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When it happens, it really does feel like the start of something.
Maybe Monty's just been influenced by romantic comedies too much. But he and this guy run into each other at the store, literally into each other, an actual collision, and laugh it off with quick apologies, and then they manage to finish at the checkout at the exact same time and to be walking the same direction, at the same pace.
They're halfway to the bar when Monty finally turns to him and says, "This is weird."
The guy smiles, ducks his head on a soft snort. Monty had noticed he was cute, when they first ran into each other, and at the checkout, and as they've been walking. He's been cute the whole time. That's definitely a factor. "I'm stalking you."
"Wow, already? Have you been doing it for a while and today is the culmination, or was I just so cool in the store that you were like, yeah, I definitely have to stalk him immediately?"
"Oh yeah, that's how I do it."
"Joke's on you, I'm not going home anyway."
"Damn. I'm such a shitty stalker."
"My condolences." He wets his lips, glances over. "Is it weird if I ask where you're going?"
"No weirder than me telling you I was stalking you." He holds up his bag. "I'm going to a trivia/birthday party thing at some bar."
"Wait, really?" he asks. "At Polis? For Clarke Griffin?"
The guy looks surprised. "Are you stalking me?"
"No, just--that's where I'm going. Clarke's my roommate. How do you know her?"
"Never met her. But Bellamy is an overcompetitive dickbag, so he wanted me to come along so he could crush Clarke's dreams on her birthday." He pauses. "That's my, uh--they're in the same grad program, so--"
Monty flashes him a grin. "Yeah, I've heard about him."
"Not shocked." He offers his hand. "Nate Miller."
"Monty Green," he says, shaking. "Nice to meet you, Nate."
Monty has heard a lot about Bellamy Blake. He and Clarke are in the same museum studies grad program, and Clarke has a crush on him that she is absolutely miserable about, because he's got a boyfriend, and Clarke had already developed the crush by the time she found out, and she hates it. She was the other woman in a relationship in college, and Monty knows how little she wants to do that to anyone ever again.
And then it clicks; this must be Bellamy's boyfriend. Which is a shame, because it does feel so stupidly--it feels like the kind of coincidence that shouldn't just happen, which Monty knows is irrational. He doesn't believe in fate or a higher power or anything like that. Coincidences don't mean anything. It's random chance.
But he's kind of a romantic, and Nate is hot. It would have been nice.
"So, Clarke's your roommate?" Nate asks.
"Yup. Well, one of them. Raven and Jasper will be there too, and that's all of us."
"Cool."
"Do you and Bellamy live together?" he asks, and nearly winces. Bellamy's your boyfriend would be the more normal question, but he kind of wants to gauge how serious they are.
Nate doesn't seem to notice. "Yup." He glances at his bag. "I just bought Clarke a bottle of booze for a present. I figure that's always appropriate, right?"
"She wouldn't have minded if you didn't get her anything, but yeah, if you're going to get something, booze is good."
Nate shrugs. "I try to be the cool one," he says. "Bellamy antagonizes people, and then they like me better." He pauses. "I can't tell if Clarke likes him or not, honestly. Just from what I've heard."
"She does," Monty says, because it's true, and Bellamy's boyfriend is probably allowed to know that. "She just likes antagonizing people. The more she antagonizes you, the more she likes you."
"Great, no wonder they're friends."
"Yeah, I kind of got the impression they had that in common." He holds the door to Polis open for Nate, and it's warm and bright inside, already crowded with Clarke's friends. Raven and Wells are talking to their bartender girlfriend, Jasper is fiddling with the jukebox, and Clarke is--
"Miller!" someone yells, and Clarke is at the pool table with a hot, dark-haired guy who's grinning at Nate.
That must be Bellamy. Life is so unfair.
"You're late," Bellamy calls, and Nate flips him off.
"You're a dick," he says.
