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#and also that because he got out and went to big fancy stanford he lost all connection to his roots
clairenatural · 3 years
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hi sorry but it has been a Day and right now i’m just thinking a lot about that post I saw once that was like “sam would take jack to a REAL store to buy REAL NEW clothes because he DESERVES them 😤😤😤” in response to a headcanon about jack’s wardrobe consisting of hand-me-downs from the winchesters and a variety of wacky goodwill shirts and I just. for a show that hinges on two guys who live on the road, in their car, just trying their best to do good in the world with virtually no means....this fandom can be alarmingly classist
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faeforge · 2 years
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Fae’s basic as heck Art Guide
Alright I’ve been threatening to do this long enough so its about time. So here it is a guide on how to start doing VERY basics of digital art (with a bonus for how to do this on paper at the end) First off get yourself a basic art program with Layers
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Here is a basic screen shot of what I use. Sai 2  Its my preferred as its very light weight and does the job fine. CSP, Kitra, FireAlpaca, and yes even dreaded photoslop all will do basically the same things I’m gonna show you here. Once you got it set up find your layers-
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Its gonna look something like this. Eyeball tells you its visible or not. Pen is telling you your working on that layer. Why Layers? Well because each new layer is like a new sheet of transparent paper letting you draw on a design and refine it without messing with what you have already. Step 1 Refs and Basic forms
First dig up some refs. You will be using these to look off of and maybe color pick depending on what you are drawing.
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I'm going to be doodling a dragon head so I grabbed some stock lizards and snakes and ect. These I slap into a layer on the BOTTOM since eventually they will be discarded. Why am I doing this? Always use refs omg just please save yourself and have them ok? Having a visual example like this on your canvas to look off of is so handy. With that out of the way you are ready to draw.  Start with a pale blue pencil or other light weight tool such as airbrush or marker. Just do the basic shapes right now.
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Super rough just getting the idea on where I want things to be right now.  The reason to do this is so you try to avoid the proportions problem where you start on something and when you get to the rest of the details find your hand is way too small or head too big. This also lets you work out posing before you get in too deep in details.  This layer is a frame to hang your details on. Step 2 Red Pencil layer Now you can start refining and getting in there with details.  Add a new layer on top and swap to red.  Why red? It contrasts with the blue and where your lines overlap they will be even darker.
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See how I am adding details like teeth and the brow and snoot?  Drawing over the blue helps me place those details where they belong without getting lost in the zoom in.
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You can spend as much time as you like here.  Just when things start to get cluttered its time to add another layer! Step 3 more refinement and more details
Now that you are here you can hide your blue base layer and reduce the opacity on your red layer.  Its going to be different depending on your program.
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Should look something like this.  Now you can refine any sketchy lines and if you are adding clothing, tattoos, equipment, jewelry etc now is the time. (or just add extra layers for that before going in for the clean up)
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Yeah he deserved some fancy.  So NOW that you have everything in place go in and bring it all together.  If you plan on inking stick to a purple or dark blue here OR of you want to keep it sketchy you can use whatever color you want. Black is default but you can have some fun with color lines here too.  Experiment! Step 4 New layer and finishing time.
Now go back over all the details with your final color correcting mistakes and making it cohesive whole
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See how I reduced the opacity my earlier layers and went over with my dark grey correcting where the horn band overlaps older details?
Once you are done here you can hide all the older layers annnnd..
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Tahdah!   Yes you can keep refining and ink or color from here but this is what you need to really get going to the final steps which would be a whole other guide. But Wait, you say, I don't have a computer or fancy programs?! WELL good news!  These same steps and the programs that use them were all based on how old school animation did things.
Tools
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Paper- good art paper is nice but whatever you got stanford color erase pencils- in pale blue, red, and purple plus a regular graphite pencil A cheap light table - Optional if you want to ink or finish with no lines. The Process
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Is basically exactly the same pale blue shapes to refinement with red to details with purple. and then if you wish to finish it.  Pull the paper out layer it with a new sheet and slap it on the light table.  The new sheet is your final layer.
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And there you go. These are very basic fundamentals hope they help someone!  Happy drawing!
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A Pinesmas Carol-part 8 (Have Nagila)
The family sat around the kitchen table (Xander had to curl up on his mother’s lap, since one of the chairs had been smashed; Stan said he could pay for it, but neither Shermie nor Rebecca really seemed to hear him) as Stan and Ford did their best to explain in a way that wouldn’t freak them out more.
“...So let me get this straight,” Shermie said at last.  “Gravity Falls is full of magic and monsters and stuff-”
“And maybe aliens; Ford thinks he found a crash site,” Stan added (not) helpfully.
“-and you guys have been studying them, and learning about things like-like spells that can change people into-that.”  He pointed to the baby formerly known as Archer, who had been set in Xander’s old carrier on the floor nearby (Rebecca had even bothered to put him in a cloth diaper and a onesie), and the puppy who was sitting on Stan’s lap and playfully gnawing his fingers (the weasel had long been shooed outside, and the remains of his dinner properly disposed of).
Ford nodded.  “...Well, I’ve been doing most of the actual research, but that’s basically the facts, yes.”
Xander’s eyes were wide with awe.  “You guys are like wizards.”  He climbed off Rebecca’s lap; before she could grab him back he scurried over to Stan and began petting the puppy, who wagged his tail and tried to climb into his arms.
Stan smiled.  “Yeah, I guess we kinda are.  Or at least Ford is; I’m just the guy who tricks ‘em into giving me money.”
The boy shrugged.  “Same thing.”
“This is...definitely not what we were expecting,” Shermie said at last.  “It’s...kind of a lot to take in.”
“Yeah, we know,” Ford admitted.  “That’s why we didn’t tell you at first.  We didn’t want to freak you out.”
“Too late,” their brother said dryly.  But at least he seemed to have calmed down a little.
The three of them looked to Rebecca, who had been silent all this time.  Her eyes were large and troubled, and her hands were nervously twisting together inside her sleeves.
At last she spoke, in tones that were sharp and clipped.
“The mother in me partly wants to accuse you of being reckless, dangerous men who are tampering with forces you don’t understand and demand that you stay the h_ll away from my child.”
Ford hadn’t been expecting how much that would hurt; it was a little like a sucker punch to the gut.  Judging from Stan’s expression, it was just as bad for him: his mouth hung limply open for a second or two, before it widened like he was about to start protesting.
“On the other hand,” Rebecca cut him off, “she does recognize that you used those forces to save his life-to save all our lives.  So-” she got up, and enveloped first Stan and then Ford in a warm, genuine hug, touching it up with a light kiss on the cheek- “thank you.”
Stan reddened, and let out a relieved-sounding laugh.  “Eh, it was all Ford. I just got in a few lucky punches.”
****
Next day
“Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b-mitzvotav, v-tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah,” Shermie sang as he lit the first candle of the menorah.  The rest of the family watched, enjoying the surprisingly cheerful glow. Even Stan, who was more than a little cynical towards the whole concept of religion, was smiling softly from his spot on the sofa.
Much to Ford’s relief, Rebecca’s overprotective mother side had not resurfaced with the light of day.  Instead, she asked him more questions about beard cubs, and scampfires, and fairies (apparently many of her childhood fantasies had involved them, with the same fervor that other girls applied to unicorns), and her previous uneasiness about this side of the world being revealed to her seemed to dissipate as she learned more about them.  She marveled over Ford’s illustrations in his (nearly full) journal, and said with a laugh that Gravity Falls sounded like his dream come true, since he was so attracted to the weird things in life.
“You have no idea,” he told her solemnly, which for some reason made her laugh again.
They ended up putting Archer in a basket purchased from the store, which was then dropped off at the local police station with only a warm blanket and the note “Please take care of my baby” included; Ford suspected his memories were probably rewound along with his body, so perhaps this would be a chance for him to have a fresh start at life.
The puppy, however, was another matter altogether.  Xander had quickly latched on to him as his new best friend, despite Rebecca’s admonishments, and in no time at all they were tussling with Stan on the living room floor like it was meant to be.
“... ‘Tis the season?” Shermie said sheepishly when she gave him a look asking him to put a stop to this.  “Lots of kids get puppies during Christmastime. Besides, can you really say no to that face?” He indicated their son, who was laughing and squirming in a futile effort to stop the puppy’s enthusiastic licking of his chin.
“And do you know how many of those puppies get sent back or abandoned because the kids decide they’re too much of a responsibility to handle?  Besides, last night that puppy was a human being with a gun!”
“And now he’s a friendly dog who likes our son.”
She grumbled...but it was clear she’d lost the fight.  And when the puppy tilted his head and looked up at her with big, innocent brown eyes, she grudgingly admitted that he was pretty cute, and went back to making potato latkes.
****
By the time Filbrick and Caryn Pines arrived at Shermie’s house, a few weeks later, there was no indication that their other children had ever been there-save for a package that Caryn was secretly handed by Shermie while Filbrick was upstairs putting the luggage in their room.  It contained a packet of fancy-looking tarot cards, with a note: To: my favorite psychic.  From: your favorite son.
Caryn smiled, a little tearily, and hid the packet in her purse before Filbrick came back, complaining that there was a dog on their bed, and when exactly had they decided to get a dog?
****
About an hour away, a bright red car pulled up in front of a small house.  Stan leaned over and tapped Ford on the knee.
“We’re here, nerd.  Wakey wakey.”
Ford groggily blinked his eyes open, and sat up-and froze when he realized that they were not, in fact, in Gravity Falls.
“Stanley, this isn’t home-”
The front door opened, and a head wearing a pair of round spectacles peered out in confusion.  The eyes behind them widened.
“Stanford Pines, is that you?!”  And the lanky man came strolling down the walk towards the car.
Stan grinned at his brother’s expression, which was somewhere between surprise, exasperation, and maybe just a tiny amount of happiness that he was trying his hardest to suppress.
“Stanley, I told you I didn’t want to-”
Fiddleford crouched down on Ford’s side of the car-then he saw Stan, and did a double-take.
“What the heck-?!  You got a twin and you never told me?!”
“...It’s a long story, Fiddleford.”
“Well, Emma May and I love a good story-come on in!”
“I-you’re probably busy celebrating, I don’t-”
“It’s no trouble, really!”
Stan’s grin widened.
“Merry Christmas, Sixer.”
********
Fiddleford is naturally fascinated-and saddened-by Stan and Ford's tragic backstory, but glad to hear that they've become friends again. He's also interested to hear about all the things Ford's been studying in Gravity Falls, and like Shermie, says he'll have to bring his family up to visit sometime. He and Ford lose hours talking about nerd stuff, while Stan makes awkward small talk with a heavily pregnant Emma-May and tries not to snarf all the delicious Christmas cookies.
Despite Ford's protests about not wanting to impose, they're persuaded to stay for Christmas, and they get to hear Christmas carols Tennessee hog farmer style (hint: there is a lot of banjo playing involved).
And all in all, it's an enjoyable holiday for the boys.
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spaceskam · 4 years
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Never Ever Getting Rid Of Me
First day of Kyle Valenti Appreciation! I’m excited for the next few days! Posting this one right as it hits Wednesday for me and, as far as tumblr will tell me, I’m the first one. Which is wack. ANYWAY
Day 1- First: First year as a medical intern
ao3
“Many of you won’t make it.”
Kyle snorted to himself as he listened to the Chief Surgeon of Brown Davis Memorial Hospital and looked around at all the brand new interns. Technically, he was an intern too, but he already knew he wasn’t going to have a problem showing them up. He was at the top of his class in med school and he knew it was going to be the same here. He had no issues jumping into everything. He was going to excel if it killed him.
“Most of you will switch to an easier specialty, while the rest of you either leave completely or will be asked to leave. Statistically, maybe three of you will actually become attendings in a hospital‒possibly this hospital. So look around at your competition, prepare for the game you’ll be playing and how you plan to play it. And welcome to your first day as surgeons.”
Cheers echoed through the room. There were fifteen interns and five residents that would be taking three of them each under their wing. Kyle wanted to get the best one so that he could get to the best attending and he could be the best.
As they were being assigned residents, he felt very pleased to know he going to be under Dr. Taussig. He’d read a few articles she’d published (as he had read articles by all the residents) and found hers to be the most impressive. It meant he would also get to be impressive.
Kyle took in the little group he had to compete against the most since they were also under Taussig’s wing. The first one was plain enough to not be a threat. He could easily withstand them any night and could probably outsmart them on any day. He didn’t really have a problem with any of the faces in the room, actually, until he landed on one.
