Bellarke Halloween prompt: I accidentally egged the wrong house and I’m trying to apologize but it’s one in the morning and you’re pissed off and I’m so sorry?
The worse part of it all, probably, is that it had been Raven’s idea in the first place.
“What do you mean you’re not coming?” she hisses, repositioning her phone against the jut of her shoulder. It’s a bit of a challenge, juggling a tupperware full of eggs, a few rolls of toilet paper and her phone, but she’s managing, somehow. “You do realize that I’m not the one with the grudge against Kyle Wick, right?”
Her sigh is accompanied by a crackle of static, so loud that Clarke winces. It’s not unexpected, considering how far out Wick’s house is, but she can’t tamp down the spike of annoyance that swells at every disturbance.
“I know, but I can’t— get— sorry— Clarke?”
“Just,” she groans, pulling her phone away from her ear with an annoyed huff as the line dissolves entirely into static, “never mind.”
Swearing, Clarke slides her phone into the pocket of her jeans, glaring up at the house before her. It’s a little more run-down, than she expected, knowing Wick’s tendency to be ostentatious, but it’s a nice house all the same. Porch swing, cheery flower boxes by the window, freshly mowed grass. And it’s not like he has done anything to her personally, so she should just let this go, really, and head home—
She’s moving before she can second guess herself, fingers curling around the egg before releasing it, watching it sail across the lawn and land against the banister with a loud, satisfying splat.
A giggle escapes before she can escape herself, bubbling into a full blown laugh by the time she reaches for the next, aiming for the mailbox. Splat. The roof, then one of the windows, and—
“Hey, what the hell!”
She blinks, mid-throw, gaze landing on the figure silhouetted against the doorway of the house. The first thing she registers is that he’s a little taller than Wick, and broader, too, and that—
He’s not Wick.
“Oh,” she breathes, backing up instinctively as the guy in question stomps out, glasses askew and hair rumpled. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
The rational, logical part of her is begging her to run, but she finds that she can’t look away, really, watching as he takes in the wreck before him. He looks downright livid, which she can’t blame him for, considering how it’s already starting to smell, and—
“Are those deviled eggs?” he demands, swiping a finger through the mess on his mailbox. Then, spotting the tupperware in her hand, he swears, throwing his hands up. “Seriously? Why would you egg someone’s house with that?”
“I don’t know,” she flounders, dropping the rolls gracelessly in her haste. “I have never egged a house before, okay? Raven said, bring eggs, and I thought any eggs would do, and my mom had a PTA meeting over at the house yesterday, so.” She stops, breathing hard. The guy is regarding her with a raised brow now, arms crossed over his chest to reveal very hard, well-defined biceps. Licking at her lips, she forces herself to look away. “Sorry?” she offers.
“So,” he pauses, brows scrunching together. “This wasn’t meant for me?”
“Ah, uh, no.” She says feebly, drumming her fingers idly against the tupperware lid. “I don’t even know you. It’s just, Raven said this was where Kyle Wick—”
“Dick,” he interrupts, nodding sagely. “The guy lives two doors down.”
“… Oh.”
“Yeah,” he continues, clearly unfazed. “Whatever it is, he probably deserves it.”
“Trust me, he does.” She mutters, rubbing at her forearms to ward off the sudden chill in the air. It dawns on her, then, just as the clouds clear slightly, that she does know him. Bellamy Blake is impossible to miss, even in the half-dark, his notoriety spanning several years above and below him. It’s a inevitability, considering his reputation as the town’s resident black sheep, but it’s not like ever she’s talked to him personally, prior to this. “Bellamy, right?” she tries, lacing her fingers together. “I’m Clarke? We’re in A.P English together?”
That pulls a smirk out of him, the expression distinctly amused. “I know who you are, Princess.” he says, turning on his heel. “I’d say it’s nice meeting you officially, but you did just egg my house.”
“I said I was sorry,” she grumbles, flushing as she leans down to grab at the toilet rolls scattered along the grass. “Look, I’ll just— let me help you clean up.”
“It’s fine,” he points out, shoulders lifting into another one of those full-bodied shrugs. “Besides,” he says, voice dropping to a sarcastic drawl, “I was planning on doing some spring cleaning in the morning anyway.”
She has to bite at the inside of her cheek to hide a smile. (He had been reading Girls at War and Other Stories under his desk, the other day. She’s not sure why she wants to ask him about it now, or why she had it remembered it in the first place, but she does.) “A bit early for spring cleaning, isn’t it?”
“You know how it is, with the early bird and the worm.”
“You could do that,” she blurts, her grip over the tupperware tightening convulsively, “or you could come egg Kyle Wick’s house with me.”
There’s a beat as he seems to consider that, his chin cocked and eyeing her contemplatively. (She’s not sure why, but she’s holding her breath.)
Then he’s easing the door shut behind him, instead, crossing past her to grab at one of the rolls of toilet paper still abandoned on the grass. “Well, Princess?” he asks, a grin lighting up his face and transforming it entirely. “You coming or what?”
“I’m the one who asked you,” she huffs, shaking at her head before darting forward to catch up (he’s shaking his head, too, but the corners of his mouth are lifted, and she can’t help but think about how she’s going to learn all of his smiles before the sun comes up.) “Alright then,” she says, falling into step next to him, “let’s get the show on the road, Bellamy Blake.”
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