11
The drive to the restaurant had been quiet, each of them in their own car, but the dinner itself was surprisingly lighthearted. Clarke had worried that the change in routine—dining out on a whim, rather than following her usual structured evening—would unsettle her. But Lexa’s presence softened the disruption, making it manageable.
She noticed the way Lexa subtly helped when her tics surfaced. A flick of fingers near Clarke’s hand whenever she started tapping too quickly on the table. A casual but deliberate reach across the table to feed her a fry, pulling her attention away when her mind threatened to loop too long on one thought.
Clarke had rolled her eyes at her. “You’re too observant,” she muttered, exasperated but fond. “I can’t even fool you.”
Lexa had only smiled. “Good,” she said simply, her voice warm. “Because I also don’t want you to mask your true self.”
That night, alone in her apartment, Clarke expected the usual discomfort that followed a break in routine, and sure enough, it crept in. A mild but noticeable anxiety stirred at the edges of her awareness.
But this time, it wasn’t panic-inducing.
It was warmth.
Her skin felt too hot under the blanket, her thoughts circling endlessly around the memory of Lexa’s arms around her, the realization that Lexa had wanted to kiss her, that Lexa was attracted to her. And the bigger revelation—that Clarke was attracted to Lexa too. She had hugged Lexa for three whole minutes. She had straddled Lexa’s thighs.
Now, she overanalyzed the impulse, the action itself.
Was that a good decision? Was she too forward?
What did Lexa think about it?
Was she leading Lexa on? Giving her false hope?
She knew she liked having Lexa around—wanted Lexa around—but she wasn’t ready for more physical connection. What if she sent mixed signals? What if Lexa wasn’t patient enough and—
A soft meow broke through her thoughts.
Juno jumped onto her stomach, pushing against her chest with gentle paws. Clarke startled, realizing her breath had turned shallow, edging into something too fast, too erratic.
Not quite a meltdown. But close.
She exhaled slowly, grounding herself in the warmth of Juno’s fur, her fingers stroking in rhythmic motions.
Her mind settled. But the thought of Lexa still lingered.
---
Fridays were for Octavia. That was their routine now.
Octavia who had a day off, decided to drop by Clarke’s gallery just before noon, balancing a bag of food containers in one hand and her helmet in the other.
“Lunch, courtesy of my mom,” she announced, plopping the bag onto Clarke’s desk with a satisfied grin. “She made it just for you.”
Clarke’s eyes widened, a more subdued excitement flickering through her. “Aurora cooked?” she asked, practically snatching the containers. Aurora was rarely home, her work keeping her away most of the time. Clarke had never thought to ask what exactly her job was, but it had never mattered.
They ate together in the studio, the scent of fresh paint mixing with the comforting aroma of homemade food.
As they finished, Clarke cleared her throat. “You should come to Raven’s workshop tomorrow,” she said casually. “I need your opinion.”
Octavia arched an eyebrow. “Is this about Lexa?”
Clarke felt the heat creep up her neck. “...Maybe.”
Octavia smirked but, to Clarke’s relief, didn’t tease her further. Instead, she nodded. “I’ll be there. It’s been too long since I last bothered Raven anyway.”
Clarke rolled her eyes. “You hid her wrench this Tuesday, O. Raven told me.”
Octavia laughed, unrepentant. “Okay, but that was funny.”
“Agreed,” Clarke muttered, smirking.
---
Clarke arrived at Raven’s workshop just before lunch, takeout bags in one hand, coffee in the other.
Raven was under a car when Clarke walked in, but she rolled out on her mechanic’s creeper, eyes lighting up at the sight of food. “Finally, something good happens today,” she grinned. “Gimme.”
They ate at the workbench, talking about everything and nothing. Clarke mentioned Octavia was coming by later, and Raven just hummed in acknowledgment, already expecting some kind of chaos to ensue.
At 3 p.m., Octavia arrived, her motorcycle rumbling before she killed the engine. She hopped off, shaking out her hair as she walked into the garage, clad in casual jeans and a leather jacket.