Michael Guerin.
Kyle went through a lot of thoughts at the sight of him. The first being ‘oh, shit, someone I went to high school with’ and immediately followed by ‘what the hell is he doing here?’ which rammed straight into the memory that he did better in high school than him without even trying.
Before Kyle knew it, he arrived in front of the man he hadn’t seen in years.
“What are you doing here, Guerin?” he demanded. Micahel looked up at him and smiled slowly.
“I’m sorry, didn’t realize you owned the place,” he said. He was so smug; he always had been. It’s why Kyle hadn’t liked him in high school, though he was aware he was shitty back then now. It was hard to bully someone who just smiled at you. The only time Kyle remembered him ever caring was when at prom when Kyle had gotten in a fight with Alex.
“You know what I mean,” Kyle nearly hissed. Michael tilted his head back and huffed a breath.
“It’s called student loans, a 32 on the ACT, 2140 on the SAT, and a 4.0 GPA. I also graduated at the top of my class at Stanford.” he answered, “Point is, I earned my place here.”
Kyle huffed, glaring at him. Why of all people did Michael Guerin have to be a threat?
“You scared, Valenti?” he asked, grinning in a way that made Kyle even more pissed off. He didn’t like this. Not one bit.
“You’re the one who should be scared.”
-
“Nice work, Guerin.”
Kyle glared as he heard the fourth ‘nice work, Guerin’ this week from Dr. Graham who happened to be one of the best surgeons in the damn hospital. Hell, the state. And Michael just smiled like he earned it or something.
Which, maybe he did because he was the first intern who was allowed to do an appendectomy by himself and he fucking excelled at it.
“Had fun doing sutures all day, Valenti?” Michael asked as he walked past him, bumping shoulders. Kyle took a deep breath and still gathered himself enough to follow Dr. Taussig into a room in the peds ward.
“Paul Spencer, age 14, has been diagnosed with cholestasis, which is…”
Kyle went to open his mouth, but Michael spoke faster.
“An obstruction of bile flow leading to the liver,” he answered, finishing it with a charming smile. Taussig nodded with that annoying approving smile. Kyle cut in.
“But he is currently not responding to any dietary changes which means he will need a cholecystectomy,” Kyle continued. The kid in the bed’s eyes went wide.
“That just means you’ll need your gallbladder removed, it’s not as scary as it sounds when you put it in big words,” Michael said, smiling at him. The kid nodded but didn’t look any less terrified. Kyle wondered if it was because they were just spewing facts. Nah.
“Alright,” Taussig said, looking between the two of them, “Have we decided on an approach?”
Again, Guerin spoke before he could.
“Well, the scans we took show a lot of adhesions and it would be very risky to try something minimally invasive,” Michael explained, “So it’s more than likely going to have to be open.”
“Dr. Taussig, I was wondering if one of us could operate today?” Kyle said.
“And I already have OR experience,” Michael added.
“Which is exactly why I should be the one who does it,” Kyle capped off. Taussig looked between them and sighed softly before looking down at Paul.
“Who would you like to perform your surgery today? Up to you,” she said. Paul blinked between them a few times before looking back up to her.
“Can you?”
“Of course.”
Michael shoved him out of the way whenever they walked out of the room, glaring.
“You just cost me that surgery,” he accused. Kyle scoffed.
“I didn’t cost you anything! You’re the one who steals everything from me!” Kyle argued. Michael gave him a cocky smile.
“It’s not my fault I’m better than you,” he said simply. Kyle stepped into his space.
“Fuck you, Guerin, you are‒”
“Boys!” Taussig shouted firmly, glaring between them as she pushed them apart, “If you two don’t calm down, then neither of you are going to get to scrub in.”
“I apologize, Dr. Taussig,” Michael said, that charming smile slipping easily onto his face. Kyle was infuriated on a whole new level. Nothing that guy did was real. He faked all his fucking emotions for whatever the situation called for.
That was just something Kyle actually couldn’t compete with.
Taussig nodded as she looked between them. “Valenti, you can scrub in, surgery is scheduled for 13:45 and I want you to prep him. Guerin, go see if they need any help in the pit.”
Instead of being angry that Kyle got the surgery, Guerin just continued to look totally okay with being given shit work. He smiled through it and took his task. Kyle scoffed. There was no way that guy was a good loser‒he wasn’t even a good winner.
“Thank you, Dr. Taussig,” Kyle said to her and then swiftly turned to follow Guerin. No way he was going to the pit.
And he didn’t.
“I thought you were assigned to the pit,” Kyle judged as he followed Michael into the intern locker room. Michael looked at him like he’d lost it. And, yeah, maybe he had.
“Yeah, I am, and I was coming to put my phone in my locker because I don’t trust the people that come in there,” Michael said, looking down at the screen of his phone before putting it in his locker, “Aren’t you supposed to be prepping the kid for surgery?”
“I’m about to, I was wondering why you were blowing off your assignment,” Kyle said, though he suddenly felt a lot less confident about his accusation. Michael just stared at him, nodding slowly.
“Right. I’m not trying to steal your surgery. It’s a gallbladder removal‒that can happen any day. Go have fun,” Michael said.
For a moment, Kyle really thought that possibly he was overreacting. Maybe Michael wasn’t as much of a snake as Kyle had built him up to be in his head. Yeah, he was chosen to do the first intern surgery by himself, but that didn’t mean he was inherently any better or that he was deliberately trying to ruin Kyle’s career. This was a healthy competition, after all. This was supposed to just push him to do better.
So Kyle nodded.
Michael was checking his hair in the mirror whenever Kyle’s phone actually started ringing. He pulled it out and saw that it was his mom and, well, he couldn’t exactly not answer. She would have his ass.
“Mom, I’m at work.”
“That’s great, but you promised me you were going to come to dinner two nights ago and never showed which is a problem because you promised me you were off. So, where were you?” his mom demanded. Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath. He knew he forgot something when he agreed to scrub in on that angioplasty.
He heard Michael scoff behind him, so he placed his hand over his ear.
“I had an opportunity I couldn’t pass up, Mom, Dr. Burton goes out of his way to keep interns out of his OR and‒”
“I understand that it’s important, but you do know that we haven’t seen you since you started this internship. I miss you, your dad misses you,” she said and Kyle closed his eyes.
“Listen, I promise that I’ll come by soon. It’s just been super hectic around here,” Kyle tried. He just heard that disbelieving hum from his mother.
Which led to him being guilt-tripped for a solid 15 minutes, both in English and Spanish.
“Mama, I‒ Mom, I gotta go. I have a surgery.”
“Oh, you always have a surgery,” He almost laughed at that because absolutely no he did not, “You never have time to even speak to me anymore. I know you’re all fancy and adult now and I’m proud of you, but you do need to find time to talk to your parents. One day we might not be here, you know.”
Kyle sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. “I promise, I will call you when I’m done.”
“You promise?”
“I promise, Mama, I love you.”
“I love you too. But I won’t hesitate to scold you if you blow me off again,” she insisted. Kyle laughed.
“I know, I know, I won’t.”
By the time Kyle got back to Paul Spencer’s room, he wasn’t in there.
He looked around in confusion before catching a nurse’s attention and asking her where the kid went.
“They took him to surgery,” he said and Kyle genuinely felt like he was going to explode. He couldn’t have been gone that long. Not long enough that he missed the damn surgery.
Kyle all but sprinted to the OR floor, bursting into the room that Paul Spencer’s cholecystectomy was scheduled to be in. Both Guerin and Taussig were scrubbing in.
“What are you doing?! This is my surgery!” Kyle argued. Guerin just smiled over at him and Taussig shook her head.
“You didn’t prep the patient and you were late to the surgery,” she said simply, “If you can’t do the basics of prep, how do you expect to get into the actual surgery?”
She went into the OR, leaving the two of them alone. Kyle glared at the asshole. How stupid of him to even think that he wasn’t that bad. This was just low.
“You said you didn’t even want this surgery, that it was a simple gallbladder removal, that it happens all the time,” Kyle hissed. He was seething. This was his fucking surgery.
“Yeah, but on a kid? That rarely happens and you didn’t seem like you wanted to do it, so I stepped in,” Michael answered, still just smiling all proud of himself. Kyle resisted the urge to hit him.
“I was talking to my mother!”
“So? You think running to Mommy is an excuse? Rookie mistake. Keep your phone in your locker and your pager on your belt,” Michael said, flicking water off his hands and onto Kyle.
Oh, he was going to kill him.
-
“Nice job, Valenti.”
Damn right it was a nice job.
Kyle had shown up early and managed to work his way into an aortic valve resection‒something he was given the chance to actually be hands-on with. He never gets that opportunity when Michael is around. But this time he wasn't around and, if Taussig's attitude said anything, he was late.
"Guess what I just did?" Kyle said, hyper and ready to brag his ass off. Guerin had done a lot on his own, but never ever an aortic valve resection. No, that was all Kyle's.
"Don't care," Michael said dully. It was so uncharacteristically blank that it actually caught Kyle off guard. He looked at the guy who was usually at his throat and fighting for a spot, and instead found a guy who seemed to be tying his shoes in slow motion.
"An aortic valve resection," Kyle bragged anyway, though he stared and proudly waited for Michael to be irritated. It didn't come as soon as it should've, so Kyle prodded more. "Which you didn't get to do because you weren't early. Must suck to suck."
Michael didn't even react. It was almost irritating. Actually, it was irritating. What was the point of bragging if there was no payoff?
"Did you not hear me? Aortic valve resection. My hands, not yours," Kyle pressed even more. Again, no payoff. "Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"I don't care," Michael sighed again, not even sounding like he cared enough to not care. He just got up and slumped out of the locker room.
What the hell?
Kyle sat there for a moment and tried to piece together why he was actually so unlike himself. For the last six months of their internship, they'd been in constant competition. Michael would steal a surgery and Kyle would be pissed. Kyle would get a fantastic surgery and Michael would be pissed. It was the way the world worked. It wasn't any fun bragging with no one to brag to.
Something was wrong.
-
"What's wrong with Guerin?" Kyle asked Pitch, the other intern under Taussig's wing.
Pitch shrugged. "I don't know."
"Well, what changed? He was fine two days ago and now he's, like, weird."
"Why don't you ask him yourself if you're so concerned?"
"I'm not fucking concerned," Kyle snapped. Pitch held his hands up in defense.
"You're watching the dude like a hawk and keep asking people what's wrong with him, sorry that I thought it was because you cared," Pitch said defensively and then pretty quickly exited the situation. Kyle silently mocked him before heading to the locker room to check his phone since he was technically on break.
He didn’t, however, expect to walk in on Michael Guerin hunched over a piece of paper and sniffling.
When he realized someone else was in the room, he very quickly shoved the note in his back pocket and stood up. His eyes were a little bloodshot, but otherwise, he might’ve been able to pass off that he wasn’t crying. You know, if Kyle hadn’t seen him. And all he could do was stare.
“The fuck are you looking at?” Michael asked, pushing past him and going God knows where.
Kyle took a step further into the locker room and again tried to process the weirdness that was Michael Guerin when he noticed that the note he’d been holding had fallen onto the bench. He immediately went to and considered not reading it and just putting it in Michael’s locker. Then he considered not reading it and just giving it back to him. But then he considered reading it and that won over because he was really fucking curious. So he unfolded it.
The first thing he noticed was that it was covered in hearts. All of the margins and the empty spaces were filled in with hearts and scribbled ���I LOVE YOU’s, making an outline to the actual letter that made Kyle’s heart skip a beat. He recognized that handwriting. Double-checking, though, to make sure, he looked at the bottom of the letter that was so very clearly signed by Alex Manes. It would’ve made him feel a whole lot less shitty if he hadn’t bullied the guy senselessly for four years.
Of course, they would be a thing.
Dear Michael,
I MISS YOU. I’m so glad to hear that your internship is going well and I’m so glad that you like the hospital and I’m so, so, so glad that you’re happy. I’m so excited to come home and see you. God, I can’t even think straight, I just miss you.
Two days ago (11/15 for me) a buddy of mine got the clearance to go home for vacation and I just wanted to scream. I know my job is important and I know they can’t spare me, but it’s been too long. I miss you so much it hurts. I want to smother you in kisses and I want to hear you ramble about surgery and random medical stuff I don’t understand. I’m so excited to hear every story every day! I miss your voice!
I LOVE YOU!!!!
Kyle folded it back up without reading any further. It very quickly went from gooey ’I love you’s to straight-up raunchy love letter material within a few paragraphs and Kyle wasn’t interested in reading about his current enemy’s love life. Or his past friend/enemy’s love life. Fuck.
