Chapter Text
It all begins because Raven declares that she’s on a sex ban for three months. Clarke reminds her of this when her life is turned upside down. Raven reminds Clarke later, when everything finds its place again.
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Raven’s looking at her like she’s a fucking idiot.
Clarke’s not sure she’s ever been on the receiving end of a look quite like that, or such steadfast persistence, and she’s got to hand it to her friend: it would make most crumble and concede quickly. But Clarke’s probably as stubborn as Raven is persistent, and despite the half hour she’s been ranting about the opportunity that’s presented itself — the opportunity being the phone number of a one night stand Clarke gushed about for at least two hours this morning — she thinks she’s holding strong.
“I can’t believe you,” Raven’s saying, already having worked herself into something of a huff at Clarke’s refusal to budge on the matter. It’s a little fun to watch, honestly. “You’re being crazy right now, Clarke. Crazy.”
“I’m not being crazy, Rave,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes at her friend’s dramatics. “I'm being practical.”
“Practically an idiot,” Raven mutters, a comment she ignores. “I just don’t get why you aren’t taking this guy up on his offer.”
“I’ve already explained this.” Her friend’s gaze is sharp on her, and Clarke looks down to avoid it, frowning at the ever-growing pile of crap in their basket. They were wandering the aisles of their local drugstore when Clarke — stupidly — admitted to having saved her one night stand’s number in her phone, and she thinks Raven’s frustrations with her has translated into angry shopping, because there’re a lot of things in there they probably don’t need. “He’s leaving in a week,” she lays out her defence; reasonably, she thinks. “There’s no point in starting something that’s over barely before it’s begun.”
“No, no, no. You’re thinking about this in the entirely wrong way. It doesn’t have to be starting something. It can just be — a weeklong holiday. A break from the same old.”
“Maybe I don’t want a break from the same old.”
“You’re the one who told me all about the night you spent together,” Raven says. “And that he gave you his number. I think you just secretly want the accountability. You know, not to be chicken shit.”
“Do not.”
Raven snorts, sending Clarke a look that tells her just how transparent she is. “So you’re telling me that you met a hot guy, hit it off straight away, and had awesome sex—” she points out on her fingers “—and him leaving his number doesn’t make you want to call at all?”
“Yes, despite all of that, I don’t want to call.” The words don’t ring quite as true as they did ten minutes ago.
“You’re such a liar.”
“And you’re such a bully.”
Raven rolls her eyes, biting back a much too sly grin. “You know, in our entire time living together, you’ve not once gone home with someone else?”
Clarke frowns, partly from the statement and partly from Raven’s change in tactics. “What? That’s definitely not true.”
“It is,” she insists. “You bring people home; you don’t go home with them. And now, in a time where I’m in desperate need of seeing hot people, you can’t even pull through with that. Seriously, Clarke, you’re forgetting that I’m living vicariously through your sex life at the moment.”
“It’s not my fault you’re on a weird sex ban,” she says. “And anyway, my original point still stands. He’s leaving in a week and there’s no point starting something that’ll be over as soon as it begins.”
“And my original counter-point still stands. You’re thinking about it in the wrong way.” Before Clarke can protest, Raven puts her hands on her shoulders, soldiers on. “You may’ve been debate club president, babe, but I’ve got you on this. Look, nobody’s saying you have to fall in love with the guy. And if I really thought you didn’t want to call him, I wouldn’t push it. But I think you do, and I think that makes you nervous, so you’re talking yourself out of something you want: a week of fun with a hot guy before you start the last, crazy term of your undergrad.”
Clarke worries her lip, feels herself faltering. “It just feels weird, dragging out a one night stand.”
“He left his number; he obviously still wants to see you.”
“Okay, point. But what if I don’t like him without alcohol and I’ve already agreed to hang out with him for a week? Or, what if I like him a lot, and then I'm heartbroken when he leaves?”
“You already know that you like him, alcohol just makes you worry less,” Raven says. “And it’s a week, Clarke. You’re not going to be heartbroken.”
“A lot can happen in a week,” she mutters under her breath, petulant.
