something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue

5: you piece of shit

{Saturday, 1 month and god knows how many days before this goddamned wedding}

Clarke was upset, the photographer had some impossible standards to meet, and he WAS a great one. But fuck, he was annoying.

"Mr. Jaha, excuse me for my language but what the fuck are these? This is NOT the layout we decided on WEEKS ago" Her irritation could be heard loud and clear through the phone.

"I thought it would be better this way, I'm a man of great visions".

"It doesn't look like we want it to". Clarke simply stated. "And why are there pictures of you in the samples? You were supposed to take them of the venue and the dresses to make sure you could make the coloring work, where are the pictures you took of me and my bridesmaids?"

"You guys looked.. Well you didn't look your best".

Oh I know he didn't-

"And you look like your parents are fucking siblings. Call me back when you have the correct photos." she hung up, calm as ever.

It had been a long day, when Clarke set her foot into the apartment she knew she needed some release, some comfort and luckily, Bellamy was in the kitchen.

She went up to kiss her fiancé, but wasn't met with much reciprocation.

"Hey hey hey, what's up?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Had a bad day, please?" 

Her hands were around his neck, leaning in against him, the warmth of her boyfriend was comforting and if she could she'd like to crawl inside his clothes and stay there. But a gentle hand pushed lightly on her stomach.

"I'm in the middle of a game, just heating up some TV dinner"

"What?" Clarke was so frustrated by this point she could feel her throat getting thicker.

"Why don't you take a shower, and a nap? You could use both." he offered her a tiny smile.

"But I want you." Clarke backed up a step. She wasn't one to guilt trip, she wasn't one to pressure. But seriously, couldn't he tell she needed some comforting after a long day of planning this huge fucking wedding that lately, he seemed not to care about wether it was held in a fucking pigsty or not.

"I'm really sorry. The game is about to start"

Yep. That was all he said. All he said before hurrying off with no afterthought before closing his office door and started talking to his friends again, as if she was merely a whisper of air. Only some pet, a burden, nothing. Some maid or whatever. Clarke told herself that he wasn't bad, he wasn't like this. It was probably the stress of the wedding, or the dinner tonight, or maybe it was just this really important game.

So Clarke shook it of and hopped in the shower.

-

After a quick towel dry, she wrapped herself up like a cigar and walked back towards their bedroom as a small head peaked out of the office door.

"Babe?" he asked, almost apologetically.

"Yeah?" Clarke felt more at ease now, hopeful about what was about to..

Nevermind.

"What are you going to cook?"

"I was thinking we could do it together, paella sound good? I know you like it."

"Uhh, sure, whatever"

And the head was gone again. I mean.. he wasn't big on cooking, she was just daydreaming. That or a certain dinner was still lingering in her thoughts.