“Alright,” she announced, looking between them. “What’s this about?”
Clarke shifted, clearing her throat.
“I need your opinion,” she blurted out, fingers tracing the lid of her empty coffee cup. “I don’t know how to navigate this… weird unease.”
Raven and Octavia waited. Clarke wasn’t great at explaining feelings, but they knew she’d get there in her own way.
So she did.
She told them about Thursday. About the hug—the full three minutes of it. About how she had straddled Lexa’s lap without thinking. How she had kissed Lexa’s nose. How she had touched her hair.
When she finished, the garage was silent for a beat.
Then Raven grinned. “So, basically, she likes you more than just a friend, and you want to devour her.”
Octavia slapped her shoulder. “Stop teasing her, Reyes.”
Clarke groaned, dropping her head onto the table, heat crawling up her neck.
But when she lifted her head, Octavia and Raven weren’t just teasing anymore. They were smiling—fond and knowing.
Raven wiped her hand with a rag and leaned back against the workbench, tilting her head at Clarke. "So, what exactly do you need our opinion on?"
Clarke hesitated, tracing circles on her coffee cup before she spoke. "When I hugged Lexa, I felt… warm. Like, really warm. And when our faces were close, it was—" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I don’t know. I wanted to be close, for our bodies to touch, but that doesn’t sound right either."
Octavia watched her carefully before asking, "Clarke, do you want to kiss Lexa? On the lips?"
Clarke pursed her lips, considering. She sifted through the emotions tangled in her mind—the way her chest fluttered when Lexa smiled, the way she felt drawn to her in a way that was new but not unwelcome. After a moment, she nodded. "Yeah, I do."
Raven, now intrigued, leaned forward. "Okay, and do you feel the need for intimacy? I mean like—do you want to have her babies?"
Clarke huffed, rolling her eyes. "Rae, Lexa is a woman. A female. She has no suitable equipment for giving me babies."
Then as it finally began to click in her mind, Clarke blinked, frowning slightly. "Do you mean… do I want to have sex with her?" The question was asked with clinical, innocent curiosity, but Raven immediately turned red, caught off guard by Clarke’s bluntness.
Raven cleared her throat, trying to recover, but then smirked. "Well, you know what I mean,"
Octavia, smirking, saved her. "Clarke. She means, do you want to be intimate with her beyond just kissing and hugging? In a dimmed light, no clothes, only the two of you in bed?" Octavia was having fun, she knew how Clarke's mind works; her brain will analyze that description first to get the whole picture of that situation and arrive on the right conclusion.
And when the process is completed, Clarke blinked at them, confused as she tried to digest the new information. Then as the realization dawned on her, and her face burned. "Oh my god."
Octavia and Raven burst into laughter, the workshop filling with their cackles.
Still chuckling, Octavia wiped at her eyes. "Wait, wait. So… do you?"
Clarke groaned, muttering, "Maybe I do, but not in the near future. Lexa hasn’t even wined and dined me yet."
Raven, now practically rolling on the floor, wheezed. "Oh my god. Did Lexa say she wanted to wine and dine you first?"
Clarke crossed her arms, her face still burning. "No. She said she wanted to kiss me, but I kissed her nose instead. And then I told her that the kiss had to wait—because she hadn’t wined and dined me yet."
That shut them up.
Octavia and Raven exchanged glances before looking at Clarke, finally recognizing the weight of this conversation.
Clarke sighed, rubbing her temples. "I overthought everything last night. What if I’m leading Lexa on? What if I’m not ready for more than hugs? What if she gets tired of waiting? I sat on her lap, O. Just—climbed onto her like it was nothing." She groaned, the embarrassment hitting her belatedly now that she had spent the whole night analyzing every action, every feeling.
Raven, still grinning but softer now, nudged her. "Clarke. It’s gonna be okay. Lexa’s a grown adult, and she’s smart. She gets you. She’s not going to expect something you’re not ready for."
Octavia nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and from everything you’ve told us? She’s already been patient and respectful. She’s not going anywhere."