Kyle wasn’t entirely sure about how the two of them got together, but he did know that Alex had left to join the fucking army or something. Which, they had known he was going to do that since they were children, but the idea that Alex would be actively going into that while maintaining a relationship sounded farfetched. Especially since no one had even known that Michael Guerin was anything but a straight asshole. He didn’t know how that could’ve even come about‒much less became something serious enough to make Guerin cry over.  
He tucked the letter into his back pocket and walked to the cafeteria.
Sure enough, Michael was sitting by himself like he did every day. Only, instead of the typical book open in front of him, he was just staring blankly into his salad. Kyle sat across from him.
“Found this,” he said simply, tossing the note on the table. Michael stared at it for a second and then the realization hit him once he registered all the hearts and quickly snatched it up.
“Valenti, I swear to fuck, if you‒”
“I’m not gonna make fun of you,” Kyle said. It felt weird to be nice to him, but also he wouldn’t want to be repeatedly shit on if he was missing the person he loved who happened to on the other side of the world. “Do you… do you, like, wanna talk about it or something?”
Michael looked borderline offended but mostly disgusted.
“No,” he spat out, scoffing, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t actually want to talk to you about it,” Kyle said back. Guerin nodded, though the irritated look on his face didn’t go away.
“Good,” Michael said. Kyle watched him, watched as he stabbed his fork into his salad. They both took deep breaths. This was weird.
“But,” Kyle said, despite the weirdness because he would want it if the roles were switched, “If you ever do, then‒”
“Okay, Valenti,” Michael said, less snippy than before but still definitive.
Kyle nodded, “Okay.”
As he got up to head back to Dr. Graham, he heard a grumbled ‘thanks’ and it made the weirdness in his system fade.
-
“I killed someone.”
“You didn’t kill them, they just died.”
“Yeah, they died while my hand was in their chest.”
Kyle heard Michael sigh from the other side of the on-call room and then the click of the door being locked. Kyle couldn’t take his eyes off the floor even though he couldn’t really see that. All he could see was his hand right beside a heart and feeling it stop beating. He knew this was apart of being a surgeon and he’d had patients die before, but he didn’t expect it to feel so… real to have someone die like that.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Valenti,” Michael said, sitting beside him, “No one could’ve saved the guy. You did your best.”
“But you didn’t feel it,” Kyle argued, his heart still aching as he replayed the moment over and over in his mind, “I… I should’ve done something.”
“There was nothing to be done,” Michael reassured. Kyle shook his head. “Look, the other day I almost gave a kid insulin. He was allergic to insulin and I almost gave it to him because I didn’t read his chart first. The only thing that stopped me was a nurse telling me before I fucked up. That would be killing someone. What you did was just apart of the gig.”
Kyle took a deep breath and tried to steady his mind. He needed a drink or a fuck or something. He needed to not be able to think about that man anymore. He needed to think of literally anything else. He dropped his head into his hands.
“I need a distraction,” Kyle grumbled, trying to will away the feelings from his chest.
Then Michael’s foot was placed on top of his.
“I’m pretty good at that,” Michael said softly and Kyle found himself just staring at the shoe that was on his. A lot of feelings flooded his mind, crashing into the ones before. They swirled hectically, but most of them ended with a simple ’okay’.
Instead, he said, “Aren’t you playing into some stereotype by hitting on a straight guy?” Michael immediately snatched his foot away.
“I was just trying to he‒”
“I know, sorry,” Kyle sighed, shaking his head, “I’m not, like, against it.” Michael didn’t put his foot back and Kyle silently cursed himself for letting his defensive impulses act. “What I meant to say was I thought you were seeing someone.”
Michael sighed loudly, “I am. But he’s super fucking smart and on a special task force which means I haven’t seen him in a year and I haven’t heard his voice in a year and we are forced to communicate via letter because whatever the hell he’s doing, he can’t even send E-Mails without risking someone tracing him. So we have an agreement that we can fuck whoever we want while we’re separated so long as it’s only once and we’re safe.”
“Seriously?” Kyle asked, turning to face him. Michael was leaning back against the wall.
“Yep,” he said and the pain he felt about their situation was evident on his face, “I’ve never actually taken up the offer, but I know he has. I don’t blame him, though. He doesn’t really get much human interaction wherever he is.”
“When’s he coming back?” Kyle wondered. Michael quirked a smile.
“June.”
Kyle couldn’t even help but flinch at the solid five months he had to go. “Jesus, and you already haven’t seen him in a year?” Michael nodded slowly.
“Yeah, and I’m offering my services to you,” he laughed. Kyle rolled his eyes. “You need a distraction and you look like shit, no one not creepy is gonna approach you in a bar, and I’m 100% clean. But you’re straight so.”
“Yeah, but,” Kyle said, almost cringing at himself. He was straight. He’d never been attracted to a guy before, not any in real life at least and not any like that, but he wasn’t repulsed by it. He was of the firm belief that if it happened, it happened. And, Guerin was right, he was probably the most trustworthy person to take his mind off the fact that he killed someone. God, that sounded bad. “I trust you.”
An annoyingly cocky smile found Michael’s face. “Aw, how romantic.”
“Shut up.”
“Nah, we can do this, just know you can’t catch feelings and that this is a one-time thing,” Michael agreed, cracking his knuckles and then moving to his knees. Kyle annoying got a bit excited. He was always one to try new things. “My baby’s my one ‘n only, so can’t go complicating shit.”
“Yeah, right, I don’t even like you as a person,” Kyle shot back, but he was already spreading his legs a bit to make room for him. Michael smiled up at him.
“Good. ‘Cause I’m still better than you.”
-
“You’re gonna do great, baby.”
Kyle watched with a little smile as Alex pulled Guerin into a kiss. They were preparing for their intern exam that would officially make them residents when/if they passed it. It just happened to fall in the same week that Alex had come home for a bit. Alex didn’t seem too keen on the fact that his boyfriend had become friends with his high school bully, but he seemed open to the fact that he wasn’t all bad.
“You too, Kyle,” Alex offered, leaning his head on Micahel’s shoulder. Kyle gave him a kind smile. He’d been working on trying to prove to Alex that he was better than he was in high school. Alex didn’t seem to hate him with a burning, fiery passion, just a little bit, so it felt like a step in the right direction.
“Thanks,” Kyle said, looking to Michael who was staring at Alex like he was the light of his life.
It seemed weird to think there was a time he assumed Guerin was completely heartless and cruel. Sure, he still was on some level, but he also had a lot of feelings in him. He was just fantastic at balancing them. Kyle was slowly but surely learning to do the same. He’d never admit that, though.
“Ready to get your ass kicked, Valenti?” Michael asked as they started to walk away from Alex. Kyle snorted.
“Yeah, right, like you’re gonna do better than me.”
“Oh, I always do better than you.”
Kyle made a face at him which Michael returned and ended with them both rolling their eyes. The fact of the matter was, while Michael was a good doctor, Kyle was still running on the high from the solo whipple he performed a few days before and he knew he was going to ace the test. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that was he was going to fucking destroy it.
If he really needed Michael to destroy it too so they could keep pushing each other, then no one needed to know.
That’s just how it worked. They were a team.
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octannibal-blake · 6 years
Text
sad songs for dirty lovers 1/4
by: bellamysdelinquent rating: mature word count: 15,005 part: 1/4
based on a prompt from @whyclarke from months ago.
special thanks to @pensieve-foryour-thoughts for the awesome advice and edits! 
part i. we have scars to cover
May 2013
When Clarke Griffin imagines how she thought her senior year of high school would go, she didn’t imagine it would begin with a severe back injury and losing her best friend. She didn’t imagine it would be filled with whispers in the hallway about how it was actually her fault, that if she hadn’t gotten shit faced drunk at a party, walked in on her boyfriend with his face between another girl’s legs, and called him to come get her, Wells Jaha would have been alive to walk across the stage and receive his high school diploma. He would be well on his way to Stanford to become the best lawyer in the United States. According to the same whispers in the hallway, she took that all away.
It took her a majority of the year to realize Wells’ death hadn’t been her fault, it was just the wrong place at the wrong time. It took some therapy, some nights spent in the sheets with whoever she could find that was willing (girls, boys, she learned a long time ago she didn’t care), and  even more nights spent curled into her father's side, broken and afraid of the world. But she’s coping, or she’s trying, at least. In the fall she’ll be heading to Northwestern for her freshman year of college and to her, it’s a new beginning. It’s a new life.
Needless to say, the last thing she wants to do is spend her summer with her mother. Abigail Griffin is many things -- renowned surgeon, respected researcher, and benefactor to multiple non-profit organizations (though, Clarke knows this is more for image than for actually caring). Being a good mom? That’s not exactly in the same category. In fact, motherly skills is not something she could put on her list of accomplishments. Her parents divorced when she was ten years old, though it hadn’t come as a surprise. As far as Clarke is concerned, she was raised by her father. Her mom had spent countless hours at work, out of town for research shit and conferences and whatever else she could do to stay busy. Eventually, she decided to stay gone altogether. She moved to Boston, taking some prestigious job in a research center hoping to one day cure paralysis. Clarke and her dad stayed in Arkadia, the small town on the outskirts of Maryland. She had been fine with this arrangement.
But Jake Griffin ensured his daughter maintained some relationship with her mother, whether (it) be agreed visits over breaks or forced phone calls between the two of them to check in. She never liked them much, but it made her dad happy, so she would suffer on his behalf. Which is exactly how she finds herself in this predicament: currently standing in the middle of downtown Boston, lost and sweating her ass off. All because she loves her father.
“You need to get away from here,” he told her late last week, “And I know you’re going to Chicago in the fall, but it’s important for you to spend time with your mom.”
She had all but kicked and screamed to get out of it, though when asked she couldn’t provide any concrete reason not to go. She had learned to hate Arkadia and everyone in it, and she felt Wells’ ghost follow her everywhere she went, like some sort of reminder that she made it and he didn’t so she should be grateful. It’s the worst kind of haunted. She let him convince her, and in a moment of weakness, got on the plane.
She regrets it(coming to Boston), especially now that she’s become lost and is exactly the kind of person to refuse directions from anyone. When she arrived, her mom had been just as awkward as expected, but she has to give her credit for trying. She took the day off to show her around the city, give her a tour of the local hotspots and entertainment within walking distance. It turns out there are a lot of things within walking distance as her mom’s condo is located in the heart of Midtown. She isn’t surprised- Being a doctor means having money. Being a good doctor who is very well-known and respected? It means more having money than absolutely necessary. She can’t complain, she supposes. Her mom is at least paying for college. Some fucked up penance for child support over the years.
Their reunion had been short lived. The day after she arrived, Dr. Griffin had to go back to work and she’s only caught glimpses of her since. It’s been a whole week and she’s already to go the fuck home. She huffs in frustration as she turns the map in her hands again, trying to pinpoint exactly where she is. Realizing she just isn’t cut out for topography, she stuffs the map into her backpack and pulls out her phone, typing the nearest address into Google maps and finding her location. It’s a ten minute walk from the condo to her spot.
She’s making an effort to be active, even when all she wants to do is lie on her mom’s expensive sofa and binge watch Netflix on the big screen. That’s what she had done her first three days alone, wallowing in her own misery and silently cursing her father for putting this on her. But then she realized this is the first time she’s had true freedom and who the hell is she to sit around and waste it?
She checks out some of the local shops and galleries, feeling a particular pull to the small art studios. When she walks in, often times she’s ignored by the owner. They are, no doubt, pegging her to be some disruptive teen pretending to be a know it all for the sake of being pretentious. She feels a particular satisfaction when she asks the artist about their pieces and goes into a deep discussion of the technique and well-meaning behind them. She manages to walk away with invitations to local art shows and even the number of one of the shop owners. His name is Nyko, and she’s almost positive he was hitting on her. She’s also almost positive he’s in his thirties.
She stuffs the phone number into the back pocket of her jeans without a second thought and continues her journey around the city. She doesn’t get far before her stomach begins to growl aggressively. She tries to Google restaurants around the area, but decides instead to try out one of the food trucks parked on the curb. She finds one advertising a messy looking sandwich, filled with cheese and onions and her mouth practically drools. She steps up to the counter and orders. They prepare it fairly quickly and when she steps to the side to enjoy the Boston-take on the Philly Cheese Steak, she notices the looming building across the street.
