Chapter Text
Bellamy collapses into the bus seat, exhausted. It's been another long day working at the Arc, a fancy bar downtown, and all he wants to do is curl up with his sister Octavia and watch a movie while she goes on about her day. She's still a kid, happy and naïve, and he loves listening to her talk about her friends and all her high school classes. Every time she does, it reminds him why he lives the way he does.
With a groan that is reminiscent of the purring of the bus’s engine, Bellamy sighs and pulls out his dog-eared copy of The Odyssey. He can usually get in a good amount of reading done for his college classes on the long ride back to his apartment.
Not that he really needs to re-read The Odyssey for the 100th time, but the reading quizzes his professor has been giving seem designed to trip up anyone who has just glanced over the sparknotes. At least that’s what he tells himself as he loses himself in the creamy white pages.
‘Yeah, weeeEEEEE are never gettinnn baackkk together, yeah-‘
Bellamy looks up sharply for the source of Taylor Swift and quickly zeros in on a distressed looking blonde who walks down the aisle and flops down in the seat across from him. Bellamy narrows his eyes and glowers at the blonde.
The blonde glances up, lips parted to ask a question, as if she senses his eyes burning a hole through her. He coughs and readjusts his book pointedly.
The blonde’s previously distressed look is gone as she raises one eyebrow, as if to say, so? She looks him defiantly in the eye, a glint in her eye as she matches his intensity with her own. Slowly, deliberately she presses a button on her phone.
‘my friends talk to your friends talk to me, weeeEEEEE-‘
It takes Bellamy a second to realize that the music has actually gotten louder. Bellamy smirks dangerously. If she thinks that he’s going to let her win that easily, she’s mistaken.
He calmly reaches into his bag to pull out his headphones, leaning back as he scrolls through his iPod, looking for the perfect song to play. He settles on some screamo band that somehow Murphy convinced him to listen to. As annoying as that kid is, he does have his uses.
He turns up the volume and picks up his book, resisting the urge to look over at the blonde until he’s sure that what he’s done has had some affect. He lasts a few seconds before he glances over the top of the book.
He needn’t have worried. The blonde looks royally pissed off, a grim frown of displeasure on her face. That’s what happens, princess, Bellamy grins internally. Something about messing with this girl satisfies something deep inside of him. It probably shouldn't, but it does.
She frowns at him angrily and deliberately smashes the volume button on her iPod once more. Once again, Taylor Swift’s wails fill the bus. Bellamy is prepared, and puts on a blank face as he calmly turns up to the volume on his music.
Steam is practically coming out of the blonde’s ears, her fists are clenched at her sides and if looks could kill Bellamy would have been long dead. She violently rips her headphones out of her ears, marches across to Bellamy, who gets up, ready to face her.
Even though he towers over her, the blonde has no problem ripping the headphones from his ears. “What,” She spits icily, “Is. Your. Problem?”
“Problem, Princess?” Bellamy growls, dropping the calm façade, his eyebrows furrowing. “I wasn’t the one blasting Taylor Swift when someone was trying to READ!”
Something shifts in the blondes eyes, enough to make Bellamy take an involuntarily step back as she steps forward and jabs a finger into his chest. “This is a BUS!!” She waves her arms around, gesturing to the empty bus around her. “A public place! You can’t expect everyone to shut up just because you’re reading!”
He matches her disgust. “And you can’t just expect that everyone else wants to hear your stupid music, princess. Remember, this is a public place,” He echoes her previous words, sensing that he’s pushing the right buttons.
“Don’t call me that,” She snarls, looking away as a crack in her outward anger appears. Bellamy suddenly realizes how close they’re standing and how close his face is to hers. She’s pretty hot, he can’t help but think as her blue eyes bore into him, before he squashes the thought under a pile of boiling hot anger.
She huffs and moves to turn away right as the bus driver takes a particularly hard turn, causing her to lose her balance and stumble. Instinctively, Bellamy reaches out and catches her before she can fall over.
She smells like lavender and green tea, earthy. It reminds him of when he and Octavia used to go into the field behind their apartment complex in the middle of summer, laughter filling the air as the sun warmed the back of his neck. Happiness and warmth.
His reverie is shattered when the blonde roughly shoves him. “Get your hands off me,” she huffs, although with less intensity than before.
Bellamy is about to retort when he recognizes the look in her eyes. It’s a look that he has seen Octavia wear many times before, when she’s trying to put on a brave face but is about to burst into tears.
Bellamy’s eyes widen and he runs his fingers through his hair as the girl moves away, looking down. “Hey,” he begins in a much softer tone, “I didn’t mean to upset you-“
“Yeah, well you did,” The girl says, her watery eyes turned towards Bellamy. Bellamy shifts back and forth, still standing, a worried look on his face. He nods at this and looks down, picking up his iPod and carefully putting it back into his bag.
They sit in silence for several moments before she continues talking. “Actually, that’s not fair. You ARE an asshole, but that’s not the reason I’m upset.”
The tears have stopped for now, but Bellamy isn’t sure how long that will last. He needs to keep her talking. “Oh really?” He ventures, and decides to continue when he’s met with silence. “And what would piss you off so much that you would blast Taylor swift? No offense, but you don't seem like the type."
Bellamy is surprised about how much he means that last comment. Sure, blonde, well dressed, a frickin' bow on her bag, she outwardly screams Taylor Swift, but the way she snarled at him... let's just say that she didn't seem like the type to blast Taylor Swift for no reason.
She sniffs, ignoring the subtle dig. “Not a what. A who is more accurate.”
