Not my story
The first time Clarke finds Bellamy and Wells curled up together on the couch together she just can't resist taking a picture to save the memory. Didn't someone say that a picture is worth a thousand words? Well, this picture is worth all the words in the world and then some.
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"Honey I'm home!" Clarke whisper yells when she finally gets her key in the door. (No, it absolutely did not take Clarke five times to actually get the lock to turn. It was more like four. Okay?) She pushes the heavy door open and lets out a small squeak like sound when one of the books in her arms fall to the ground and hit her toes. This is one of those moments she really regrets wearing flips flops. Groaning loudly, she reaches down, holding on to the remainder of her books for dear life, and grabs the hard book off the wood floor.
"Bellamy?" Clarke whispers, just a little louder than when she pushed the door open. "Where are you?"
Clarke squints her eyes in the dimly lit room and pushes the front door closed with her butt. (When your arms are full you gotta do what you gotta do right?) She throws her keys into a vase by the front door. (A vase O has made her opinion about its "disgustingly designed looks" a countless number of times, but she was the one that actually picked it. A small little fact Clarke reminds her about over and over again. "It looked way better in the store," she always says to defend herself.)
Clarke slips her aching feet out of her light blue flips flops and drops all her books on the little table also found by the door. (She'll pick them up and put them where they actually go later. Okay? Okay.) She turns around slowly, pivoting on her aching feet and opens her mouth, getting ready to call out for Bellamy a little louder. It's only thirty-five minutes past six so there's no way either he or Wells went to sleep so early. Unless, Bellamy got Wells to magically fall asleep earlier than his usual twelve past midnight self-appointed bed time. (They've both tried to get him to sleep earlier but he just has too much energy. Bellamy blames it on Clarke.)
She gets ready to open her mouth but a slight movement in the dimly light room causes her to snap her mouth shut and tip toe over to the couch. What she sees when her eyes finally adjust, makes her smile so brightly she almost feels as though her lips will fall off from being forced to smile so widely.
Bellamy is outstretched on the couch, feet covered in socks and his jeans pulled up one of his legs. That's not what wants to make her smile though. He is obviously missing his shirt (Clarke may or may not have stared at his abdomen before she actually let her eyes wander elsewhere.) and laying on his bare chest his an also shirtless Wells. Both of them have cute little half smiles on their faces, Bellamy's arms are wrapped around Well's tiny midriff, and Wells has his hands pressed to Bellamy's chest, palms downward. Clarke stares for a moment longer when she finally realizes that maybe she should take a picture so that the memory is never lost.
As quickly and as quietly as she can, Clarke moves over into the kitchen and squints in the darkened room. It takes her a moment to find what she's looking for but when she does she almost breaks out into a happy dance. (She probably would have if not for the time sensitive situation she has on her hands right now. Both her boys could wake up at practically any moment.) She makes a dash back to the living room and back over to the couch that they are still (thankfully) sleeping on. Turning the camera over in her hands she presses the button at the top of the camera and blinks a couple of times when the bright screen beams into her eyes. Usually Clarke would actually turn the flash off but unfortunately she probably wouldn't get a very good picture if she did that, so Clarke leaves the flash on and crosses her fingers (mentally of course) that they don't wake up until after the picture is taken.