Architecturally, it’s gorgeous, with ancient brick and large arched glass windows. Engraved at the top is: “Library of the City of Boston Built by the People and Dedicated to the Advancement of Learning”. It reminds her of something out of the Harry Potter books, if only for it’s long descriptive title It could have said Public Library and had the same effect.. She remembers hearing her mom mention the library to her in passing,  saying she would bring her here to show her around and perhaps give her an early start on pre-med books. She had been less than excited about it. But now, as she stands outside without her mom, it actually seems quite interesting.
When walks in, she understands why it has such a fancy title. The inside is something out of a regency period novel, perhaps even something out of a castle in kingdoms long ago. A soft, sand colored marble graces the floors and the walls, shining brightly as though they had just been polished. The ceiling arches over them, engraved with elegant designs and paints. Pillars are placed sporadically through the entrance hall, making it seem more daunting than anything. She runs her hands along the walls, where art flows freely around and up the stairs. She moves between galleries, admiring their respective themes and Googling any piece that seems unfamiliar. She likes knowing artists- It’s kind of her thing.
She isn’t sure how long she spends gazing at all the pieces, recognizing some from her high school art history classes and others from her dad’s old art books. She’s completely zoned out when someone startles her.
“This panel represents epic poetry,” a deep voice says from behind her, “it represents Homer, the author of The Iliad and The Odyssey. They’re crowning him.”
She turns to snap at the person who had taken it upon himself to pretentiously explain the art piece to her, but stops when she sees a nameplate, gold plated and bold name, staring back at her. She pauses, taking a good look at the owner of said nametag and notes he can’t be much older than her. Based on the BU  hoodie he has paired with his well-ironed khakis, he’s a college student. And he works here.
He nods at the painting, “It’s by an artist named ---”
“Puvis de Chavannes,” she finishes for him, “I know.”
It comes out a little sharper than she intends, but he seems not to mind. Instead, he moves to stand next to her and pulls her attention back to the other panels, “So, I’m assuming I don’t need to explain these to you, either?”
He’s looking at her with a crooked smile and renewed interest. He had clearly not been expecting her to know. It isn’t common pop culture knowledge by any means. She takes a good look at him, admiring the freckles that pepper his nose and the way his dark hair is all chaos in curls. When she locks eyes with him, dark, chocolate orbs, gleaming with something that almost looks like excitement. Like he truly enjoys talking about art history. She decides to humor him.
“No,” she says finally, “But I guess it’s your job to explain it to me, so go ahead.”
He laughs, and she finds she likes the way it sounds. It’s deep, rich, and sends a small tingle up her spine.
He then launches into a grandiose explanation of the rest of the panels, talking passionately with his hands about each piece and their historical significance. She finds it’s refreshing to  hear someone talk so passionately about art. She counters him a few times, telling him the correct facts about the artist and their techniques in painting it.  By the end of it she’s almost criticizing the pieces and he immediately becomes offended.
“Back then, this technique was popular!” he says in disbelief, “The lines are beautiful.”
She shrugs, “I don’t know...I just don’t think he captured the true emotion of the time, though.”
Bellamy scoffs, “I don’t think emotion is what he was going for. He was just recording history!”
She can’t hold in her laugh at the way he seems so offended by her opinion and this seems to soften him up a little bit.
She shakes her head at him, “I guess you’re the expert, huh?”
He gives her a mischievous grin before backing away from her slowly. It’s then she notices an abandoned cart full of books a few feet away. He grabs it and pushes it towards her, stopping when he’s next to her again, “I’m just the guy who puts away books.”
She nods, like it was the most obvious thing in the world (even though he had definitely convinced her he was the art guy), “Right. Next time I’ll be sure to find the actual art expert.”
He shrugs his shoulders and begins to push the cart away, but not without the last word, “Well, if you don’t want to be bored to tears, I’m here Monday through Friday...”
“I’ll keep that in mind…” she makes a show of squinting as his nametag, “Bellamy.”
“I’ll be sure to warn the so-called art experts about you…”
“Clarke.” she fills in for him.
“See you around then, Clarke.”
He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he rolls away, leaving her thinking she might just have to visit the library on a regular basis. For the art, of course.
*
She falls into an easy routine. Her mom shows no signs of slowing down at work and she has eaten dinner more times alone than she would have liked. She can’t help but be a little perturbed by the whole thing. She had come to Boston with relatively low expectations  but even so, she can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. To compensate for her mother’s lack of interest in hanging out with her daughter, Clarke has made it a goal to go out and at least try to have fun for the summer. Her dad had sent her here for a reason, whether it be to simply get away from her shit town or for her to find some way to fully heal and move on with her life. Somehow, she knows it was probably for both of those reasons.
Her routine begins with a morning walk around the neighborhood; she stops at the bakery to grab a cup of coffee and continues walking, mostly to people watch. She finds it  quite entertaining. Post cup of coffee, she’ll walk to the park and sketch. Drawing has always been her best outlet, the thing to keep her sane even when she felt the furthest thing from it. Over the months, she’s filled more sketchpads than ever in her entire life and though it didn’t cure her, it definitely helped. Her mom calls it a hobby, but it’s always felt like more than that. She gets lost and pours her soul into it.
Sketching will keep her busy until the afternoon at least. She’ll walk home, grab some food, and shower. Then, she’ll make her way back to the library to simply read. Something about it makes her feels safe. It gives her something to pass the time and their collection of old literature piled with old biology and anatomy records is quite interesting. Admittedly, during the hours she spends there, she checks out the book cart guy, Bellamy, while she’s there. She doesn’t see him everyday but when she does, it’s usually when he passes by her table, a squeaking cart in tow, and he comments on something she’s reading or offers a fun fact about one of the million art pieces located around the gallery. They’ll talk briefly and then he’ll bid her goodbye and move right on along.
When she talks to her friend, Raven, she can practically hear the girl roll her eyes through the phone, “Jesus, you would be the one to do some weird, artsy flirting with a librarian.”
Raven is a spitfire, part of what draws Clarke to her. She had been devastated to find out her boyfriend had been dating someone else at the same time (though, Clarke was the actual side chick), but it led her to Raven Reyes and she is actually pretty fucking grateful for that.
“I didn’t come all the way here to date,” she argued, “I’m not emotionally ready for that.”
“Well, at least make some friends while you’re there. You could use them.” Always count on Raven to put things in blunt perspective. It’s a blessing and a curse.
She isn’t sure how to make friends. Right now, Bellamy is the closes thing she has and she has no idea how to push that mere acquaintanceship into friend territory. Does she ask him to hang out? It seems like that could easily be misconstrued into a date, which is definitely not what she wants to happen. Though, she could probably make it clear that she only wants to be friends. She’s never been good at this stuff. Wells was always the more popular one of the two of them. She had just always been part of the deal with him.She doesn’t have to overthink it much more because as luck would have it, Bellamy makes the first effort.
She’s buried deep into an old anatomy book when she hears him clear his throat,“You do realize it's nine p.m on a Friday night and you're sitting in a library?”
She looks up from her book to find him leaning against her table, collar of his library issued polo unbuttoned and name tag missing. Off the clock, she assumes.
“I suppose there are better things to do?” she crosses her hands over the book she had been engrossed in and smiles sarcastically. There are probably a million things she could do that would be more appeasing than reading books about the human body, but going home to an empty house is not one of those. She doesn’t do well with silence and emptiness. That’s when her thoughts become the loudest.
He shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets, “Probably. I was about to meet some friends for a drink.”
She leans back and shuts the book with an aggressive thud before grabbing her bag off the back of her chair, “A nerd like you has friends? I figured you spent your free time talking to yourself about all the inaccuracies of the Hercules cartoon.”
He laughs at her dig, “I save that for weekdays.”
“Mmm, of course.”
She slings the bag over her shoulders and stands there awkwardly, fiddling with the straps. She wonders if he is actually trying to ask her to come out with him or if he’s just telling her his plans for the night. When the pause becomes a bit too overwhelming, she starts for the door.
“You in?” he asks, falling into step behind her.
She skids to a halt, her Keds making an uncomfortable screech against the polished marble. He stops too, eyebrow quirked, “Or not?”
She considers him for a moment. She's known him for a solid two weeks now. Granted, their relationship extends as far as first name basis and artistic opinions. But, it’s not like she has any other options available. It beats spending all night in an old ass library  (even if it is beautiful).
“Sounds great,” she finally answers. Raven would definitely tell her to go. Plus, she wants something to occupy here time. It’ll be good for her, too, to put herself out there. He’s fairly cute. Win-win.
She follows him out of the library, where he immediately untucks his shirt and runs a hand through his hair, pushing the curls into their natural chaotic look. All professionalism vanished from sight. The disheveled look works for him, she decides.
“So,” he says as they fall into step together, “What's your story?”
She tries to hide how uncomfortable that question makes her. She’s never been one to talk about herself, but now it’s become especially difficult. She decides to take a more sarcastic route.
“Oh, you want my biography?”
He shrugs, “Just the basics. So I know you aren't plotting to kill me or something.”
“Says the guy who lured me out of the library after dark,” she counters.
He doesn't respond and she takes that to mean he's waiting for an answer. She decides he probably isn’t a serial killer. Mostly because she just doesn’t get that vibe from him and she thinks she has a good judge of character. Plus, they’re on a well lit street so if he tries something, she should be able to escape pretty easily. She has a mace.
“Visiting for the summer,” she tells him finally, “Divorced parents. Different cities. Nothing crazy.”
“So that explains why you hang it out in a library for fun.”
“It's close and free.”
“Fair enough,” he concedes. She takes it as her opportunity to question him.
“And you?” she probes, desperate to take the attention off her, but also curious to learn about the mysterious librarian once he’s no longer in the library.
He seems to think about his answer carefully, “I live here full time. I go to BU. The library is a summer gig. My professor hooked me up.”
So he’s a student. It makes sense; It explains all the random history knowledge he seems to have stored in his brain and also the fact that he actually seems to enjoy working in the library. She doesn’t know many people this age who would find joy working in a place like that (though, she is part of the minority along with him.).
“Let me guess,” she taps her chin with her finger, “History major?”
Predictable.
He feigns shock at her assumption, “How did you know?”
She laughs and finds herself feeling more comfortable around him. He’s a bit intimidating, with his sharp wit and rugged good looks. She had planned to just admire him from a distance, which definitely sounds creepy but it isn’t. She figured he’d remain an anomaly she told Raven about -- just the cute guy in the library.  She hadn't thought they’d actually speak. She definitely expect him to ask her out, or well, whatever it is they’re doing.
“How about you?” he breaks her from her thoughts, “What's your major?”
She almost tells him she hasn't declared since she's only just starting. But then she doesn't because he's taking her out to, presumably, a bar and her ID says that she’s 21. Not that she has any interest in drinking, but she also doesn’t want miss out on this opportunity. This trip is about expanding comfort zones and putting herself back out there, at least, that’s what Raven told her to use it for.
“Pre-med,” is what she finally settles on. He lets out a low whistle.
“That explains all the anatomy books you've been checking out,” he says passively and she stops again, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Have you been stalking my check out record?”
He turns to face her, “Someone’s flattering themselves. You realize I can see what you’re reading when I pass by your table.”
“So you’re just creepy from afar then?”
“I think you’re projecting,” he scoffs, “Don’t act like you had any intention of coming back there until I so eloquently explained those art pieces to you.”
She finds herself having to bite back a smile, their banter coming quick and naturally. She’s already having fun, “I’m not the one that goes out of the way to walk by your table.”
He laughs at that, holding his hands up in surrender, “Fine. You caught me. I was trying to be smooth.”
“And why is that?”
He stops them in front of, what she can only presume to be, the bar they’re meeting his friends at. It’s got an old-time feel to it, with a sign hanging above a chipping wooden door. She can faintly hear music thumping from behind it.
“Cute girl who knows history?” he offers and this time she doesn’t bother to hold back her smile.
He doesn't give her a chance to respond and she's somewhat thankful because she isn't sure what to say. He pulls open the door and gestures for her to enter first. She mumbles a quick thank you.
The bar turns out to be an old pub. The Ark, it's called. It's cozy, reminiscent of the ones you'd see on a modern sitcom. Full of hipsters and draft beer choices. Every day of the week holding a special event: Trivia on Wednesdays, Karaoke on Thursdays and Fridays,live music on Saturdays. She can't say she's surprised.
She follows him over to a booth in the back where he is greeted warmly by a group of people, who are seemingly already a bit tipsy.
“Everyone, this is Clarke,” he announces, “She was reading biology books in the library for fun.”