Clarke let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Maybe they were right. Maybe, despite the chaos in her mind, this wasn’t something to be afraid of.
--
The comforting hum of chatter and the sizzle of a hot griddle filled the air as Clarke, Raven, and Octavia slid into their usual booth at The Ark Diner. The place was familiar—worn leather seats, a jukebox in the corner playing soft rock, and the ever-present scent of coffee and fried food. It was their go-to spot, a place where they could unwind without thinking too much.
Raven stretched, arms over her head, before slouching comfortably against the booth. "Okay, Clarke, real talk. Two nights in a row of socializing—are we witnessing history in the making?"
Clarke rolled her eyes but smirked. "You’re so dramatic. I do go out."
"Uh-huh, sure. To art events and galleries, which don’t count because that’s work for you," Raven shot back. "This, though? Dinner out, then drinks at the bar? That’s practically extrovert behavior."
Octavia snorted. "She has a point."
Clarke shook her head, amused. "I promise, I’m fine. If I start feeling overwhelmed, I’ll let you know."
Raven gave her a searching look before nodding. "Good. ‘Cause we both know what happens when you get overloaded."
Clarke sighed but didn’t argue. They did know. And while she wasn’t always great at recognizing her limits in the moment, Raven and Octavia had been doing this long enough to spot the signs before she crashed.
The conversation drifted into easier topics as they ate—Octavia told them about the latest drama at Grounders, some drunk guy embarrassing himself while hitting on a bartender. Raven ranted about a stubborn client at her shop who swore he knew more about cars than she did. Clarke mostly listened, grateful for the normalcy.
By the time they finished eating, Clarke felt settled. Comfortable.
She could do this.
At 7 PM, Clarke and Raven left the diner, walking toward Grounders while Octavia rode ahead on her bike. The night air was crisp, but not unpleasant, and Clarke found herself surprisingly relaxed.
The familiar buzz of conversation and the low thrum of music greeted them as they stepped inside. Clarke’s eyes immediately found Lexa.
Lexa and Anya were seated in their usual corner booth, a dimly lit spot that gave them a clear view of the bar. Lexa sat with effortless ease, one arm draped over the back of the seat, fingers tapping idly against the table as she listened to Anya. But when Clarke walked in, those fingers stilled.
Their gazes locked.
Clarke took a breath.
She strode toward the table confidently, though there was the briefest hesitation when she reached them—like she was second-guessing herself. Then, as if shaking off the thought, she leaned down.
Her arm draped over Lexa’s shoulders, casual yet intimate, and she dipped close, her lips just near Lexa’s ear as she whispered, "Hey, you."
And then, before she could think too much about it, she pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to Lexa’s cheek.
Lexa froze.
It wasn’t immediate. Clarke felt the slight tension in her shoulders, the way Lexa’s breath hitched ever so slightly.
Clarke didn’t linger. She straightened, withdrawing like nothing had happened, and turned toward the bar with Octavia to get their drinks.
Lexa, however, had completely short-circuited.
"Earth to Lexa."
Anya waved a hand in front of her face, snapping her fingers when Lexa didn’t respond.
Lexa blinked, realizing belatedly that Clarke was no longer next to her.
She was at the bar now, standing beside Octavia, waiting for her drink. Clarke looked at ease, fingers drumming idly against the counter.
And then—she turned her head.
Her golden hair shifted over her shoulder as she glanced back at their table—at Lexa—and her lips curved into a knowing smirk.
And then—she winked.
Lexa gripped the edge of the table so hard that Anya actually leaned back slightly.
Raven cackled. "Ooooh, Clarkey knew exactly what she was doing."
Lexa still couldn’t speak. Her brain was buffering, her cheek tingling from the contact.
Raven, never one to let an opportunity slip, high-fived Anya and stole a quick kiss from her, grinning against her lips.
Anya rolled her eyes but smirked. "You’re ridiculous."
"And you love me."
Lexa exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down her face.