"Monty! Come use math to help me win pool!" Clarke says, and just like that, it's a party, everyone mingling together, drinking and laughing and bickering. Monty's on Clarke's team for trivia, of course, and she and Bellamy trash-talk each other non-stop, but it's clear they are friends. She catches him and Nate laughing together a few times, and Monty can see the slight wistfulness in her eye, which--it sucks, honestly. Clarke hasn't dated since Lexa did a number on her, and it's a shame that she clearly likes this guy, and he's taken.
It's definitely more of a shame for Clarke than Monty. Monty barely even knows Nate. But once the trivia ends, they get a booth, and Monty ends up sandwiched between Nate and Wells, and since Bellamy, on Nate's other side, is involved in an argument with Clarke about Star Wars, Monty and Nate get to know each other. And Monty feels the stupid pull of attraction himself, finds his eye catching on Nate's smile, the crinkle of his eye, the curve of his biceps.
It's bad.
He and Clarke stagger home with their arms around each other. "Bellamy's boyfriend is cool," she says, in a kind of miserable way. "Right? You talked to him a lot. He seemed cool."
"Yeah, he seemed great," Monty says.
"And that's good, right?" She sounds like she's hoping he'll convince her. "You want people to--have people. Good people. Having good people is good."
"You're going to have a good person again," he promises her. "It's your birthday."
They're most of the way home when she says, soft, "I want that one, though."
Monty squeezes her. "Yeah. I know."
*
The birthday party opens them up for more interaction with Nate and Bellamy, which is--
Yeah, it's the worst.
They're not a very demonstrative couple, at least in public. They like to sling their arms around each other's shoulders, tend to be very casual with personal space, clearly comfortable and affectionate, but they don't make out or even kiss, except for Bellamy occasionally pressing his lips against Miller's temple in a bout of enthusiasm after a win. And while they tend to gravitate back toward each other, it's not like they hang out exclusively with each other. They're social and fun. They are the chill, cool couple that Monty aspires to be a part of.
It's just that he aspires to be the Bellamy part, specifically.
Not that he could ever actually be Bellamy, which is another thing. It's not enough that Nathan Miller is hot and smart and has a great boyfriend, it's that his great boyfriend is so different from Monty. Because, okay, yes, Bellamy is kind of a giant nerd who is studying to be a museum curator, but he's also clearly got some kind of intense gym regime and is painfully attractive and cool in a way that Monty never has been and never will be. Bellamy Blake definitely got laid in high school; Monty founded his school's role-playing-game society.
"This is the stupid thing about crushes," Clarke says. It's Wednesday, and they're not drunk or high, but Bellamy has been texting Clarke about one of their shitty professors, and Monty is now her go-to venting person for this, because Monty gets it. "I know he's taken. I like his boyfriend. I'm really happy for them. And I'm still hoping they--" She pauses. "I actually have an ideal scenario for someone's breakup, how awful is that?"
"Does it involve a scheme? Wacky hijinks? Are you going to try to make it happen?"
"No!"
"Would you honestly be happy if it did?"
There's a long pause. "It would depend on them," she finally says. "That's why my ideal scenario is, like--I know they met in college, so they've been friends for a long time. I don't know exactly how they got together, but it's been a while. So I hope, like--they realize they're not the same people they were when they started dating and maybe they've just been staying together because they've always been together and--" Her phone buzzes, she glances at it, and then flops onto Monty's lap. "Fuck. I hate feeling like this. I hate thinking this stuff. They're cute. They're happy. I should want them to get married. But sometimes he'll look at me and I think--fuck. I'm not that person. I've never been that person. And I don't want him to be that person, and--"
Monty pets her hair. "I know. You can't help it. You didn't know he had a boyfriend." He grins. "I did know Nate had a boyfriend and I still want to make out with him. So I'm a way worse person than you are."
Clarke laughs. "Maybe we should do speed-dating or something. Try to get over it." She sighs. "Why can't you be bi? We could date each other and show them. Being bi is awesome. I get to check out everybody and people regularly invalidate my sexuality."
"You make a good argument. But, no. Vaginas. I just can't. They remind me of the Sarlacc pit."
"Have you ever actually seen a vagina?"