Raven laughs, shakes her head a little. “You're ridiculous.”
“Shut up.” Clarke screws her nose up at her. “You’re not gonna drop this, are you?” She asks, mostly just to delay the inevitable. She knows Raven won’t, and as much as Clarke hates to admit it, her friend is right. There is a part of her that wanted to call him, and just needed the encouragement.
“Not a chance.”
“Fine,” she relents, and stupidly, her heart quickens with the decision. “I'll text him.”
Raven’s face splits into a mischievous grin. “Good. I’m expecting a very satisfied Clarke Griffin for the next week.”
“You’re the worst. You know that, right?”
Raven’s smile is entirely self-congratulatory. “I do.”
In actual fact, Raven is far from the worst. They met three years ago, after Clarke found her making out with her then-boyfriend, who also happened to be Raven’s. Finn was an idiot, honestly — especially considering this all occurred at the bar he worked at; one all three of them frequented regularly — but after they both let off some steam, she and Raven became fast friends, ditching him and keeping each other.
Friends became roommates about a year ago, and between further shitty relationships, an accident that lead to months of physical therapy and a never fully healed leg, and general bonding over alcohol and takeout and shitty TV, Raven’s easily one of Clarke’s favourite people.
Still, while she’s one of Clarke’s favourites, that doesn’t mean she isn’t annoying. Even if she’s convincing her to so something she wanted to do anyway. Raven may have a point about her being chicken shit.
Clarke: Still looking for a tour guide for the next week?
He replies quickly, and that that has her smiling is mildly worrying.
Bellamy: Hey princess. I am still looking for a tour guide. You offering, or is this a general enquiry?
Clarke: I may have some free time on my hands. Are you free tonight?
Bellamy: After six, yeah. Want to get drinks? I can come out your way this time.
Clarke: Yeah, sounds great.
They hash out plans to meet tonight at eight, and with Bellamy’s final See you then, princess, Clarke's pretty sure it was the right decision.
“Alright, I’m getting drinks with him tonight. Happy?”
Raven smirks. “Ecstatic. Now here, you’ll be needing these.” She hands over a box of condoms, having apparently picked them up while Clarke was busy texting. “You can never be too careful, babe. The pill doesn’t protect you from everything.”
“It’s not fair that you can hide your teasing beneath genuine concern for my wellbeing,” Clarke says, dropping the box in the basket. She is right, after all.
They pay for their stuff before making the walk back to their apartment, chatting easily along the way. Raven mentions texting the gang to come out tonight, back up for Clarke in case she needs it, which is how Raven shows she cares. Still, it’s kind of startling how sure Clarke is that she won’t.
Her memory of the other night is a little hazy, but — they did get along really well, and Bellamy was definitely a good guy.
“Just to make sure he isn’t an axe murderer,” Raven insists, as they make their way up to the second storey of their building. Elevator maintenance has been going on for a month now, and even with Raven’s brace tweaked to pretty much perfection, it’s often slow going. Clarke offers her an arm up the last flight, rolling her eyes when her friend shoots her an offended look.
“Now you’re worried he might be an axe murderer?” She asks, amused.
“Well, if he’s a hot axe murderer, I might let it slide.”
“So you want just to judge my taste in guys.”
“Exactly,” Raven says, unlocking the door to their place and pushing her way in. “I think you’re forgetting the whole I’m living variously through you aspect to this.”
“Yeah, I’m really not.” Clarke flops down onto the couch and turns on the TV. “You’ve mentioned it about forty times today.”
“But it worked,” Raven points out, stealing the remote to switch on Parks and Rec, like Clarke wasn’t about to do the exact same thing. “When you get laid multiple times this week, you’ll thank me.”
“Promise,” Clarke says, knocking her shoulder against Raven’s. “Thanks for letting your sex-ban convince me.”
“Hey, what are friends for?”
“Apparently for convincing me that I deserve a ton of string-free sex.”
“Apparently.”
Clarke laughs, turning back to the TV even as excitement begins to simmer beneath her skin.
Yeah, a week of meaningless fun sounds pretty damn good.