Anya smirked knowingly. "You good, Woods?"
Lexa shook her head, somewhere between exasperated and amused. Her eyes flickered back to Clarke, who was now sipping her soda, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Yeah. Clarke Griffin knew exactly what she was doing.
Clarke walked back to the table, half-full soda in one hand and a beer in the other. She slid into the seat beside Lexa, their shoulders brushing. It was such a small touch, yet the effect was immediate—her nerves settled, the noise in her mind quieted.
She barely paid attention to anything else now, fully focused on Lexa as she animatedly talked about work—how one of her employees nearly dropped blueprints into wet cement, how Anya had to step in when two interns started bickering over whose coffee order was more important, and Lexa’s first official site visit.
Clarke tilted her head slightly, silently asking Did you take it easy on your leg?
Lexa caught the look and exhaled, already knowing where Clarke’s mind had gone. "I didn’t abuse my leg, Clarke."
Clarke narrowed her eyes as if assessing whether she believed her. Then, after a beat, she nodded. "Good girl."
She hadn’t thought much of it—until Lexa choked on her beer.
Anya and Raven cackled, Raven even slapping the table as Lexa struggled to recover.
Clarke blinked, confused, making a mental note to ask about it later. Instead, she simply shrugged and sipped her soda while Lexa took slow, careful breaths, glaring halfheartedly at her cousin and Raven.
The bar was busier than usual, the energy shifting as more people poured in. Clarke felt a familiar wave of discomfort rise, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass. She knew Raven would notice soon—would ask if she needed air, a break, or maybe an out entirely.
But before Raven could say anything, Lexa reached for her hand.
"Do you ever just ignore the noise and dance?" Lexa asked.
Clarke blinked. "No."
She never danced at the bar’s dance floor—too crowded, too much potential for unwanted touches, too much of a sensory overload.
Lexa’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand. "Wanna try to dance with me?"
Clarke exhaled. The idea should have made her more anxious, but with Lexa… she found herself nodding, letting Lexa lead her toward a less crowded spot on the dance floor.
Lexa guided her arms, draping them over her shoulders, drawing them closer. Clarke could feel Lexa’s breath against her face, steady and warm.
She didn’t mind the closeness. It was Lexa.
Lexa’s hands settled on her waist, firm yet respectful, holding her without pressure. The music wasn’t too fast, nor was it too slow—something in between, just enough to sway in time with the rhythm.
Clarke relaxed into it, and before she knew it, her arms had fully wrapped around Lexa's neck, their bodies fitting together as if they were made for each other.
Her mind was calm, but her nerves… they were on fire in the best way possible.
She leaned in and pressed a lingering, featherlight kiss to the side of Lexa’s neck.
Lexa inhaled sharply, her grip on Clarke’s waist tightening instinctively.
Clarke smiled against her skin.
"You’re a tease, Clarke," Lexa groaned, but there was no complaint in her tone, only something lower, something that sent a different kind of fire through Clarke’s veins.
Clarke chuckled but didn’t pull away—at least, not until the crowd around them began to thicken. Someone bumped into them once, then again, and Clarke stiffened.
"Lex," she murmured, voice quieter. "Can we go back to our table? The crowd’s getting bigger."
Lexa didn’t hesitate, nodding immediately. "Come on."
She guided Clarke out of the dance floor, back toward their table, where Octavia, Anya, and Raven were smirking.
"Clarke finally had her first dance! Look at our Clarkey growing up, Rae," Octavia teased, wiping a fake tear from her eye, while Raven had that smirk that seemed too smug for Clarke's liking.
Clarke shot them a glare, though there was no real heat behind it.
"This calls for a celebration," Raven declared. "Drinks on me, girls!"
The night stretched on with laughter and teasing, with inside jokes and stolen glances between Clarke and Lexa.
When it was time to leave, Lexa offered to walk Clarke back to Raven’s workshop, where her car was parked.
Anya had volunteered to drive Raven home, which conveniently left Clarke and Lexa with a little more time alone.
