Chapter Text
The deepest and sincerest thank you goes out to @missemarissa, who is a fantastic beta and an even better friend.
Arkadia University’s LGBTQ club meets bi-monthly (pun intended) in Room 319 of Skai Hall. It is Clarke Griffin’s third and final year as President, and it is her goal to make the club as big as possible. Under her leadership, it has grown from a measly eight members to nearly twenty, and they have sponsored some of the most successful events on campus.
“Welcome back, everyone!” Clarke says as the group files into the empty classroom for their first meeting of the semester. “I hope you all had a great winter break, and I am thrilled to see some new faces! For those of you who don’t know, my name is Clarke Griffin, and I’m the President of Ark U’s branch of the LGBTQ club. We are a safe space for everyone, regardless of gender and sexual orientation.”
Once everyone is settled, Monty Green, the club’s Vice President, starts handing out flyers.
“These are the flyers for the ‘Welcome Back Mixer’ that a different club hosts at the beginning of each semester. It’s our turn this semester, and I want to up the mixer game.”
“We plan to use this opportunity to both gain exposure for our club and act as a fundraiser,” Monty explains, handing out the last sheet and going to stand next to Clarke at the front of the room. “How do you guys feel about a field trip?”
“Depends on where,” John Murphy pipes up from the back of the room. Nathan Miller, Monty’s boyfriend, leans over and swipes the other man’s feet from where they are propped up on an empty desk.
“Have some respect, dude.”
Murphy sticks his tongue out and returns his attention to Monty, leaning forward and resting his elbows where his feet used to reside.
“Where are we going? Please say Six Flags America.”
Monty rolls his eyes. “No. Now, our plans are tentative, and they ultimately need to be voted on by you and approved by the dean, but here’s the idea: a trip to Stonewall Inn.”
The room breaks out into excited murmurs. Arkadia University is located just outside of Washington D.C., making a trip to New York City quite feasible. It is a journey that, depending on their method of transportation and how much traffic they meet, can take anywhere from three to five hours. Clarke has done the calculations, and she’s confident they can make quite the day trip out of it.
The door opens, causing the chatter to come to a halt. Bellamy Blake slips in, giving the room a sheepish wave. He sidles up to Clarke’s right side, bending slightly to whisper something in her ear. She listens intently for a second before her face splits into a massive grin.
“Okay everyone, we have great news sooner than expected!” Clarke looks up at Bellamy fondly, resting her hand on the middle of his back and gently nudging him forward. “This is our Secretary and Treasurer, Bellamy Blake.”
“Are they fucking yet?” Murphy murmurs to Miller, who shakes his head sadly. Murphy rolls his eyes and slouches back in his seat. “Unbelievable.”
Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin were known throughout the campus for their chemistry alone. They grew up in neighboring towns in Virginia, their schools were rivals in practically every way. The pair met at a debate freshman year, and their screaming match nearly had them both disqualified. They continued their argumentative streak until graduation, and then they both found themselves wandering, lost and confused, around the Ark U campus in the fall. As easy as it was for them to become rivals, it was for them to become best friends.
Best friends with disgustingly overwhelming amounts of sexual tension, that is.
“Hey guys, welcome back,” Bellamy says, fixing the group with an easy smile. “I just came from a meeting with the dean, and she approved our budget for the whole semester, which is fucking fantastic. That means the only fundraising we’ll have to do is for the field trip that I trust Clarke already told you about.”
“Can we do a bake sale?” Jasper pipes up. Bellamy rolls his eyes.
“Not if your only plan is to make pot brownies.”
Jasper opens his mouth again.
“Or cookies,” Bellamy says, cutting him off with a glare. “Not that they wouldn’t sell like crazy, to be honest, but if word gets out this club would be shut down immediately.”
“So, the focus of this meeting is to work on plans for the mixer and brainstorm some ideas for the fundraiser,” Clarke continues, addressing the group. “Ideally we’d be able to incorporate the fundraiser into the mixer, but we should be able to host independent fundraising events as well. Bake sales with appropriate items will be considered.”
The next half hour of the meeting consists of various members shouting out suggestions while Clarke and Bellamy weed out the better ones and Monty scrambles to write them all down. In the end, they come to the unanimous decision that Harper’s idea of an auction during the dance was the best.
“Do you really think people are going to participate?” Bellamy asks Clarke as they’re walking home from the meeting. They both have houses on campus, right next door to each other.
“They idea of selling people to the highest bidder is initially unappealing,” Clarke says with a shrug, “but if the ones being auctioned off are willing, it shouldn’t be that bad. All the buyers are getting is a date for the evening. It’s not like we’re starting a human trafficking ring.”
“Fair enough,” Bellamy says with a light laugh. They are just now approaching their respective houses, and he nods towards his. “Want to come up? I just got some more of those Junior Mint K-cups you like.”
Clarke is already turning and walking towards his front stoop before he finishes the sentence. He can’t hide his smile as she skips the second step and does what he assumes is her version of a jig on the porch.
“Let’s go, I’m freezing,” she teases as he takes his time fishing his keys from his pocket. It’s the end of January, and a light dusting of snow is just starting to fall. The flakes cling to the blonde curls spilling out from beneath Clarke’s dark green beanie, and Bellamy can make out one or two who have found a home on the end of her eyelashes.
He gets the door open, and she bounds inside, kicking off her boots and heading straight for the couch. The house is shared by him and three others: Miller, Murphy, and this guy named Dax who Bellamy swears is plotting to kill them all. He isn’t sure where the others are, having lost track of Miller and Murphy after the meeting, but sine Clarke is currently cocooning herself in his favorite blanket, he can’t quite seem to care.