“Anatomy,” she corrects without thinking. Her cheeks grow red when she does. Smooth.
She's met by choruses of ‘Hi Clarke!’ and ‘We love nerds.” which makes her feel slightly better about the whole thing. He pulls up a couple of chairs from a nearby table and she plops down next to him. She’s trying not to be awkward, but damn if it doesn’t come naturally. She pulls her phone from her back pocket and shoots a quick text to Raven.
Clarke: “I’m socializing. You should be proud of me.”
Raven: “Bloom, my beautiful flower”.
She giggles and stuffs her phone into her backpack. She wouldn’t say she’s an introvert by any means, but meeting new people has always been an awkward experience for her. She never really knows how to start. Luckily, Bellamy seems to sense her discomfort and introduces them one by one.
“That’s Miller,” he points at a scruffy guy currently sporting a beanie despite it being summer, “My roommate and a total dick.”
The guy, Miller, glares at his friend before extending a hand, “Nice to meet you. Also, he’s projecting his own insecurities onto me. He is the actual dick in the relationship.”
She smiles at that. The others get similar introductions: Harper, the peppy blonde, Gina, the kick ass bartender, Murphy, the kindest asshole she’ll ever meet, and Emori, the asshole’s equally asshole-y girlfriend (in a loving way).
“Bellamy, do you have a radar for finding lost souls?” Harper nudges him on the shoulder playfully.
“You know, I’d be careful,” Murphy comments, “With the way you target young, attractive, lonely people, you might start coming off like a serial killer.”
She decides to give the whole being friendly thing a go. She pipes in, “I definitely got serial killer vibes.”
Bellamy gives her a faux wounded look while the others laugh, “Don’t feed into it!”
She smirks back but finds herself questioning, “Does this happen often?”
“God, yes,” Miller groans. And that’s how they spend the next hour, trading each other’s stories about how they met Bellamy. Miller is the original friend (or OF as he calls it), having been friends with him since high school. They met after Miller had been subject to severe bullying when other kids found out he was into guys.
“Talk about fragile masculinity,” Miller rolls his eyes as he recounts the story, “Anyways, Bellamy here so valiantly defended my honor and punched one of the guys on the football team for using some pretty nasty slurs.”
“We spent the rest of high school as the mystery couple,” Bellamy confirms, “Some people figured he was my boyfriend and that’s why I got mad.”
“Best fake boyfriend ever,” Miller tilts his beer into the air and takes a long sip. Gina goes next, explaining that she had come to this bar, to drink her pain away after suffering a pretty nasty breakup. Bellamy forced her to sing karaoke and made sure she got home safely. They ended up dating for almost a month before both realized the romantic chemistry wasn’t there and stayed friends.
“You’re not a good real boyfriend,” Gina pats him on the shoulder, “But you’ll make a good mom.”
“Mother hen, Bellamy,” Murphy agrees, and launches into his hilariously unexciting story about how he had been the brooding freshman in their biology lab and after a long and painful semester of being forced to work together, Bellamy had ensured that Murphy passed Biology with flying colors. Though Murphy does seem to be the most cynical of the group, he does seem appreciative of his friend.
Harper is the last to go, “This is going to sound like some bad college PSA, but I got drunk at a frat party and I guess some douche tried to slip something in my drink while I wasn’t looking. I’m sure you can guess what happened.”
“He saved the day?” she asks, watching Bellamy with curiosity. His cheeks are glowing red, seemingly embarrassed by the sudden revelation of all the good deeds he’s ever done.
“He saved the fucking day,” Harper confirms, “Launched the guy right out of his own Frat house and called me an Uber to get back to the dorm.”
“So, what I’m hearing is that you have a savior complex?” she concludes. He chugs at least half of his beer he had poured from the table’s pitcher, smacking his lips at the end.
“Sure,” he responds shortly, and she watches something like annoyance pass through his eyes. Before she can think further into it, Miller seems to notice the slight exchange and changes the subject.
“So, you read anatomy books for fun?” The conversation flows easily after that, and she realizes this is the first time she’s truly had fun in a while.
“I had just watched Mary Poppins for the first time!” she’s defending herself, hours later, and the group laughs at her sheer idiocy. By the end of it, she nearly forgets they had all been strangers when she walks through the doors. She thinks making friends may not be a lost cause after all.
“Can we keep her?” Gina asks Bellamy as they all pack up to leave for the night. She pretends not to hear, fiddling with her backpack like she’s searching for something.
She has to keep herself from grinning when she hears his response.
“Definitely.”
*
“We’re going out for Gina’s birthday tonight.”
She is currently helping Bellamy sift through the return cart, reshelving the books in their appropriate sections. They have been working diligently for the last couple of hours and the cart seems to finally dwindling down. Over the last couple weeks, since Bellamy took her to meet his friends, they’ve managed to make a smooth transition into friendly territory. When she stopped by the library the next day, he sat with her on his break and they bickered over the value of reading medical books from the 1940s when medicine has made such big strides since then.
After that, it sort of became a part of the day.. He’d come over for breaks and they would chat, sometimes about the weather and other times about the meaning of life (he had been skimming the philosophy section on those particular days). She preferred keeping conversations light, away from personal territory.  The closest they had gotten is when they were in the theatre section placing the mere two returns for it, she mentioned that her ex-girlfriend’s favorite play had been Othello.
“I’m bi,” she had essentially word vomited, though he hadn’t even asked. He hadn’t even hinted at wanting to know her sexuality but she threw it at him anyways.
“Sorry,” she apologized, blush creeping into skin, “You didn’t ask.”
She expected him to just shrug it off and go on with the day. She had been surprised when he had offered a sympathetic smile and told her very nonchalantly that he also identifies as bi.
“You know, in case you ever wanna talk about,” he added. It’s not much in the way of revealing deeply personal things, but it makes her acutely aware that she’s struggling to keep him at arm's reach. That feeling bubbles up on occasion and when she’d begin to feel as if the conversation was turning too serious, too personal, she’d excused herself to the restroom or rapidly direct them back into the safe zone.
It wasn’t until a couple of days ago that she had offered to help with his work. He had passed by to let her know he was going to work through his break, a very cluttered cart being pulled behind him. He looked like he had been hard at work, his cheeks flush and curls sticking to the sweat beading on his forehead. She isn’t sure what possessed her to offer, but she shut her own book and followed him into the stacks to ask for the rundown on how to shelve them.
“You don’t have to help me with my job, Clarke,” was his first response, but she had shushed him and repeated her questions. With a defeated sigh, he reluctantly explained the catalog system and the shelving etiquette.
She’s currently shoving three copies of Fifty Shades of Grey onto the shelf with a smidge of aggressiveness.
“Can you believe people really read this shit?” she muses aloud, completely missing his previous statement. She likes erotica as much as the next person but that? (It’s )A monstrosity.
“Believe it or not, some people don’t care to read academically all the time,” he jokes and she gives him the finger in return.
“I was reading a regular book, earlier,” she argues and he rolls his eyes, pushing another book onto the shelf.
“I would consider trying to read any part of Infinite Jest academic reading as well.”
“There’s just no winning with you is there?”
“Nope,” he pops his lips dramatically on the word, “But as I was saying, you should come out with everyone tonight.”
She’s been out with the group a handful of times now. She was given a trial run on the trivia team, and as luck would have it, they scored first thanks to her unmatched knowledge on the human body. They had quickly extended a permanent invite to their savior. She accompanied Bellamy from the library to their usual weekend outings, whether it be to a movie or to the Ark just to hang out. She fits in well with them. Even Harper has made an effort to hang out with her, solo. They exchanged numbers and have gotten coffee a couple of times, Harper joining her on her morning walks. She finds that she really likes the girl, her positivity a much needed change in her life.She really is trying.
“Oh, should I?” she responds with a quirked eyebrow.
“I’m sure you have better things to do,” he says sarcastically. Of course, he knows she doesn’t. Hell, she’s made it pretty damn obvious by the amount of time she chooses to spend with him at the library. She even volunteered to help him work.
“I might,” she twists one of her blonde curls idly between her fingers, looking at him innocently enough.
He rolls his eyes, “Well, when you inevitably get bored doing whatever it is, you can meet me here at ten. Wear something nice.”
She doesn’t respond but he seems okay with that. They continue placing books side by side and she decides to take off once they finish. She begins to feel the familiar dull ache of her back and knows she should go home and take a hot bath and rest. Just as she’s pushing the door open, she hears him call behind her.
“See you at ten!”
*
She shows up at 945. She’s sitting on the stairs when he walks out, running a hand through his curls, no doubt to recreate the messy bed head look he’s learned to perfect. When he sees her, he shakes his ruefully.
“Shut up,” she grumbles before standing up. She swears she sees his eyes slide down her body, but he turns away quickly to cover it up. In his defense, she does look good. She hadn’t been intending to dress to the nines, but when she had called Raven for advice she had been fully advocating for the tightest pair of jeans she owns and the most revealing top. She settled somewhere in the middle, going for the jeans, but opting for a loose fitting, off the-shoulder blouse.  
“Finished the all important task you were doing then?” He says instead as they descend the stairs on their way to...wherever the hell they’re going. She assumes it's not to the usual bar. He would have never told her to dress her up. She’s certain she’s seen people dressed in pajamas sitting at the bar which she is totally fan of.
“Yeah, I managed to pencil this into my busy schedule.”
“Oh, I'm so glad you made time for us peasants, Princess,” he tells her sarcastically  and she shoves him playfully on the shoulder. Another new element to their relationship -- playful touches.
“I try to be kind royalty,” she smiles before changing the subject, “So where are you dragging me, anyways?”
He scoffs, “Dragging, is that what I'm doing?”
She gives him a pointed stare.
“Gina likes going to more...I don't know how to describe it. Club-y type places?” his voice rises at the end.
“Like the ones with the obnoxious music and douchebags wearing polos?”
He snaps his fingers, “Those are the one.”
Her mouth twitches, “I guess you'll fit right in.”
It takes her statement a moment to catch and then he realizes that he is, in fact, wearing a polo. And khakis.
“Miller is bringing me an extra shirt, thank you very much.”
They arrive at a place called Ground Bar. She can hear the music as they approach the doors, the windows vibrating with every bass drop. She can say, for certain, she’s never been to this kind of place before. She assumes it’s the sort place exclusive to big cities, not towns like Arkadia. The closest thing she had come to had been her Junior Prom.
“Oh this kind of music,” she remarks. She doesn't hate EDM.  She has a few songs on her jogging playlist. But she can practically feel the migraine coming on. It’s then she realizes she has no idea how to do this.
“Yeah,” he agrees to her insinuation before pulling out his wallet, “Ready to sweat your ass off and pay ridiculous drink prices?”
As if to answer, she pulls her shirt down a little further, revealing a small bit of her cleavage, “I’m ready to make other people pay ridiculous drink prices, if that's what you mean.”
She watches him try to avoid looking, though she can tell he wants to. Maybe she's teasing him a little bit, but it's fun. Just fun.
“That's not fair,” he mutters.
When they enter the club, they manage to spot their group of friends crowded around one of the standing tables, clinking glasses and shouting into the void.
“You made it!” Gina yells, clearly already having had a couple of drinks. She throws her arms around Bellamy, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
He doesn't seemed fazed by it, instead laughing and turning to the rest of the group, “Really? You started her off with tequila?”
Gina turns to her and throws her arms around her neck, causing her to stumble back slightly. She slurs something about being happy she made it and she can’t help but smile back, feeling genuinely complimented that the girl actually wanted her to be a part of it.
“Happy birthday!” she yells over the thumping music.
Clarke settles in next to Harper, who is still mostly sober. The blonde greets her with an enthusiastic half-hug, “You look great!”
She tugs on her hair self-consciously, the curls already beginning to frizz in the humidity of the bar. She had put a little product in it, in the hopes it would stay relatively tame. She can tell it was a failed attempt. She returns Harper’s compliments, commenting on the dress she picked out. It’s a tight fitting black dress that reaches to mid-thigh and hugs her fit figure in all the right spots. She’s paired it with a pair of blue heels and she tosses her long, blonde hair over her shoulder to model for her. She laughs at the girls antics before turning her attention back to the table. Somewhere in the midst of their greetings, he’s managed to change into a more comfortable looking t-shirt. It’s just a simple dark blue shirt, but it compliments him.
He sneaks off to the bar and she listens intently as Gina starts rambling on about the asshole she had been seeing that won’t call her back.
“I’m a great catch,” she slurs, leaning into Miller’s shoulder.