The night air was crisp but comfortable, the streets quieter now as they strolled side by side.
Their conversation was light—nothing too deep, nothing too heavy.
But Clarke, whether she realized it or not, was flirting.
Not in an over-the-top way, but in her own bold, dry, and sarcastic way. She made little teasing comments, tossed out quick-witted remarks, and threw Lexa a few smirks that had her blushing before she could even stop herself.
Lexa melted.
She didn’t even care that Clarke wasn’t doing it on purpose—it was still working.
She glanced over at Clarke, who was now looking up at the stars as she walked, unaware of how completely endearing she was being.
Lexa exhaled.
She was so gone for her.
By the time they reached Raven’s workshop, the air between them had shifted into something softer, something charged.
They leaned against Clarke’s car, standing close—so close that Clarke could feel the warmth radiating off Lexa, could hear the way Lexa exhaled, steadying herself.
Lexa hesitated, just for a beat, then took a quiet breath and asked, "Clarke, would you like to go on a date with me?"
Clarke blinked.
Not because she hadn’t thought about this—God, she’d thought about it a lot—but because hearing it aloud, from Lexa, made it real.
She didn’t realize she had gone quiet until Lexa’s lips parted slightly, as if preparing for rejection.
Then, finally, Clarke nodded, heart thudding a little faster. "Okay."
Lexa’s lips curled into a smile, relief washing over her face. "Is Monday okay? It is our scheduled dinner, and I was thinking I could cook for us at my place—unless you’d rather go out to…"
She didn’t get to finish.
Clarke reached up and pressed a single finger against Lexa’s lips, silencing her. "Your place. And you cook. I like that."
Lexa swallowed, eyes flickering between Clarke’s own and the finger against her lips.
"Yeah," she managed, slightly breathless, "Okay. Great. It’s a date." Her lips brushing againts the finger,
Clarke grinned, dropping her hand, watching as a blush dusted Lexa’s cheeks.
A few moments later, Anya and Raven pulled up. Lexa lingered, watching as Clarke got into her car, only heading to Anya's car once Clarke drove off safely.
"Finally got a date with Clarke, huh?" Raven teased, leaning on Anya’s car, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face.
Lexa sighed, rubbing a hand over her blushing face. "Shut up, Reyes."
Raven only laughed. "Oh, I’m never letting you live this down."
The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that settled deep in Clarke’s bones. The only sounds were the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustling of Juno moving around. It was peaceful, familiar—part of her routine.
She moved through it like muscle memory: scooping food into Juno’s dish, listening to the gentle crunch of kibble as her cat ate. She crouched down, running a gentle hand along Juno’s soft fur.
"Good girl, Juno," Clarke murmured, scratching behind her ears, earning a satisfied purr.
Afterward, she cleaned out the litter box, washed her hands, then grabbed one of Juno’s favorite toys—a small fabric mouse attached to a string. A few lazy flicks of her wrist had Juno pouncing, her sharp reflexes making Clarke grin.
Juno was good company, grounding in a way that few things were. Clarke could feel herself settling, letting the structure of her routine do its job.
But by the time she slipped into bed, the restlessness was back.
She sighed, shifting onto her side, then her back, then her side again. It wasn’t working. Usually, the combination of her nighttime routine and some deep breaths was enough to calm her mind, but tonight?
Tonight, her mind was too loud.
Clarke recognized some of the emotions swirling inside her—anticipation, maybe longing.
God, do I already want to see Lexa again?
She swallowed, remembering the way her mom had once teased her about missing someone before she even left.
"You're not restless, sweetheart," Abby had said with a knowing smile. "You just miss them."
Was this what that was?
And then there was that other feeling—the one that had been lingering ever since they danced. The warmth of Lexa's hands on her waist, the way their bodies fit together so seamlessly. The quiet thrill of it, how easy it had been to just be in that moment. How Lexa's warmth overrode the mild discomfort she felt at doing something new, something spontaneous, calming down that ever present tension in her body. Clarke had never danced with someone like that before. Had never been that close with anyone.
