heda | clexa

twenty

That night, Clarke wants to ask Lexa to stay.

For the first time, she isn’t so afraid of beds. Usually, they mean hours laying awake and nightmares, but perhaps it’s not so terrible if she can hold Lexa’s hand.

For the first time, she isn’t so afraid of the idea of someone staying at all. Usually, she can’t stand the idea. Her reputation is so carefully crafted, but so fragile. What if someone came a little too close and stepped right on one of the landmines around Clarke? What if someone looked a little too close and saw what Clarke really is? 

What if Lexa did? Would it matter? Lexa, who knows nothing of the sins Clarke has committed but has saved Clarke’s life, dragged her unconscious body to bed and changed her, Lexa, who has seen Clarke naked and touched Clarke’s stomach, Lexa, who knows how the smallest touch renders Clarke so weak?

Would it matter if Clarke asked her to stay? Would Lexa think it’s pathetic?

Clarke isn’t sure she cares at all. She just really feels cold, and Lexa is so warm. She just really feels alone, and Lexa is so close. 

“Lexa? Do you want to-” Clarke pauses. “Do you want to make pancakes again tomorrow?”

Lexa raises her brows perplexed and smiles softly. “Sure.”

Gods, Clarke hates herself. “Great.”

Lexa lets go of Clarke’s hand and moves to sit up. “I guess it’s time to go to bed anyway.”

No.

No, no, no.

Fuck.

“Right.”

“I’m sorry again for today.”

“You couldn’t be more forgiven. Good night, fried potatoes.”

“Good night. Time to find a new nickname, by the way.”

“Sure, gorgeous. I’ll get right on it, sunshine.”

“Nevermind.”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“Good night, princess,” Lexa says in her stern, reinforcing voice and Clarke can’t help the big, idiotic grin spreading across her face.

It fades when Lexa sits on the edge of the bed, about to get up.

“Lexa-”

Lexa turns her head and Clarke’s chest feels as though someone had dumped a whole sack of stones there. “Yes?”

“Stay?” Clarke gets out, voice small, and Lexa’s eyebrows raise.

“Here? In- in your bed?”

“Yeah.”

Lexa nods. “Okay.”

So Lexa lays back down, stiff on her back, heart going wild in her sore ribcage. She expects Clarke to move, to reach out again, and she makes sure that her hand lays palm-open and close to Clarke’s a dozen times, but nothing happens. “Clarke,” she gets out softly.

“Sorry. I’ll make more space," Clarke immediately apologizes.

“I have space on my own bed.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry." Clarke's cheeks are hot, her body for once as stiff as Lexa’s. Surprisingly, Lexa doesn’t get up and leave- she chuckles.

“I didn’t stay because I wanted space. Come here?”

It’s a bold question, but it’s dark and late at night, and who is quite themselves after the sun has set? Or perhaps, who isn’t unashamedly themselves then?