Happy belated birthday to atouchofrebellion! I hope you had a lovely day and that you enjoy this!
As he opened the front door, Bellamy was greeted by the sound of Clarke yelling at him. “Bell, is that you?”
Her voice sounded a bit rough around the edges, angry, and Bellamy closed the door quietly and toed off his shoes. “Yes, dear?” he called back in a fake cheery voice.
Clarke’s head appeared over the railing of the second floor, her cheeks tinged a bit red, from the yelling or exertion he couldn’t tell, wisps of blonde hair escaping her bun, eyes narrowed. “Bellamy, there you are.”
“I went to O’s,” he said, smiling and starting to mount the stairs, “like I told you before I left.”
She glowered back. “I was vacuuming. I didn’t hear you.”
He shrugged. “What’s up?” he asked, reaching the second landing and reaching out for her. She didn’t move towards him but allowed him to pull her into his arms. He kissed the top of her head.
“Where did you put the fine china?” she asked, voice muffled slightly by his shoulder.
Bellamy huffed out a breath. “I told you like seven times as we were packing that I was going to put it in with the towels so it wouldn’t get broken.”
“You did not,” she asserted, jabbing him in the chest.
Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Princess,” he said slowly. “I told you seven times. I even counted.”
She harrumphed but didn’t pull back, fitting her face a bit better into the curve of his neck and exhaling deeply. Bellamy smiled as his arms tightened around her.
“We can deal with the china later, princess,” he mumbled into the crown of her head. “For now you should relax. You’ve been working your ass off all day.”
She pulled away, a disgruntled look on her face. “And there’s a reason for that, Bellamy Blake,” she said, sounding cross. “Who the hell told you it was acceptable to own so many pairs of shoes? You have more than I do!”
Bellamy laughed and squeezed her hip.
“If I remember correctly you bought me half those shoes.”
“Yeah,” she grumbled. “So that you’d throw out those horrifying ones from college.”
Bellamy clapped a hand to his chest. “They are not horrifying. They’re classic.”
“Don’t say it, princess, I don’t think I can take it.”
Now she was the one rolling her eyes. “Bellamy, you bought them at a second hand store. They’re like thirty years old.”
“Exactly,” he said, smiling. “A classic.”
“You don’t even wear them!” she shot back, flustered now, the red in her cheeks deepening.
(He didn’t even care that much about the shoes, really. He just loved the adorable way her face turned pink and the way her eyes lit up when she argued with him.)
“No,” she told him, shaking her head. “I’m putting my foot down. I’m vetoing them.”
He wagged his finger. “Nuh-uh, Clarke, you vetoed my jeans when we were packing. You don’t get two vetoes in one week.”
“Those jeans were an atrocity to God!”
“Octavia bought them for me!”
“Yeah, like twelve years ago! I doubt they even fit you anymore!”
Bellamy rocked back on his heels, grinning. “Why, princess, are you trying to say that I’ve gained some weight?”
She punched him in the shoulder, but he couldn’t help but notice that her angry expression was giving away to a smile.
“I’m serious, I need to know if my girlfriend thinks I’ve put on some unnecessary pounds.”
She laughed, probably against her will, and smiled. “I think you’re very handsome, Bellamy, is that what you want to hear?”
“Pfft. I know I’m handsome. That wasn’t the question.”
Clarke rolled her eyes. “Stop fishing for compliments, you giant dork.”
He grinned. “Always nice when you bring out the pet names.”
“Oh, shut up. And go unpack the kitchen. There are boxes everywhere. I can’t get to the fridge.”
He saluted her, still grinning. “Yes, ma’am.”
He trotted down the stairs, tilting his head back to look at her, leaning against the upstairs banister, a small happy smile on her lips, and felt his chest tighten.
Even in a paint-splattered shirt and yesterday’s leggings, with mismatching socks and hair all over the place, Clarke Griffin was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She caught him staring, probably looking lovestruck and dumb, and pointed down the hall. “Kitchen,” she ordered. “Now.” But she was still smiling and he knew that under the demand she was just as starstruck as he was.
He pivoted on his heel, socks sliding on the brand-new hardwood a little as she struck off down the hall. On his way to the kitchen and the waiting boxes, he couldn’t help but slow as he passed the sign, propped up against the wall, that in just three weeks they would be able to mount on the outside of their new (and first) house.
“The Blakes” it announced in thick blocky lettering and Bellamy smiled to himself as his finger traced across the carved letters. Three more weeks and he’d have a ring of his own to match the sparkling diamond on his girlfriend’s left hand.
Bellamy’s smile widened. Three weeks. But in the meantime there was kitchenware to unpack and china to find. And Bellamy Blake couldn’t think of a time he’d ever been happier.