“Find something good to watch, will you?” he tells her, heading to the kitchen to prepare Miller’s Keurig.
“Do you have any peppermint sticks?” she calls back to him, just as his hand is closing around the box. He chuckles to himself.
“So needy.”
Once the drinks are ready, he brings them into the living room, a peppermint stick peeking out of the top of each one. Clarke squeals in delight and grabs her mug from his hand. He glances at the television, seeing that she has already pulled up an episode of Bob’s Burgers.
“Do you think I’m more like Tina or Linda?” Clarke asks once the episode starts, chomping down on her peppermint stick.
“Neither,” Bellamy says. “You’re Louise.”
She chokes on a mouthful of hot chocolate, sputtering before her throat clears and she can laugh properly. “Really?”
“Yes! You’re sneaky and conniving and your mind is way darker than your cute exterior suggests.”
“You think I have a cute exterior?” Clarke winks.
Bellamy flushes and rolls his eyes. “You think you don’t?”
“I think I’m a little bit like Tina, too.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
She extends her leg, pointing her toe to nudge at his thigh. “I think you have a cute posterior.”
Bellamy throws his head back, his whole body shaking as he laughs. A bit of hot chocolate spills over the lip of the cup and dribbles down his hand, but he doesn’t care. Clarke watches him with an ear-splitting grin; it’s rare that he ever laughs like this, so freely and full of unrestrained joy, and the fact that she is the cause of it nearly gives her a high.
A few episodes later, when their stomachs hurt from laughing and too much sweets, she stands up and stretches.
“I’m going to head home now. See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Bellamy agrees, extending his arms so Clarke can lean down and hug him. She puts her coat and hat back on before slipping out the door. He lays on the couch for a few more minutes before hauling himself to his feet. Trudging up the stairs, he comes face-to-face with Dax on the second-floor landing.
“Your girlfriend still here?”
“No.” He stopped trying to convince people that Clarke isn’t his girlfriend a year ago.
“Finally. I’m taking the couch tonight; my room smells weird.” Dax shoves past him and jogs down the stairs.
“So fucking strange,” Bellamy mumbles to himself as he enters his room. His eyes automatically drift to the window on the left side of his room. It’s the one that face’s Clarke’s bedroom, something that happened completely by chance but leaves them looking like Taylor Swift and the Attractive Extra from the “You Belong With Me” music video.
Clarke’s light is still on, but her shades are drawn. He busies himself with getting ready for bed, slipping into pajamas and setting his alarm for the next morning. His phone vibrates from its place on the nightstand, and he swipes at the screen.
From: Clarke
10:49 p.m.
Goodnight!
He glances up, out of his window. Clarke has pulled her shades back and is peering out at him. When he catches her eye, she grins and waves. He does the same, and then her head disappears and the light in her room goes out.
To: Clarke
10:50 p.m.
Goodnight, princess.
Clarke meets Raven in the lobby of Skai Hall the following Sunday afternoon. Her best friend is carrying a large cardboard box, and when Clarke takes it from her she stumbles under the weight.
“Jesus, Rae, this is like two tons.” Clarke wheezes, stumbling to the nearest bench and letting it drop with a thud.
Raven scoffs. “I made it all the way across campus with a bum leg carrying that thing. You need to stop skipping arm day.”
“Arm day, leg day, ab day,” Clarke says lightly, opening the box, “I skip them all.”
The box contains freshly-printed posters for the mixer. Clarke had designed them and Monty got his buddies from the Technology Center to give them a discount on the printer. Both manned with a stapler, each girl takes a stack of posters and work on plastering the paper on the various bulletin boards down the hall.
Raven is just about done with her stack when she feels a presence over her shoulder.
“Excuse me.”
She turns, and is faced with a tall man who she can only describe as ‘stoic’. His eyes are a piercing blue, infused with some green undertones, and the soft beauty of them is a stark contrast to ruggedness of the rest of him. His light brown hair falls to about his chin, but is half pulled up into a tight bun, and his expression is a mix of haughty indifference and intense focus. From his gaze alone, she gets the feeling that she should be privileged to have his attention.
“Can I help you?” she asks, trying not to sound too rude but not interesting in sounding polite either.
“Roan Kinglsey,” he says, extending a hand to her. Raven sends a sidelong glance towards Clarke, who is watching them from down the hall.
“Okay,” she says, grabbing his hand tightly and shaking it twice. “Can I help you, Roan Kingsley?”
“I have a question about the mixer.”
Raven eyes him curiously. “It’s next Friday, from eight to midnight in the east gymnasium. All the information is on the flyer.”
“Do you have to be in the club to attend?” he asks, unfazed by her attitude.
“That would be an awfully small mixer,” Raven says drily, “so, no. We’re just running it.”
“And this auction…who will be a part of it?” Roan crosses his arms in front of his chest, and Raven absolutely does not pay attention to the fabric of his shirt straining over his bulging muscles.
“Like I said, all the information is right here of the flyer,” she repeats. “Members of the LGBTQ club and some others have volunteered themselves to be auctioned off as dates for the evening. The proceeds will go towards funding the club’s field trip at the end of the semester.”
Roan Kingsley’s lips twist up in what Raven assumes is meant to be a smile, but it looks more like he’s baring his teeth.
“I have one final question, and then I will rid you of my burdensome presence.”
Raven rolls her eyes. “What?”
“Will I see you there?”
He says it casually, like they’re friends who are discussing group plans and not complete strangers. She knows that it’s an attempt to be suave, and it probably would have worked, had she been anyone else.
“Oh, I’ll be there,” Raven says, looking him dead in the eye. “But I doubt you’ll see me.”