Being around Lexa—physically or just listening to her talk, or inhaling that scent which was uniquely Lexa, staring at those green eyes of her— was like painting, one of the few things that helped her calm down and just be.
Another thing she liked to do sometimes was moving to a good song in her apartment, alone. Just letting those overflowing energy and mounting tension burst freely as she swayed, or jumped, or head-banged. She had never danced in front of others, or with someone. Clarke had no idea where and how to step, should she follow the dance partner or lead them?
But with Lexa, those questions never came, she just let her body follow Lexa's. It had been different. Close. Intimate in a way Clarke wasn’t sure she was ready to process yet.
And now, she overthought everything.
Had she been too stiff? Had she stepped on Lexa’s toes and Lexa just hadn’t said anything?
Then, of course, her mind jumped to the date.
Lexa had asked her out.
To her apartment.
Where she would cook.
Did Clarke need to bring something? Wine? Maybe flowers?
At the thought, Clarke scrunched her nose.
Flowers for a first date? It felt too traditional, too impersonal. And roses? God, no. Clarke hated the roses from the city florist—their scent was always too strong, too artificial for her sensitive nose.
But a garden filled with wild roses, mingling with other flowers? That, she loved.
It was the same with picking flowers—once they were cut, something about them changed. The scent became different, wrong. Clarke would rather have a potted plant, something alive.
But… did Lexa even like potted plants?
And now Clarke was spiraling.
Because that led to What should I wear? which led to Should I dress up? or Should I keep it casual? and What if I overdress? and What if I underdress?
It was a never-ending cycle.
A firm paw landed on her chin.
Clarke startled, blinking up at Juno’s unimpressed little face, golden eyes staring at her like she was the dumbest human alive.
She huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm overthinking."
Juno meowed in response.
Clarke reached up, scratching behind her ears. "What do you think, Juno? Wine or no wine?"
Juno blinked at her.
"Great input, very helpful," Clarke deadpanned, making Juno let out a small chirp before curling up beside her.
The simple action helped. Clarke let out a slow breath, whispering, "Thanks for stopping the spiral."
Then, her phone vibrated on the nightstand.
She grabbed it, the screen lighting up with a name that sent a small flutter through her chest.
Lexa: You don’t need to overthink it, Clarke.
Clarke stared at the message, then let out a soft huff of laughter. Did Lexa have some kind of mind-reading superpower?
Lexa: I know you’re probably overanalyzing everything from tonight, but just so you know—I really enjoyed our dance. And I’m really looking forward to our dinner date.
Clarke chewed her lip, warmth creeping up her neck.
Lexa: And you don’t need to bring anything but your awesomeness. Seriously.
Lexa: Good night, Clarke. Sweet dreams. And give Juno a scratch for me.
Clarke bit back a grin, reading the messages over again.
Her heart felt lighter.
She took a breath, then typed back:
Clarke: Good night, Lex. Sweet dreams to you too. And Juno says thanks for the love.
Juno meowed, like she understood, and Clarke laughed softly.
She finally set her phone down, rolling onto her side.
And this time, when she closed her eyes, the restlessness faded, replaced by something softer, warmer.
Something that felt a lot like hope.
---
Clarke pulled into the driveway at 9:20 a.m. sharp. She spotted her dad standing on the porch, hands in his pockets, watching her with that easygoing grin of his.
Juno’s carrier sat beside her in the passenger seat. She unlatched the door, lifting it carefully as she stepped out. "Alright, Juno, you know the drill," she murmured before opening the carrier door and letting her cat dart into the garden. Juno stretched luxuriously, then trotted off to investigate the familiar space.
Clarke hesitated for half a second before stepping toward Jake. She wasn’t big on hugs—not because she didn’t love her parents, but because she only initiated them when she really wanted to. But today…
Today, she felt lighter.
So, she wrapped an arm around him, quick and sideways, mumbling a "Morning, Dad."
Jake’s grin went impossibly wider. "Morning, kiddo." His voice was warm, teasing, but there was something soft in the way he held onto that brief hug.