“Yes, you are.” he reassures with a pat on her shoulder.
“Maybe...” Gina’s voice lowers as she pulls her head in towards the group, “Maybe I’m an awful hookup.”
The group attempts to soothe her, even Emori offering a half-hearted, “No, I’m sure you’re great.”
When Bellamy makes his way back to the table, sipping from his overflowing beer, she proceeds to bombard him.
“Be honest!” Gina jabs his chest with her index finger, “Was I bad in bed?”
Clarke finds herself having to purse her lips to suppress a laugh. He looks completely blindsided by the question. More than that, very much unsure of how to answer. His gaze finds hers and she jerks her head towards Gina. The girl is waiting for an answer.
“No!” and she has to give him credit, whether he believes she is or not, his answer seems to brighten her up.
“It’s him then,” she concludes, smacking her palm on the table and rattling their drinks, “He did weird things with his tongue.”
“That’s why girls are better,” Harper offers and Clarke can’t help but high five her on that one. In her experience, girls are more self-aware of what they’re doing. And more apt to take direction.
This launches everyone into the great debate and Harper announces she needs a drink. Clarke decides to follow her to the bar, if only to get away from the drunken attempt at figuring out who’s better at sex. In all honesty, she’s a firm believer that gender has nothing to do with sexual prowess. It’s definitely based on the person, at least, that’s been her experience.
Harper takes her hand and guides her through the crowd and she finds herself having to squeeze in between bodies and having to take a couple of elbows to the boob in the process. Somehow they manage to squeeze into an open spot at the bar and Harper flags down the bartender. She orders a gin and tonic before turning to her.
“Clarke!” she yells to get her attention, “What do you want?”
This is where she didn’t think it through. She doesn’t drink. Not anymore. The whole idea of it makes her sick to her stomach, no doubt residual guilt eating away at her when she even contemplates picking up a drink. Every time she’s gone out with them, thus far, she’s ordered her own drinks at the bar. Usually a coke or a red bull. People just assume they’re alcoholic and she doesn’t feel like correcting them. As for now, she could just order a coke. She doesn’t owe anyone an explanation. But instead she decides to take the safer route, the one that won’t end in a potential interrogation.
“Bourbon and coke,” she announces. From behind Harper, she watches a greasy looking man admires her ass as she leans over the bar and then turns his eyes on her. He’s definitely older than them, probably in his forties. His beard is hinting at gray and he’s wearing an excessive amount of hairgel, something people her age have learned not to do.
“15 dollars, ladies!” the bartender hollers. Clarke makes a show of beginning to dig in her small purse for cash and she feels a rough hand touch her wrist.
“I got it, sweetie,” he says and tells the bartender to put it on his tab. She tries to keep her eye rolling at a minimal and instead offers as sweet a smile as she can give.
“Thanks!” she grabs Harper’s free wrist and drags her away before the creep can try to latch onto them.
It still amazes her how there still seems to be the assumption that if you buy a girl a drink, she’s suddenly in debt to you. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson. At least they got a free drink out of it.
“Was it free?” Bellamy asks when she moves into the spot next to him. She slides the drink to him and he gives her a confused look.
“Free for me, free for you,” she offers without explanation, “Bourbon and coke.”
She sees something pass across his face briefly, but she isn’t quite sure how to place it. Morbid curiosity? Gratitude?.
“You trying to get me drunk?” he has a charm about him, she can admit. The way he carries himself confidently but self-aware. He knows he’s good looking and he knows how to use it. She can’t complain.
They’re teetering into flirtatious territory and she feels herself going along with it, moving a bit closer to him and placing a light hand on his arm, “Definitely.”
She isn’t opposed to flirting with him. In fact, she’s opened up that gate multiple times. There’s just something about him that continues to draw her in without notice. It’s like she tries to remain friendly and distant, but he’s determined to make it as difficult as possible, though she isn’t sure he’s even aware he’s doing it. Based on all his interactions, he’s just a friendly guy. He’s affectionate with all of his friends, constantly teasing them and it could easily be misconstrued as flirting. Maybe that’s what’s happening here?
Their moment is short lived. Gina manages to nearly yank her shoulder out of socket trying to drag her to the dance floor. She practically orders everyone else to follow suit. Bellamy and Miller are the only exceptions, expressing just how vehemently against dancing they are. They prefer to watch the poor souls who don’t have rhythm make fools of themselves.
Clarke has nothing against dancing. She’s always enjoys it when she gets the chance to do it. She doesn’t make a big show, just sways her hips with the music and follows the rhythm. She actually enjoys the song that’s playing so falling into the movement isn’t too difficult. The lights  are overwhelming, a kaleidoscope of colors surrounding them, but once she’s used to them she finds that likes them.
It doesn’t take long for Harper find someone to make out with. She moves into the crowd and Clarke does her best to keep at least a idea of her whereabouts. She’s watched too many true crime series to just let someone fade into the background without ensuring they’re safe. She and Gina are dancing with each other, though Gina is very much outdoing her, tossing her hair and twirling despite her balance being something close to awful. Emori and Murphy are dancing closely next to them, zoned in on one another like the rest of the floor doesn’t exist. The beat begins to pick up and she’s having fun throwing herself into the music until she feels hands grip at her hips.
She whips around to find the guy from the bar grinning at her lecherously. Her stomach takes a sharp turn.  She tries to move away subtly, turning to face him and backing into Gina. She gives him her best smile, like she hadn’t just rejected him but he seems determined. He places his hands on her hips again and pulls her towards him, grinding his pelvis into her. The whole thing feels dirty and strange. She’s done her fair share of bumping and grinding, but usually the consensual kind.This just feels forced and all around terrible.
She places her hand on his chest and pushes back and it’s then that he seems to register that she doesn’t actually want to dance with him. He puts his mouth to her ear, “You let me buy you a drink.”
She pulls back and has to fight the urge to knee him in the balls. She leans towards him, “You offered, I don’t owe you anything.”
He wraps an arm around her waist, the direct opposite of what she was trying to tell him. Gina seems to come to her senses, though she’s a little too tipsy to offer any sort of support. She gets credit for trying.
“She said back off, dude!” she yells, trying to pull Clarke away from him. It doesn’t do anything besides make him more irritated.
“No one asked you,” he yells at her before waving her off like a fly. To Clarke’s surprise, Gina just takes a step back before disappearing in the crowd. She tries to locate Murphy and Emori, but they seemed to have disappeared at some point. Trying to decide what next steps to take, she concludes that he is actual trash and being polite isn’t going to make him let go. So, she rationalizes her next move and as she leans into him and he gives her a sickening smile, she rears her knee back and gets him squarely in the dick. He let’s go immediately.
He bends over in front of her with a yelp and she places a hand on his shoulder before leaning down to get on his level yelling over the music, “Word of advice: when a someone says no, you fucking listen!”
Feeling satisfied with her work, she gives him a small push and he leaves the crowd with his tail tucked between his legs. When she turns around, she finds Bellamy watching her carefully.
He manages to snap his mouth shut and give her grin, “Gina said some guy was being a dick.”
She nods in understanding. She went for help. She gives the girl her credit back, glad that she hadn’t actually left her in the dust.
She lifts her chin, “I can handle myself.”
That only causes his smile to widen, “Clearly.”
She stands there awkwardly for a moment, trying to shrug off the whole incident. A new song has begun and it’s a slower. Seductive almost. Almost instinctively, she begins moving to beat again. She kinks her eyebrow, daring him to join her. She expects him to shake his head and walk away, but as she moves her hips from side to side, she notices the way his eyes darken ever so slightly and he begins to move with her.
Instinctively, she moves in closer to him. It makes her feel a little more comfortable and she expects that no one else will attempt to dance with her, at the least. He seems hesitant at first, his hand only grazing her side. She feels like she’s in a trance. They’re watching each other intently, and she grabs his hand to place it firmly on her hip. Permission granted.
She leans in with a coy smile, “I thought you didn’t dance?”
He places a finger to his lips, “Don’t ruin this once in lifetime opportunity.”
He places his other hand on her and he’s holding her as she moves, letting himself follow her lead. It feels vastly different from her previous encounter. It’s tentative, but they gravitate towards one another. Her hand slides onto his neck, playing with the hairs at the nape and his arm slips around her waist. They press into each other, hips meeting and chests flush together. She’s feeling warm, all of a sudden, heat flooding her cheeks and her stomach. She doesn’t know when the last time she had been this close to someone. But what she does know is that this, the way he’s moving with her and watching her likes she’s something special, is something she doesn’t want to end.
As if thinking the same thing, he leans his forehead onto hers and their breaths mingle with the heat of the dance floor. She licks her lips in anticipation. There is only a second of hesitation as the song begins to fade into something new before he closes the short distance between them and presses his lips against hers. It’s chaste at first, just lips on lips but she tilts her head slightly and when he runs his tongue teasingly at the seam of her lips, she quickly grants him access.
He’s a good kisser, is the first thing that she registers. She gets lost in him almost immediately, the rest of the world completely drowned out, her own racing thoughts silenced. They’re testing the waters, teasing tongues and soft touches. They could be there for moments or hours, she isn’t sure but when they break apart, suddenly everything is too loud.
.
“I need some air,” she breathes and pulls away, trying to make her way from the crowd. Her heart is beginning to race and she feels herself beginning to panic. Her chest is vibrating under the bass and her head feels like it’s pounding. She forces her way out the door, taking a deep breath of fresh air.
Damn, he’s a good kisser.
Her head is a flurry of thoughts, wanting more but also wary of what it means. She leans against the brick building and closes her eyes, trying to ground herself. The air isn’t cool by any means, but there’s a light breeze that’s helping the fire burn low on her cheeks. She’s hears approaching footsteps and doesn’t even open her eyes to see who they belong to. She knows. And she isn’t surprised one bit.
He leans against the wall next to her, shoving his hands in his pocket and just gazing into the parking lot. They stand in silence, both taking in the meaning of the moment on the dance floor. What does it mean, if anything? Where do they go from here?
“Did I fuck up?” he asks finally, his voice low and contemplative.
“No!” she says immediately, her cheeks flaring once again in embarrassment, “You didn't do anything wrong. It was nice…”
Nice is an understatement. It was amazing. Mind-numbing, even. She can’t remember the last time her mind had ever been that quiet, That focused.
“But?” he can already tell there’s more to the statement. There is a but. A very big but. How does she explain it without going into her history? She’s not ready to reveal that part of herself to him, after all, they're nothing but strangers. Intimate strangers.
“I leave for Chicago in August,” she settles, revealing the least personal of reasons why kissing him was a bad idea, “I...I can’t commit to anything.”
He finally looks at her, shaking his head with a grimace, “It was a kiss, Clarke.”
She doesn’t say anything so he continues, turning his body towards her and relaxing against the wall, “I’m not asking for anything. I like you and it can mean whatever you want it to mean.”
What does she want it to mean? She likes him too, she knows that. But can it really be that simple? Like a friends with benefits type thing? They’re hardly friends. But maybe that’s what makes it a good thing.
“How can you like me? You barely know me...”
“Maybe so. Does it matter?”
She thinks about it carefully. If she had any interest in dating him, maybe it would. She'd want him to know everything about her -- her birthday, her history. She’d tell him about Wells. She'd want him to know the finer details. But she can't date him. She has three months in the city and then they're both on were their respective lives. Yet he’s making her an offer-they can just do what they want to do, summer fling. She always thought those were movie cliches but it doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. They’re pretty much together all the time, anyways.
“I guess it doesn't,” is her final answer.
“I know you’re smart, you’re kind of funny, and tough as nails,” he lists them off like they’re no big deal. Like he wasn't complimenting the hell out of her. She realizes that nothing really has to change from what they’re already doing. They had been flirting since they met.
“Kind of funny?” she raises an eyebrow and she swears she sees his shoulders sag in relief. He seems to understand that it’s her way accepting his offer...or whatever it is.
“You’re hot, so it makes up for the lack of humor,” he deadpans and she pinches his arm. He gives her another smile and she decides to go for it. What does she have to lose?
“So, what happens now?” she asks, inching closer to him, lips curving upwards as she grazes her fingers against his arm.
He offers a shy laugh, bringing his hand to the curve of her hip, “Well, for starters, if I kiss you again, are you going to run away?”
She smiles then, “No.”
“Good,” he replies, a slides his other hand onto her cheek and pulls her forward. Their lips are inches apart, “I like kissing you.”
She doesn’t respond, just closes the distance between them. The world goes silent again, her mind a comfortable quiet she could find solace in. It’s the happiest she’s felt in months.