"No, but I've seen Return of the Jedi a lot." He pets her again. "We'll get over it. Or they'll break up and we'll swoop in like the sad, creepy people that we are."
"I think the worst part is that I'm glad you're suffering with me now," Clarke muses. "Misery loves company."
"Yeah, that's pretty bad. I may never forgive you."
"But, really--thanks. It's nice to have someone to talk to."
"Yeah," says Monty. "It is."
*
And then, instantly, everything just becomes stupid. It's a month after Clarke's birthday, and they're back at Polis, Monty and Nate at the bar while Clarke and Bellamy continue with their epic and somewhat stupid pool rivalry. Gina has actually put up a list of rankings with how many wins each of them has; it's nice, really. Monty has never had one of those go-to hangout places like people in sitcoms do.
So he shouldn't be surprised by the sitcom twist.
"You think he's got a shot?" Nate asks.
Monty checks the standings; Clarke is up one game, but since they usually play at least three games a night and come out two nights a week, it's really anyone's game at any time. "Do they have an endpoint for this, or is it just going to go forever? Does someone need a five-game lead or what?"
Nate snorts. "Not the pool. Like--you know he's crazy into her, right?"
His entire body tenses, body going cold and then hot, and he gapes at Nate. He must look ridiculous. "He--no?"
"Dude, was it not obvious? I thought it was--"
"He's your boyfriend," Monty says, and it's Nate's turn to stare.
"What?"
"Clarke said--" He pauses, reviews. Clarke said Bellamy had a boyfriend. He doesn't know how Clarke knew this, exactly, but she always sounded pretty sure about it. And when he met Nate, it just seemed logical. If Bellamy had a boyfriend, Nate was it. But neither of them has actually ever said that. He licks his lips, makes himself meet Nate's eyes. "We thought you guys were dating," he says, deliberate.
Nate barks out a laugh. "Wait, seriously?"
"Yeah. Clarke said he had a boyfriend."
"Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck, Bellamy."
Monty can't help a smile. "You're blaming Bellamy?"
"It's probably his fault. He's so fucking bad at crushes, she probably said something normal and he panicked and implied he's been married for thirty years." He scrubs his hand over his face. "God."
"She'll be really happy," Monty offers.
"Yeah, no, it's not that." He gives Monty a wry smile. "So, I've been trying to hit on you, and I couldn't tell if you weren't interested or I was being too subtle or--"
"Oh, uh, yeah." These are not conversations Monty is good at. Monty isn't good at any of this. But Nate is making it really easy for him. "I'm pretty bad at picking up cues, even when I don't think the person is in a relationship and totally out of my league. So, yeah, I probably wouldn't have done much better if I knew you and Bellamy weren't a thing."
"That's cool, actually," Nate says. His smile is a lot bigger now. He doesn't smile much. "I wouldn't have wanted to give you the impression I was trying to cheat on my boyfriend."
"No, you didn't. You seemed like a pretty good boyfriend, honestly. You guys are--"
"Best friends. Hooked up like once, decided it wasn't for us. Like I said, he's completely gone for Clarke. It's like half cute."
"Half?"
"I asked if he had a shot because I'm about ready to strangle him if he doesn't shut up about her."
Monty bites his lip. "Does he know you're, um--" It still feels kind of presumptuous to say. "Does he know you've been trying to hit on me?"
"Yeah."
"So if we just--left? Do you think Bellamy would tell her what's happening? Because she's definitely in love with him too, yeah. We lie around on the couch and hope you guys break up all the time."
Nate laughs. "Yeah, I think he'd figure it out."
"Cool. Do you want to get out of here?"
Once they're outside and heading back to Nate and Bellamy's apartment (they're leaving first; they get to take the apartment with only two people, instead of the house with zero privacy), Monty says, "I feel like I need to restart everything I know about you. I've been trying so hard to not be into you, I've been trying not to use that part of my brain."
Nate's grin is infectious; Monty's looking forward to seeing a lot more of it. "How much effort was this taking, exactly?" he asks, and Monty ducks his head.