Clarke pulled back just as fast, rolling her eyes at the look on his face, and walked into the house.
She found Abby in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, expertly flipping something in a pan. The smell of eggs and toast filled the air.
Clarke didn't hesitate this time. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Abby’s waist from behind, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Morning, Mom."*
Abby froze for a split second. Then, Clarke felt the subtle tremble in her mother’s body as she exhaled, like she was holding in how much that small gesture meant.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Abby said, voice warm but composed.
Clarke pulled away, moving to grab some plates, acting like nothing was out of the ordinary. Abby, on the other hand, took a second to collect herself before resuming her cooking.
Breakfast was relaxed. Juno was curled up under the table, content after her morning garden adventure. Jake talked about his latest projects at work, Abby vented about a particularly exhausting patient, and Clarke shared updates on her latest paintings.
It felt normal—until Abby, ever the observant one, tilted her head and smiled knowingly.
"So," she began, her voice playful, "what’s got our girl in such a good mood today?"
Clarke, caught mid-sip of coffee, set her mug down with a raised eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, come on, Clarke," Jake said, amused. "The frequent little laughs? The tiny smiles?" He gestured vaguely at her. "You're practically radiating sunshine."
Clarke huffed but didn't deny it. She was in a good mood.
So, she told them about her week.
About the portrait she was painting for Lexa’s birthday next month.
Jake and Abby exchanged a glance but didn’t interrupt. They just listened, letting Clarke talk.
She told them about Monday's dinner.
The Wednesday’s lunch.
Then the impromptu visit by Lexa to her studio on Thursday, when she needed to see and feel the texture of Lexa’s hair for the painting. She may have blushed when she admitted to kissing Lexa’s nose—but she definitely left out the part where she ended up on Lexa’s lap.
She did, however, mention the three-minute hug.
Jake gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Three full minutes? Clarke, my own daughter, has never hugged me that long!"
Abby chuckled, shaking her head. Clarke just smirked, shrugging. "I already know how your hugs feel. How warm they are."
Jake pretended to wipe away a tear. "She’s replacing me, Abby."
Abby patted his arm sympathetically, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "It happens, dear."
Clarke rolled her eyes but was smiling.
Then she told them about Saturday.
About how, for the first time in her life, she danced with someone.
And didn’t mess it up.
About how safe she felt in Lexa’s arms.
And about something else—something harder to put into words.
"I think…" Clarke hesitated, glancing down at the table before looking back at them. "I think I’m more impulsive with Lexa around."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Impulsive how?"
"Not in a bad way," Clarke clarified quickly. "It’s just… I touch her more. Like, I don’t really think about it—I just do it. I feel this nudge, like when I crave my favorite ice cream."
Jake’s eyebrows shot up, while Abby nodded thoughtfully, filing that little confession away for later. She had always taught Clarke about intimacy in a clinical, straightforward way so Clarke could process it properly, but she had never pushed—she had always waited for Clarke to come to her when she was ready.
Maybe that time had finally come.
But Abby didn’t press.
She simply smiled, letting Clarke steer the conversation where she wanted.
And then Clarke, cheeks slightly pink, admitted, "Lexa asked me out on a date."
Silence.
Then Jake beamed, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied nod. "Finally."
Clarke groaned. "You’re worse than Raven."
"Sweetheart, we’ve seen you around Lexa," Abby teased gently. "It was only a matter of time."
Clarke rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance there.
"So, when’s the date?" Jake asked.
"Tomorrow."
"And what’s the plan?"
"She’s cooking."
Jake nodded approvingly. "Good. Let’s see if she can feed my daughter properly."
Clarke huffed a laugh. "I think she’ll do just fine."
Abby just watched her daughter, taking in the way Clarke glowed when she spoke about Lexa.
Something had shifted.
And Abby knew—knew this was different.
Knew Clarke was falling.
And, for once, Clarke wasn’t fighting it.