June 2013
Two things change after Gina’s birthday. The first being that she now has everyone’s number and has been added to every chat group known to man. And they talk a lot. It's endearing but also annoying as her phone is constantly buzzing with activity.  The second being that her and Bellamy are friends who make out on occasion. Or all the time. That’s a better description.
She continues to see him in the library and they put away books together, talking about  anything they can, usually keeping the topic neutral and not very personal. She had told him that after a particularly intense make-out session outside of the Ark and he had been cool with it. The less they know about each other, the more casual they can keep it.
They talk about Harper’s currently dating crisis -- apparently the girl from the bar (Roma was her name) is extremely into her and really wants to date her, but Harper also really wanted to play the field this summer. They also talk about school, he tells her about some of his classes and his aspirations. Nothing out of the ordinary for friends. Perfectly comfortable.
At first, she had been wary on how to act with him while they were around his friends, seemingly not wanting to give the wrong impression.They’re all cool and don’t seem like the judgmental type, but she still hadn't been sure.  Bellamy took the reigns on that one after particularly intense game of darts with Emori and Murphy, he snatched her into a victory kiss and  no one cared. They seemed pretty unsurprised by it, in fact. She figures they know Bellamy well enough to know that relationships aren’t his thing, after all they’ve talked about it quite a bit. His longest relationship had been with a girl named Echo and that lasted about three months before he decided it wasn’t for him.
“Maybe I’m just picky,” he defended himself, but everyone chided him on his inability to connect emotionally. It’s somewhat of a relief to know that about him and it’s perhaps why he so willingly agreed to remain as distant as possible. She can’t complain, it makes staying unattached pretty simple.
“Do you know who Two Door Cinema Club is?” he asks her one day as they lounge in one of the book stacks of the library. They’re taking a well deserved break after shelving a large amount of encyclopedias and she has her head resting on his thigh, thumbing through one of the 1940 editions. He’s currently tracing idle circles into her scalp.
“Sure,” she tells him. Wells had always been her musically inclined friend, introducing her to bands and insisting she listen. They had been one of the few groups/bands she found herself actually enjoying.
“I have tickets to their concert tonight,” he tells her and she doesn’t think much of it. Maybe he’s trying to brag. He likes to do that, she’s learned. He plays the cocky asshole well.
“That’s cool.”
“Miller was supposed to come with me,” he continues, “But he went home.”
Miller’s family lives in Amherst, the most boring town in the world according to Bellamy, but she’s noticed he seems to be a bit dramatic.
“Everything okay?” she asks. She imagines he wouldn’t ditch without good reason. If there’s anything she’s learned about Miller it’s that he’s reliable.
“His dog is sick. He’s old,  so you know...”
If she remembers correctly, his dog had been his screensaver on his phone and he had drunkenly told her all about him. His name is Ammo and he’s pretty fucking cute. It’s also adorable how much Miller cares about him. He’d had him since he was a kid.
“Poor guy.”
Bellamy hums and pulls his clipboard over to idly scratch out the returns he’s shelved, “What I’m trying to say is, I have an extra ticket if you’re interested.”
Oh. It sounds vaguely like a date. Her heart thumps aggressively against her ribcage at the thought.
“It’s not a date,” he seems to read her mind, “It’s just convenient that you like them and I have a ticket already paid for.”
“And you want to go with me?” she wishes she weren’t so self-deprecating.  It shouldn’t come as a surprise. It’s very obvious now that he enjoys her company, and only partially because she’s a good kisser. Or so she assumes. She’s never had anyone else tell her otherwise.
“You were definitely my last choice.”
“Well, in that case,” she leans up to give him a pointed stare, “I’d hate for you to have to go alone. Knowing you, you’d probably find some unsuspecting introvert to prey on.”
The venue isn’t far from Midtown, so they make plans to meet at her mom’s place. She gives him the address and she watches his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.
“You're kidding,” he deadpans and she sighs, praying that he’s not another person who will decide to judge her based on wealth.
“We can leave around 6:30,” is all she responds.
“Damn,” he whistles when he shows up at the apartment, “You weren’t kidding.”
He’s fiddling with one of her mom’s weird fake plants while she slips on her shoes.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s amazing,” she practically shoves him out the door, not wanting him to spend too much time going over the historical artifacts lying around the apartment. She’s also not a fan of showing off money, which her mom’s apartment does quite a bit. It’s Not her thing.
They make it to the venue about thirty minutes before the concert, thanks to a very new Uber driver taking the wrong route and getting them lost. She thinks it’s funny, but doesn’t mind when the driver tells them to forget the payment and drives off.
“I’m not really big into standing at the front anyways,” Bellamy says when they walk inside to see a fairly decent crowd smashed against the stage.
“Me either,” she agrees, “Grab a drink and hang in the back?”
“You’re speaking my language.”
That’s how they spend the entire concert, leaning against a table and nodding along to the music. She dances a little, enjoying the infectious rhythm of their songs. When they play her favorite song, Sun, she can’t help but join into the jumping and maybe one or two hair whip’s makes it out. She wore her hair down for a reason.
He watches her amused, though makes no effort to join in. He did tell her the dancing was a rare thing for him. It’s fine, she enjoys dancing alone anyways.
When he steps away to grab a drink during a small break, the band has an issue with an instrument and arere in the process of tuning their back up. She’s fairly engrossed in watching them until she turns to make a comment to Bellamy and realizes he hasn’t come back. When she turns towards the bar, she sees him engaged in conversation with a tall brunette who’s putting on all the stops. She throws her head back with a laugh, looking like she belongs in a Crest commercial, and places a hand on his shoulder. Clarke feels something pull at her stomach but does her best to ignore it. He has every right in the world to flirt and have fun. They’re friends. Friends who like to kiss sometimes and she’s perfectly content with that.
She decides to move slightly closer to the crowd and engage a little more. They seem like a calm bunch. There’s been minimal pushing and some fairly tame dancing. She’ll fit right in. The next song starts and it’s one of their older ones. The crowd goes wild and she finds herself engrossed in the fist pumping, mouthing the words along with the person standing next to her.
When she feels a hand on the small of her back, she nearly pulls up her knee in reflex. But then she sees dark curls out of the corner of her eye and relaxes.
“Couldn’t resist, huh?” Bellamy says into her ear, her original idea of hanging out in the back and watching long lost. She gives him an innocent shrug. She ignores the fact that the knot that had been sitting in her stomach releases at the sight of him. It’s no big deal. He rolls his eyes but to her surprise, he starts to dance with her. It’s nothing much, just bobbing his head and swaying, but seeing him dance is not as rare an occurrence as he claimed. She tries not to feel satisfied by that.
They spend the rest of their night in the crowd and by the time they leave, they’re a sweaty mess. She pulls her hair up into the bun, desperate to get the hair from sticking to her neck. She hates the way it feels.
“They were amazing,” she gushes, pushing a loose hair from her forehead. He nods in a agreement and watches the crowd begin to scatter. She pulls out her phone to order the Uber and hesitates.
“Would it be easier to drop you off first or me?” she asks. She plans on paying for it, to equalize the fact that he brought her along, so she finds a solution that makes sense, “You, probably.”
“You could come home with me,” he says and she nearly snaps her neck looking up from where she had been typing the address in. He watches her reaction warily, “If you want.”
They haven’t crossed that line yet. They have only hung out in the presence of others, whether the general public or his close friends. It’s not like she hasn’t thought about it. In fact, when his tongue is down her throat and his hands are splayed across the small of her back, she thinks about it quite a lot. She’s trying to make better choices, to stop resolving her issues with sex and drinking and whatever destructive behavior she can come up with. None of those things would bring Wells back. Would stop people from hurting her.
But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel the temptation. She thinks about going home, to the dark and empty home, to another cold pizza on the counter from her mom, trying to make up for her absence. She thinks about the aching loneliness she feels when she’s stuck inside with nothing to distract her from reality. She looks at him and he’s watching her with reserved hopefulness and suddenly the answer is easy.
“Sure,” she finally says and types his address into the Uber destination bar. They stand in a comfortable silence waiting for it to pull up. Not ten minutes later are they in the back of the car and he’s debating the ethics of surge prices. He had caught a glimpse of her phone and saw the “3x” symbol next to the pricing and decided that this particular Uber driver deserved to hear his lecture on price gouging.
“Bellamy, it’s fine,” she groans, sensing the discomfort of the driver, “Write a letter to the CEO or something!”
He concedes with a dramatic sigh and she pats his leg sympathetically. She’s learned that he tends to work himself up about the smallest things, but she’s happy he’s easy to redirect. She slides her hand from his thigh and twines her fingers into his to give them another reassuring squeeze. That’s the thing about Bellamy. He’s an affectionate guy, free with his touches and often times has no semblance of personal space. He’s that way with all of his friends, often times hanging an arm around Miller or placing a chaste kiss on Harper’s forehead. He enjoys the contact of others and she can’t say she’s opposed.
There surge price debate becomes forgotten. The drive isn’t long and they pull up to a small brick house in a quiet neighborhood, vastly different from what she’s experienced thus far in the city. She likes it.
“It’s not much,” he says as he unlocks the front door and pushes it open, “But it’s home.”
It’s not big by any means. A two bedroom, single floor house. It’s a bit run down, paint chipping from the walls but well decorated and clean. She follows him through the hallway and into the living room, where it is joined with the small kitchen. She’s impressed by how well matched everything is. Most college students have mismatched cheap furniture. They haveat least  put thought into their living room set.
“Most of it is Miller’s,” he breaks the silence, “He’s a bargain hunter. Got the couch and the chair for like 200 bucks on Craigslist.”
“Smart guy,” she responds. She moves to settle on the couch and grabs the book currently lying open on the coffee table.
“Are you seriously reading this again?” it’s a tattered copy of The Iliad, a book that she knows he’s read at least ten times- He’s told her as much.
“I like it,” he counters and snatches from her hands, delicately marking his page and placing it on the bookshelf next to the tv. She’s not surprised to see the shelf is filled with books, some clearly textbooks and others well read editions of classics. He seriously is a nerd but it’s kind of endearing.
When he flops onto the couch next to her, he picks up the remote to mess with the TV, “What do you want to watch?”
“Just turn something on,” she says casually and decides she might as well lay it all out on the table, “We probably won’t watch it much anyway.”
“Are you insinuating a Netflix and chill?” he asks sounding appalled, though his eyes seem to hold a sparkle when he looks at her.
“Don’t you have to have Netflix for that?” she asks dryly.
“Yeah,” he replies, “But Hulu and chill just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
He finds a show on the front page of Hulu and clicks play, “Did you know Nick Offerman has his own woodworking shop in real life?”
The familiar theme song of Parks and Rec begins to play and smiles slightly, “You don’t say.”
He sets the remotes on the table and glances at her, “He’s also a skilled saxophone player.”
He’s nervous. She peeks at him through her peripherals and he’s stared fixedly at the television, habitually picking at his nails. That’s his tell. His sudden anxiety gives her a bit of her own. Maybe he hadn’t brought her over here for anything other than to hang out. Maybe she had misread the whole situation. But then she thinks about the way he kisses her, like he wants to consume her completely. The way he touches her so freely, like it's the most natural thing in the world. They’ve already agreed upon a no strings relationship, even if it was only in reference to kissing and heavy groping. She imagines that going further will be under the same rules.
She humors him and turns her attention back to the television, pretending to be fascinated by what Andy’s currently doing. She laughs, because dammit Andy Dwyer is hilarious. She hears him chuckle as well.
“Did you know he was only supposed to be in season one?”
The fact that he knows so much about the show doesn’t surprise her. He seems like the kind of guy to get on IMDB and read the trivia facts, which, she’s not judging because she has admittedly done the same. But is now really the time? She scoots closer to him so that their thighs are pressing together.
“It was supposed to be a spinoff of the Office,” his voice deepens a little and she sees his throat bob nervously.
“Bellamy,” she finally says, exasperation clear in her voice. Finally he looks at her, and she notices the way his pupils have gone dark, the way they did when they had been dancing. He’s definitely interested.
She hears the familiar voice of Tom Haverford and Bellamy points at the screen half-heartedly, “He went to business school.”
Deciding that she might as well make the first move, she moves into his lap placing her thighs on either side of his so she’s straddling his legs. She feels his hands slide onto her hips, “I am basically offering myself on a silver platter here and you want to tell me Parks and Rec trivia?”
He leans his forehead against hers, lips dangerously close, “I didn’t want it to seem like I brought you here just to hook up.”