They chat about college and jobs, family, friends. Monty knew the basics of Nate's life, but it's nice to be able to talk to him without worrying that he's showing too much interest, being too obvious, giving himself away. And Nate is just as enthusiastic to learn about him, smiling and brushing their shoulders together, all casual touches and lingering looks.
He was right; this really was a stupid romantic comedy set up. And it's actually going to work out for him.
Nate and Bellamy's apartment is small and messy, but Nate doesn't apologize for it. Instead, he catches Monty's jaw and kisses him, soft and easy, like he's been looking forward to it, wants to savor it. And this, right here, is why Monty could never be bi, because there's the scrape of Nate's stubble and the firm press of his chest and the roughness of his hands, all his favorite things. Clarke can like both all she wants; Monty wants this.
Monty gets this.
"Okay," says Nate, still close enough Monty can feel his breath. "Cool. Um. You want to watch a movie or something?"
"Or something," says Monty, and kisses him again.
*
Bellamy is at the kitchen counter when Monty gets home the next morning. It's nice, seeing him and not having to be a little bit jealous and heartbroken. Aside from the whole Nate thing, he's always liked Bellamy.
"Morning," says Monty, sitting down on the stool next to Bellamy.
"Morning," says Bellamy. His eyes flick to Clarke, standing at the stove. "Can she actually cook or am I going to die?"
"What's she making?"
"You guys know I can hear you, right?" Clarke asks. Monty can see a hickey on her neck when she turns, and her smile is the brightest thing he's ever seen. "Morning. I'm making eggs. You want some?"
"Yeah, thanks." He gives Bellamy an encouraging smile. "She can only do scrambled and you will find at least one shard of eggshell in there. But she's not going to kill you yet. She likes you."
"Yeah, I heard," says Bellamy, and his smile is almost as wide as Clarke's. But he reins it in. "Sorry I, uh--sorry you thought I was dating Miller." Then he adds, to Clarke, "Why would I call my boyfriend by his last name?"
"Because you're weird?" she shoots back, and he grins again.
"Shut up. Anyway, yeah, uh--I can see how Clarke got the impression I might have a boyfriend. And if I had one, it would definitely be Miller, so--sorry."
"Worked out for me," Monty says. "You're the ones who have been pining for months." Bellamy chokes on his coffee, which feels like something of a victory. He's definitely going to enjoy this friendship. "Nate assumed that Clarke asked a fairly normal question and you panicked and managed to imply you'd been married for thirty years."
"I said I miss having a boyfriend, and Bellamy said Yeah, it's the best, I love having a boyfriend," Clarke supplies.
"I was being smooth!" Bellamy protests, in the tones of someone who knows that is the least smooth response of all time. "It was supposed to be, like, yeah, having a boyfriend is great, you should get one. And it should be me."
"I miss being a boyfriend," Clarke says. "That's what I was looking for. Establish that you're single. It was so easy, Bellamy."
She leans down to kiss him when she puts the plate of eggs on the counter, and Monty is broadly not a fan of PDA, but it's cute how much they like each other.
"Shut up," he says, without heat. He pokes the eggs with his fork. "These are runny and I'm gonna get e. coli."
"You shut up." She gives Monty a plate too. "How's Miller?"
"He's good. He's apparently the only one of the four of us who knows how to just start a conversation."
Bellamy snorts into his fork. "Fuck, that's sad. Miller's the fucking worst at conversations." He pauses. "But he saved my ass and I'm buying him something nice, so--" He pulls a shard of shell out of his eggs and flicks it at Clarke. "Tell your boyfriend I said thanks," he adds to Monty, and Monty grins.
"You're going to see him before I do."
"Yeah, I just wanted to call him your boyfriend. Make sure you didn't correct me."
"Nope," says Monty. And then, he can't help adding, "I love being a boyfriend," and Bellamy throws the next piece of shell at him.
The rom-com life seems pretty cool so far. Monty thinks he could get used to it.