A series of bellarke oneshots

Sugar

Not my story.
Bellamy is awake. Why, he isn't sure. Well actually he is, but you know. What he isn't sure of, is why someone would decide to move into a new house at seven thirty in the morning - it's ludicrous. So anyway, he was awake. And it was Sunday. His day off. So not fair. The person was clattering around on the landing, and he heard many loud thumps and clashes.

"Raven, I said here!"

"No, Clarke, you said here,"

"No, I'm sure I said here,"

"No you didn't,"

"Oh. Well I need that there,"

He groans, and presses his face into his pillow. They just don't stop talking. On the bright side, he had learnt the name(s) of his new neighbors - thank God for thin walls. Or, you know, don't. Sighing, he stands up and stalks over to the couch, flopping down and turning on the TV. It's not like he was going to be able to sleep again anyway.

"We're being really loud,"

"We're moving loads of heavy furniture, I'm sure it's okay,"

No. It's not.

"Yeah but I don't want to wake any of the neighbors,"

Oh really? Should have thought about that beforeyou decided to move at a ridiculous hour.

"It'll be fine,"

He turns up the volume, and slouches back. He's awake now, so he might as well do something. Several hours later - long, tedious hours - the person seems to have finished and Bellamy is still sitting on the couch. He knows he should move, but it's Sunday, and he's so tired, so he stays there, continuing his marathon. He should have known that the world was out to get him though - there had been silence for only ten minutes before there was a knock on his door.

"What?" he asks, flinging open his door - and no he certainly did not have a flair for the dramatic.

He finds himself face to face with a girl. She has blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, and wide blue eyes, and is possibly the most beautiful person he's ever seen. He suddenly becomes acutely aware that he's only in his boxers, and leans against the door frame, trying not to look too smug when her eyes drift across his chest.

"Hi," she says finally, and her voice is nothing like the preppy cheerleader voice he was expecting. She meets his eyes sturdily. "I'm Clarke Griffin, I just moved in next door, and I was gonna make cookies for everyone, but I ran out of sugar so I was wondering if you had any that I could use,"

"Bellamy Blake," He raises an eyebrow. So this is his new neighbor? He could definitely cope with that. She's nothing like the middle aged woman he was expecting. "Sugar? Yeah, I have some. Come in,"

He gestures to the door, and stands aside as she walks in. He saunters to his kitchen, and digs around in his pantry for the sugar.

"You know, most people don't move to a new house ridiculously early in the morning," he says - because, lets face it, it had to be said.

"Yeah, well most people don't have completely absurd work hours either," she snaps, and takes the sugar he offers.

"Couldn't you ask for a day off? Like most normal people do?" he asks, and he thinks it's an innocent question.

"No, I can't." she says, glaring at him. "Thanks for the sugar,"

So apparently it isn't an innocent question. He stands there, dumbfounded, as she walks out and slams his door closed. What the hell just happened?

*****

Clarke taped a bag of cookies to his door later that day - or possibly the next day, he wasn't sure. She had put a note along with it saying 'Enjoy the cookies, jerk,', and he decided that she officially irked him. All he did was ask one simple question, and now she hates him. Where's the logic in that? The cookies, admittedly, were pretty damn good, but she's still crazy. He met her in the corridor the other day, looking extremely flustered (he thought that he could make her flustered in a different way...), and speed walking towards the elevator. He raised an eyebrow in curiosity, she glared at him, and then she was gone.