The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting warm golden light across the living room. Clarke had spent most of the day in comfortable familiarity—talking, teasing, and laughing with her parents. But now, with lunch finished and the dishes cleared, she felt that familiar nervous energy settling in her chest.
She exhaled, gathering her thoughts, before turning to Abby.
"Mom, can we talk for a bit?"
Abby, ever perceptive, studied Clarke’s expression before nodding. "Of course, sweetheart. Let’s go to the porch."
Clarke followed her outside, hands tucked into the pocket of her hoodie. The air was crisp but not cold, the kind of weather that made her feel grounded. Abby sat down first, gesturing for Clarke to do the same.
Clarke hesitated, then got straight to the point.
"What should I expect from a first date?"
Abby blinked, then smiled gently. "That depends. What are you worried about?"
Clarke shifted in her seat, pressing her lips together before exhaling. "Kissing Lexa. People kissed after a date, right?"
Abby’s brows lifted slightly, but she stayed quiet, letting Clarke work through her thoughts.
"Lexa said she can wait until I’m ready," Clarke continued, fingers curling into her sleeves, "but what if I’m never ready? Or what if I need more time to think?" She frowned. "I don’t want her to feel unwanted or ignored. That’s what happened with my ex, and I—"
Abby placed a hand over Clarke’s after silently asked if it was okay, stopping the spiral before it could take over. "Clarke, Lexa isn’t Lauren. And if she says she’s willing to wait, then you have to trust her on that. She’ll tell you how she feels. You don’t have to overthink this."
Clarke inhaled slowly, letting the words sink in.
"Sometimes," Abby continued, voice softer now, "you don’t need to think. Your heart and mind will know when the time is right. Trust yourself. Trust Lexa."
Clarke swallowed. "I do trust her. I want her around. I want to hold her hand, feel her warmth, listen to her talk about random things."
Abby smiled at that, warmth spreading in her chest. "Then all you need to do is go with the flow and communicate with her."
Clarke nodded, exhaling, feeling some of the weight lift.
Then Abby smirked. "And if you feel that ‘ice cream craving’ around her again, maybe talk to her about it."
Clarke narrowed her eyes. "Mom—"
"I’m serious." Abby grinned. "Explain what it means to you. That it’s about wanting intimacy, but not in a lustful way. That you just want to cuddle, kiss, or have those soft moments together. Ice cream for you means comfort, right?"
Clarke’s face turned red. "Mom!"
Abby chuckled. "Just a suggestion, sweetheart. No harm in letting Lexa know how you experience and show affection. You did tell her about you being you, right?"
Clarke huffed but couldn’t argue with that.
"Yeah, I did. And she said she already done her research, so I think she will understand,"
"Then all is good, sweetheart. Just be yourself,"
They ended the conversation with Abby teasing her more and Clarke burying her face in her hands, groaning.
---
The evening was spent with an early dinner, Juno curled up in her carrier, full and content. Clarke said her goodbyes, giving Jake and Abby another quick hug (to their obvious delight), before heading back to her apartment.
By the time she finished her nighttime routine, she flopped onto her bed, checking her phone.
A message from Lexa.
Lexa: How was your day with your parents?
Clarke smiled, typing back.
Clarke: It was good. I learned some things.
She didn’t elaborate, and Lexa didn’t push.
Instead, Lexa’s next message made her heart stutter.
Lexa: Are you excited for tomorrow?
Clarke hesitated, then typed honestly.
Clarke: Yeah. I’m looking forward to it.
A pause. Then—
Clarke: Do I need to dress up?
Lexa’s reply came almost immediately.
Lexa: Just dress casual. Whatever makes you comfortable.
Clarke exhaled, feeling a little more at ease. Lexa knew she liked to be prepared, and she appreciated the reassurance.
They exchanged a few more messages before Lexa finally sent—
Lexa: Sweet dreams, beautiful.
Clarke barely had time to react before her brain short-circuited.
She stared at the words, heartbeat quickening as she analyzed them, before groaning and shoving her face into her pillow.
This woman was going to be the death of her.