Bellamy's lips twitch. He’s been around for the aftermath of many of Octavia’s short-lived relationships. Not that he minded that Octavia’s relationships had been short-lived, as far as he was concerned she shouldn’t be dating anyone yet, but Octavia was headstrong and Bellamy was smart enough to know when he was fighting a losing battle.
“What happened?” He prods gently after the blonde spends several moments looking at her nails.
“They had another girlfriend.”
“Bastard,” Bellamy growls. “You deserve better than any asshole who doesn’t know what they have when it’s right in front of them.” And he means it. He’s never had patience for those guys he’s talked to that brag about how many girls they see on the side when their girlfriend’s away. It’s a lack of respect, and it rubs him the wrong way. “If any loser tried to pull that shit on my little sister I’d kick the crap out of him.”
“Yeah well." She mutters and looks as if she's about to say something before she purses her lips and fiddles with her thumbs. Her head suddenly pops up again. "You have a little sister?” The blonde’s expression changes slightly and she looks wistful. “Must be nice. Only child.” She points to herself.
Of course, Bellamy thinks, but instead responds, “Yeah, her name’s Octavia. O, for short.” Bellamy has to stop himself as the words tumble out, but the blonde nods encouragingly, and he continues. “She’s really headstrong and fierce, but she forgets sometimes that’s she’s still just a kid. Sometimes I worry that’s she’s going to try to fight something that she doesn’t understand and it’s just gonna eat her up.” Bellamy doesn’t know where this is coming from. Why is he telling this stranger about his sister?
Sensing his confusion, the blonde smiles. It’s like someone has turned on a megawatt bulb in the dim interior of the bus. “Don’t feel weird. People just confess… stuff. When I’m around, I mean. I don’t know why. Must be my sparkling personality,” she smirks and Bellamy cracks a smile. “But really,” she adds in a more serious tone, “Sometimes I wish I could turn it off. I hear way too much about people that I don’t want to hear.”
“Oh,” is all Bellamy can manage. His cheeks redden as he makes a mental note not to tell any more strangers on buses about his personal life.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t care,” she adds quickly, sensing his embarrassment.
Bellamy studies her face for a couple seconds. The princess is doing a good job of putting on a happy face, but he can see that it’s a mask for all the pain and rage that she must be feeling. He senses her need for distraction and obliges, launching into tails of him and Octavia’s younger days, carefully editing out the messy parts. The parts where his mom didn’t come home for dinner and they went to bed hungry, parts where Octavia came home crying after the girls at school made fun of her thrift shop clothes, the parts where he sat in the dark holding Octavia as their mom and the boyfriend of the week argued in the next room, loud screams and bottles breaking.
Instead, he tells her the happy parts. Running in the lavender field with Octavia, making pizza toast, when he got accepted to college (full scholarship), splashing in the creek together, and when he would sit and read O’s favorite bedtime story to her over and over again because she didn’t want to go to bed yet.
Surprisingly, he got a couple stories out of her in turn. Summers spent playing in the mud, going to soccer games with her dad, and afternoons spent alone with her paint set. She even pulled out a couple sketches that she had been working on for him to see.
They talk for so long and so easily that Bellamy would’ve missed his stop if he hadn’t happened to glance the familiar beat-up sign to the neighborhood college bar, Grounders, as he glances over the girls shoulder.
“This is my stop,” He says, somewhat reluctantly. He doesn’t know how it happened, but this girl that was yelling at him so violently half an hour ago is someone he doesn’t want to stop talking to.
“Weird.” The girl pauses and pops to her feet. “Mine too.”
They stumble off the bus in silence (Bellamy swears he hears a “good riddance” from the bus driver as they leave) and stand at the curb, both unsure of where to go from there.
“My name’s Bellamy,” He offers hopefully, his next question implied. He jams his hands into his pockets awkwardly.
“Clarke.” She sticks out her hand, and Bellamy a hand out of his pockets to shake it, realizing how tall he is in comparison to her. “Nice to meet you Bellamy.”
“Clarke.” He rolls the word over in his mouth, liking the taste of it, but not wanting to let Clarke know how much he likes it. “Hmm. Princess fits you better.”
Thankfully Clarke only rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “Asshole,” she mutters, but there’s no real venom behind the insult. Bellamy takes it as a sign that the earlier shouting match has been forgotten, and a tentative friendship could be forming. Or maybe more, he thinks, as he stops himself from pushing several blonde curls back from where they've stuck to Clarke's neck.
Clarke starts walking and Bellamy falls into step besides her. “Are you a student here?” Bellamy asks suddenly. “Not that it matters, or anything- I just thought-“
“Yeah, my dorm’s right here-“ Clarke uncrosses one of her arms long enough to point to the building next to her, a stately brick building easily recognizable as one of the biggest dorms on campus. “You?” She raises her eyebrow as they come to a halt outside.
“Yeah I’m a grad student. I live in an apartment a couple blocks that way-“ He nods in the opposite direction.
Clarke nods, both of them not wanting to say goodbye but not sure how to continue.
Bellamy finally bites the bullet. “Well, princess, it was nice meeting you, even if you did kind of ruin my reading time.” Jesus, Blake, is that the best you could do? He thinks to himself. “I guess I’ll see you around,” He finishes awkwardly. He turns and shuffles a few paces away before he’s interrupted with a hand around his wrist.
“Wait,” Clarke breathes, “You forgot this.” She presses a crumpled up piece of paper into his hand. He watches as she turns and runs back to her building, not looking down at the paper until the door shuts behind her.
Halfway to his apartment, he carefully unfolds the piece of paper under a streetlight, and grins. He has to thank Murphy for putting that emo shit on his iPod. Without it, he would have probably not gotten the number of the princess herself, Clarke Griffin.