within. “How could you not?”

They were both engrossed in an intense staring contest, their eyes narrowed and their temper sparked, that they didn’t notice Monty give them the signal and the ‘ON AIR’ light flash on. 

“I kissed you! I’m sorry! I thought it was what you wanted!”

“Why the hell would that be what I want?” She raised her voice, her words holding venom. She crosses her arms to stop herself from throwing something. 

“That’s what it seemed like, okay? Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s me! I’m the one that’s deluded! I must’ve imagined all our moments and misunderstood all those flirty comments. I guess we didn’t almost kiss at your party! My fucking bad!” He spat, slamming his hand on the desk. The sound of the feedback from the mic echoes the room but they barely noticed it. 

“That’s not what —“

“I can’t keep up, Clarke!” He exclaimed, shaking his head in frustration. “I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries or piss you off but I’m getting mixed signal. We spend all of our time together. And you looked at me and I swear you felt what I felt. That you like me. But I guess it was all on my end, huh? Because the next day you blow me off so I don’t know what to think!” He anxiously runs his fingers through his hair, letting out a breath of hysterical laughter in sheer disbelief of the absurdity of it all. 

“Of course I like you! But it doesn’t fucking matter!” 

“Why doesn’t it matter?” He yells back, taking a stride forward and grabbing both her wrist so they were facing each other, begging her to listen. 

“Because you have a girlfriend!” She erupted, pulling her hands free and shoving his chest. “Yes, Bellamy, I like you. I just kept feeling so fucking guilty for liking you. So I settled for friends. And then you kiss me? You know how much I hate cheaters. I told you what happened with Finn. And you made me into the other woman, again!” She said through clenched teeth, blinking back the water pooling up in her eyes. 

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend?” His head tilted in genuine confusion, a line forming between his brows. 

“Echo!”

He paused for a moment and then said slowly, “Echo’s not my girlfriend.”

She froze. “Yes — yes, she is.”

“No, she’s not.” He told her again more assertively. 

“Yes, she is.” She argued. 

“I think I’d know, Clarke!”

“But — but. I saw her.” She murmured to herself, trying to understand. “When we first met at The City of Light, she called you babe. I saw her kiss you at my party. She is your girlfriend!” She insisted, her forehead wrinkled in bemusement. 

“That’s why you’ve been acting like this? That’s why you’ve been disappearing and running out of my apartment and refusing to come to band practice and getting so mad at me? Because of Echo?!” He expressed in disbelief.  ”She is not — no! That’s not what happened. She’s dating this guy named Roan right now!” His mind was racing, struggling to explain. “We used to hook up sometimes, that’s it. There were no feelings involved. We never dated." He swore, struggling to speak with his heart in his throat. “When she kissed me at your party, I pulled away. I told her no because — because I wanted you!”

“You’re not dating Echo,” she repeated slowly. 

“No, I promise."

“You’re not dating Echo,” Clarke whispered again in clarification, trying to wrap her mind around this. “So you’re single. And I......am an idiot!”

“Yeah, kinda,” he agreed and she hit him in the ribs lightly. 

“So,” she looked up at him nervously, “what now?”

“Now we do this.” 

Bellamy inches closer until his forehead rests against her. He felt her stray hair brush against his cheek and she let out a shaky breath, fluttering her eyes closed. He takes the curve of her lips into his, feeling the softness, the sweetness, and the passion all flooding his senses at once. Clarke’s hand cups the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until their bodies touch and she can feel his heartbeat hammering just as fast as hers. 

Bang!

The pair spring apart, stumbling to a halt, and feeling breathless and faint. They see Monty in the other room rapping his knuckles against the glass to catch their attention. 

“Hate to ruin the moment,” he called through the intercom, wearing a satisfied smirk as they blush with embarrassment under his gaze, “But you know we’re on air, right?”

“WHAT?” 

—————————————————

“Can I get your autograph?”

Spacekru was ready to release their second album, unsurprisingly full of love songs, within the next month or so and gained a huge new following from the radio interviews. Getting asked for autographs wasn’t as uncommon as it once was. Bellamy whipped his head around expecting to see some over enthusiastic freshman that snuck backstage but was greeted by a pretty blonde girl instead smiling coyly. 

“Can’t you just wait for my signature on our marriage certificate?” He grinned back, holding her waist and pulling her closer as he sat down on the stray boxes. 

“Marriage?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’re bold. We’ve only been dating eight months.”

“What can I say I’m optimistic?” He hooked a finger into the belt hole of her jeans until she was practically on his lap. 

“Are you trying to scare me away?” She teased him, rubbing her hands against his cheek lovingly.

“Is that even possible?”

“Hmm,” she sighed happily. “No.”

His stubble scratches against her and he kissed her eagerly. She squeals against his mouth as he gives her hip a squeeze. 

“You shouldn’t be allowed in the front row anymore,” he declared, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and peppering a kiss on her shoulder. “It is utterly distracting seeing you dance like that.”

“It’s not my fault,” she says innocently. “You played ‘There Is A Light That Never Goes Out.’ It’s my favorite song, ya know?”

“To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die,” he sings exaggeratedly to her making her giggle. He kisses her again lazily. “Love the shirt by the way.” He traces the hem of her top. “Couldn’t contain my laughter when I saw you from on stage.”

“Thought you might like it.” She bites back a smile as she looks down at her shirt that says ‘I prefer the drummer’ in big block letters. "Can't take all the credit. It was Raven's idea."

"I've always liked her," he says. "Although, I’d much rather go home and see what’s underneath.” His hand snakes up her shirt and trails along the small of her back.  

“Home is much too far,” she complains impatiently, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Ursula’s backseat?”

“Dirty!” He gasped at her deviancy. 

“For the love of God, please get a room!” Echo calls from across the room, her face distorted with disgust. 

“I second that!” Murphy shouts from behind the curtain. 

They both roll their eyes in unison and laugh. Bellamy steals a glance at Clarke, her eyes squinted and sparkling with life. He interlocks their fingers and brings it to his lips, feeling perfectly content. 

The Smiths truly said it best. “No, it's not like any other love. This one is different, because it's us.”