Ice ~ Bellarke

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6. Chapter 6
Clarke burst through the bedroom door to find Bellamy lying on his bed, with his hands pillowed behind his head while that youtube channel about The Great War rumbled from his laptop speakers.

"Seriously?" Clarke asked. "You're the worst," she said and pushed his feet off the side of the bed so she could sit down.

"Right, sorry," Bellamy said, "Excuse me for existing in my own bedroom."

"Have you even started packing yet?" Clarke asked.

"Sure," Bellamy said and pointed a finger towards a duffel bag laying on the floor in the corner of his room.

Clarke crossed the room to go look into it.

"There's just a sock, your toothbrush, and three fruit-to-go's," Clarke said.

"Shit, really?" Bellamy asked and sat up. "Take the toothbrush out, I'm going to need that tonight and tomorrow morning."

"Bellamy."

"Okay, fine," he stood and stretched his arms out. "But my hockey gear is already packed, I don't really know what else I need besides pajamas."

"Bring a dress shirt and tie," Clarke said.

"Why?"

"What if they want to sign you right there and then?" Clarke asked. "You might need to give a press conference."

"I'm just here so I don't get fined," Bellamy yawned.

"You're going to need so much media training," Clarke wrinkled her nose. "But seriously, the scouts might want to meet with you or take you to dinner to talk about your options. You don't want to show up in sweats and flip flops."

"Maybe they'd like that. Maybe they'd think I'm super chill."

"That's what GMs are looking for," Clarke nodded sagely. "Wingers who are super chill."

They rooted around in Bellamy closet and threw all the clothes they thought he'd need onto the bed. They wasted about half an hour trying to roll all of his outfits into tube socks like Clarke had seen on some lifehack post on tumblr. The sock trick didn't work but it did make all of Bellamy's clothes wrinkly.

"I don't care, at this point, I'm willing to just wear a toga made out of the hotel bedsheets all weekend," Bellamy said as he crumpled one of his t-shirts into a ball and threw it in the duffel bag.

"Okay, but at the very least we need to iron the dress shirt," Clarke said. "This looks ridiculous," she pointed to the collar which had somehow been folded in the opposite direction of it's crease.

Bellamy couldn't remember where his mom stashed the steam iron so they had to improvise.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Bellamy asked.

"Positive," Clarke said as she took a pot of boiling water off the stove. They kneeled on the floor of the kitchen and Clarke carefully pressed the bottom of the pot onto the shirt, smoothing it out from the centre.

"Science," she whispered, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Well," Bellamy said when she was finished, "it's not exactly pressed to perfection but it looks a hell of a lot less like an elephant's asshole."

"Ringing endorsement," Clarke snorted. "Is there anything else we're forgetting?"

Bellamy stood up and tossed the pot in the sink, his mouth twisting.

"I don't think so," he frowned. "As long as I have my skates, my gear, and my jersey, I'm happy."

"How are you getting to school tomorrow?" Clarke asked.