She snorts, “Even though you did.”
“Whatever,” he says, “I’m trying to be a gentleman, Clarke.”
The last thing she says before crushing her lips to his is, “Fucking nerd.”
Seriously, she could kiss him for hours. Not only for the solace it gives her, but also because he’s very skilled with his lips. He can go from lazy to passionate to sensual in about three seconds flat and honestly, he could, quite possibly be the best kiss she’s ever had. She won’t confirm that, though. She wouldn’t want to stroke his ego any more.
However, when she thought it couldn’t get much better, it turns out he had been holding out. Being in the privacy of his own place without fear of interruption or the stigma surrounding PDA, he’s much hungrier. He nips at her lower lip before moving his own to the hollow of her throat and the sensitive parts of her neck. She can’t help the moan that escapes when he finds a sweet spot just behind her ear. The sound seems to drive him more.
She can feel his building excitement between her legs and she finds that she’s not worried or intimidated by it. It actually causes her own to grow. It amazes her how he’s able to drive her to this point with his lips alone. Instinctively, she grinds down into him and he sucks her bottom lip in between his teeth, grazing it and driving her completely mad.  When she pulls back, her lips are red and swollen from the large amount of attention they’ve received but she isn’t quite ready to let them rest. When he seems ready to say something, she leaves a hot and wet kiss on his jawline. His hand creeps under her shirt and she flinches as his thumb nearly grazes the puckered scar on her back.
“Sorry…” he says quickly, snatching his hand from its place on her bare back. She gives him an apologetic smile.
“It’s fine,” she reassures him. It caught her by surprise and though she may be ready to cross some boundaries with him, letting him feel that part of her isn’t one of them. She feels her mind beginning to race again, thoughts of that night beginning to flash through her mind. She kisses him fiercely, trying to drown them out once more. He lets his hands travel her body, though this time remaining firmly above the shirt. He grazes her breasts and she feels her self-control begin to waiver. A want she’s never felt before settles into her stomach.
“Bellamy,” she groans when his hand brushes her breast and she feels them harden at the slightest touch.
“Tell me what you want,” he growls into her ear, lust coating his voice..
She stops thinking at this point, letting herself follow the moment for what it is. She’s picking up what he’s laying down, he’s putting the ball in her court.
“You,” she breathes, “To touch me. Everywhere.”
She lets out a loud yelp when he stands up, gripping her ass in his hands to keep her firmly attached to him. She wraps her legs around his waist and allows him to carry her off to, she presumes, his bedroom. She nuzzles his shoulder and lets out a giddy laugh when he drops her on his bed and she takes a couple bounces. The room is illuminated only by the dim lights coming through the blinds. She finds comfort in the dark,. They can be strangers here.
“Miller would kill me if I tainted the couch,” he explains and pulls his shirt over his head and though her eyes are still adjusting, she can see the smoothness of his chest and the tone of his abdomen. She can see the muscle definition and the way it disappears below his waistline. She does her best not to drool.
“Like what you see?” he asks smugly, her desire clearly written on her face.
“Eh,” she responds, trying her best to sound unfazed. He climbs on top of her and attaches his lips to her neck, sucking the spot he knows drives her absolutely mad.
“You’re alright,” she says half-heartedly and he grinds into her for good measure.
He leans up and she moves with him, lifting her arms in the air indicating she wants her shirt off. He obliges and pulls the offending piece of fabric off, tossing it  to the floor with a soft thump. Thank God she wore her good bra today.
He watches her for a moment, taking it all in and runs his hands along her sides. Goosebumps follow the trail of his finger and he leans down to kiss her, slower this time.
“Have I mentioned you’re fucking beautiful?” he asks and the reverie in which he says it stuns her for a moment. Of course he’s called her cute plenty of times, but the way he says this feels...intimate. Like he really finds her to be the most beautiful creature on the Earth. It’s a bit intimidating and she tries to pretend her heart doesn’t flutter in her chest when he says it.
She twines her fingers into his hair scraping at the curls on his neck and then they’re kissing again while their hands are everywhere. She slides hers into the waistband of his jeans, tracing along his hip bones and she swears she feels him shudder under her fingertips. He reaches behind her back and skillfully unhooks her bra with one hand, finally allowing her chest to be free. He wastes no time, first palming at her breasts and  replacing his hand(s?) with lips. He swirls his tongue around her nipple and she almost comes from that contact alone. He pays equal amount of attention to both nipples.breasts/etc and she’s forced to rub her thighs together to get some sort of friction down there. She’s already on the edge and he hasn’t even fully touched her yet.
She tries to hasten the process of clothes removal by reaching down to unbutton her own jeans and he takes the hint, hooking his own fingers into her belt loops and sliding them down her thighs along with her underwear. She’s fully exposed to him now and he looks nothing short of amazed. He reaches in between them and touches her gently, causing her legs to twitch. His touches are soft, first running a gently thumb over her folds and she can’t help but groan in frustration.
“You wet for me?” he’s smirking now, loving the way her body begs for him.
“Yes,” she breathes, “Please just…”
“What do you want, Clarke?” he applies more pressure to her now and she pulls her hips up to meet him as he begins to circle her clit.
“Fuck!” is all she manages to get out but he seems to understand perfectly.
He pushes her thighs apart, his thumb still working her and slides down on the bed, kissing her hip bone as he goes, “Just so you know, I’m really into foreplay.”
She doesn’t have a chance to respond before he replaces his finger with his mouth. Just as suspected, he’s just as good with his mouth down there. His tongue slides smoothly along her sex while his fingers move in and out. She slides a hand into his hair, gripping it a little tighter than she means to when he grazes his teeth along her. Apparently, he appreciates her enthusiasm because he buries his face further into her and she’s falling apart with a loud moan.  He takes her through the entire orgasm, lapping up her juices like he’s never tasted anything  like it.  When he leans up, he wipes his mouth with the back of his arm before giving her a proud smile.
“Really into foreplay,” he reiterates and she offers a weak laugh before pulling him down for a kiss. She can taste herself on his lips. Deciding he deserves a similar show of affection for his effort, she perks up to her knees and gently pushes his shoulders back.
“Well, in that case,” she husks and reaches down to pop the button on his jeans. He helps her get them off and his erection springs free, waiting for her next move. She wraps a delicate hand around him, feeling him out for the first time. Not that she has a whole lot to compare it to, but she can already see he’s well equipped. She wraps her hand around him and slides it up and down slowly, testing him out. His hand grips the bed a little tighter. She should be more nervous than she is, after all this isn’t something she normally does, but she can’t remember ever being this turned on. She hardly has time to think and finds herself doing what comes naturally. In this case, she doesn’t hesitate to run her lips along the length of his erection before completely taking him in.
“Fuck,” he growls out, threading his fingers in her hair. She’s not very experienced in the blow job department, but she also never had any complaints. Either way, she wants to pleasure him as much as he pleasured her.
“Tell me what you like.” She says, pulling up for a moment to give him another seductive smile.
And he does. When she does something he likes, he makes sure she knows. Whether it’s grunting in pleasure or telling her how much he likes seeing her with his cock in her mouth. When he’s not reacting at all, she knows it’s not for him. She continues for a solid five minutes before he pulls her up.
“Not that...I mean I’m not expecting,” he’s the one having trouble forming coherent sentences now and she can’t help but feel satisfied with her work, “Guys don’t rebound like girls do.”
She has no idea what he’s talking about so he tries to clarify, “I’m...close and I don’t want it to be over...you know, before we get started?”
He’s getting flustered and she can’t help but laugh. He groans, clearly frustrated by his lack of cohesiveness.
“I’m just trying to say if you want to have sex and good sex, you shouldn’t keep going.”
She doesn’t answer for a moment, and not really because she doesn’t know what to say but because her mind is pretty hazy as well. She was perfectly content to finish him this way, letting him cum in her mouth because she knows it would blow his mind and she doesn’t really have an aversion to it.  But, selfishly, she definitely wants to know what he feels like inside of her.  
“Did I fuck up? I mentioned sex...fuck. I don’t want you to think that’s all I want….I,” she kisses him mid ramble.
“Relax,” she says when she pulls away, “I’m happy with sex or I’m happy to finish you off like this. What do you want?”
He considers her for a moment before he grips her hip firmly, “I really want to fuck you.”
She never thought she’d be into the dirty talk, but damn if he didn’t sound good when he told her all the filthy things he wanted to do to her.
“Condoms?” she asks and he points to his nightstand. She fumbles around in the drawer, keeping one hand firmly around his shaft so he stays hard, and pulls one from the drawer. She tears the wrapper open with her teeth and he moans at the sight. She just grins as she rolls the condom onto him. Just as she’s about to sink down on top of him, he flips her onto her back.
“I said I want to fuck you,” he clarifies and sinks into her with one long push. And it feels better than she could have ever imagined.
“Oh God,” she gasps as he fills her up, sinking her nails into his shoulder.  
He starts of with slow strokes, pushing in and out at a tantalizing speed. She never thought herself to be loud or anything, but her breath is coming out in raspy moans and they get a little louder as the momentum increases. She pulls her hips up to meet him, flexing her inner walls when he’s completely inside of her.
“You feel so good,” he’s whispering into her ear, face buried in her neck and one hand firmly wrapped around her back, “Amazing, Clarke, so fucking good.”
She hikes her leg up and he slides it over his shoulder and the angle causes her to nearly scream. She grips his arm as he picks up speed and before she even feels it building, she’s falling apart again, shaking beneath him and crying out his name into the dark room. It only takes him a couple more pushes before she feels him come undone as well and he collapses on top of her with a groan.
She runs a hand idly through his hair and he doesn’t move for a good minute or two. Finally, as though he has to muster up the rest of his strength he rolls off of her and removes the condom, idly searching for the trash can near his bed.
“Fuck.” he says when sinks back down into the pillows. It’s a simple statement. She isn’t sure what it means. Wow? I fucked up? Or maybe, You were amazing?
“Fuck.” she agrees. She isn’t sure what she means by it either. She’s satisfied and the usual guilt that comes from these sort of hookups doesn’t come. She doesn’t regret it.
He turns to look at her and gives her a lazy smile, “Was that okay?”
He isn’t asking if he was okay in bed or if she’s satisfied. He’s asking if they stepped over any boundaries. If they violated the terms of their unspoken agreement.
“I’m okay,” she answers firmly, “You?”
He lets out a low chuckle, “I’m great.”
Neither makes a move to get closer to the other, which is fine by her. Cuddling seems too intimate in this moment and she almost laughs at the contradiction of it all. She can have sex with someone and still feel far away. But if there is cuddling, well, that’s just not allowed. She leans up and finds her discarded shirt on the ground, pulling it over her head in one swift motion, determined to cover up. She feels all too exposed and uncertain. What happens now?
“Relax,” he tells her, again seemingly reading her mind with ease. She hates how well he can read her already. It’s not fair.
“I’m still not going to ask you to marry me, Clarke,” it’s a reference to the conversation they had when they first kissed, “We’re friends. We had sex. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”
“You’re okay with that?” She feels like she has to ask. He hasn’t indicated anything to the contrary, but she can’t help but still be a little paranoid about it. The last thing she wants is to hurt him. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? She has a record of hurting people. She doesn’t want to add anymore names to the list.
“Getting laid on the regular without having to suffer through the relationship part that I know I’m not good at?” when she doesn’t respond, he clarifies, “I’m definitely okay with that.”
It doesn’t feel normal at this moment. That’s usually not something girls want to hear after sex, but to her, it’s a relief.
“Who said it’s happening again?”
He leans up onto his elbow, and opens his knees so that’s he’s practically posing for her, “You know you can’t resist.”
“You just think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” she teases, pushing his shoulders so that he’s on his back and she’s pinning him to the bed.
“Absolutely.”
“Well if you do manage to convince me to do it again,” she says dramatically, “Maybe it would be a good idea to set like...rules or something?”
He slides his hands onto her bare thighs and she has to suppress a shiver threatening to run up her spine, “What kind of rules?”
“I don’t know, to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“I’m listening.”
They manage to agree on three things.
No staying the night.
No cuddling (which he was reluctant to agree to because he likes cuddling almost as much as he likes foreplay.)
No falling in love (or feelings beyond lust.
He walks her out that night and gives her a chaste kiss on the cheek with a simple request that she let him know when she arrives safely home. She does. She crawls into bed, her body exhausted from the long day. Normally, it takes her hours to fall asleep. Her fear of the nightmares often keeping her awake long into the night.
She falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.
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