12
Monday morning found Clarke in a noticeably brighter mood than usual. She hummed under her breath as she unlocked the gallery, her steps lighter, her usual Monday sluggishness nowhere to be found.
Mia, her assistant, caught on immediately. "Okay, what’s up with you?" she teased, arching an eyebrow as she sorted through some invoices. "You’re way too chirpy for a Monday. Do you have a date later or something?"
Clarke just smirked, giving Mia a playful wink before slipping into her studio at the back of the gallery.
She set her bag down, unlatched Juno’s carrier, and let the cat stretch out before pulling out her phone. With a small grin, she typed out a quick message.
Clarke: Good morning, hope you have a productive day today.
As soon as she hit send, she took a deep breath, still getting used to the warmth that came with actively reaching out to Lexa first. But it felt good. Natural, even.
Then, with a satisfied nod, she headed back to the front to help Mia with the morning tasks.
The gallery saw a steady flow of visitors, and Clarke found herself genuinely enjoying the interactions. She helped guide a couple through the pieces, discussing textures and techniques, and by the time noon approached, she had successfully sold two of her own paintings and one from another artist who collaborated with her gallery.
"Someone’s on a roll today," Mia commented as she processed the transaction.
Clarke just shrugged. "Good energy attracts good things."
Mia snorted. "Uh-huh. Or maybe you just have a date you’re really looking forward to."
Clarke rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she left Mia to handle the rest of the admin work while she retreated to her studio, slipping into her creative zone with ease.
Now that she finally understood the texture and depth of Lexa’s hair, she was eager to capture it just right. She mixed shades of brown and gold, carefully layering them to get the perfect blend of warmth and softness. Hours passed without her realizing, her focus entirely consumed by brush strokes and fine details.
It wasn’t until her phone buzzed that Clarke finally looked away from the painting. She blinked, adjusting back to reality, before checking her messages.
Lexa had texted her thirty minutes ago.
Lexa: Hey, don’t forget to eat something, okay?
Clarke smiled, quickly replying.
Clarke: I was painting your lush hair, lost track of time.
A response came almost instantly.
Lexa: Glad to know my hair is getting some special attention. But seriously, eat.
Clarke chuckled, warmth spreading through her chest as she typed back.
Clarke: What about you? What are you up to?
Lexa: Drowning in paperwork. But at least there’s something to look forward to tonight.
A pause. Then—
Lexa: Excited to finally wine and dine you. 😉
Clarke huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. Feeling bold, she decided to tease back.
Clarke: Hmm… I might or might not let you get that kiss.
She barely had time to process what she had just sent before Lexa’s reply came in.
Lexa: I don’t mind waiting, Clarke. I just put it out there so you know that I’m interested in you that way.
Clarke swallowed, staring at the message for a moment. The sincerity in Lexa’s words hit her in a way she wasn’t expecting—soft yet steady, patient yet clear.
Then, before she could think too much about it, another message popped up.
Lexa: Leaving work early so I can prepare dinner for our date. Gotta pamper you like a queen. 😉
Clarke felt her entire face heat up.
She turned off her phone, pressed it against her forehead for a second, and then groaned. Lexa Woods was going to be the death of her.
With a flustered huff, she grabbed her phone again and poked her head out into the gallery.
"Mia, please tell me you can get me lunch. I’m too overwhelmed to function right now."
Mia smirked, already reaching for her bag. "This wouldn’t have anything to do with your date, would it?"
Clarke just sighed, slumping against the doorframe. "Just get me a sandwich, Mia."
Mia laughed all the way out the door.
---
Clarke had gone over this evening in her mind multiple times. The steps. The expectations. The possibilities. But even with all her mental preparation, the moment she pulled up to Lexa’s place, her pulse kicked up a notch.
She took a deep breath, looking at the neatly wrapped tiramisu box sitting in the passenger seat. Abby had suggested bringing a dessert, something she loved, and it felt like a good choice. A small, meaningful gesture.
Clarke grabbed the box and stepped out of her car, shaking off the slight nervous energy clinging to her.
Lexa’s home was already familiar—modern, elegant, but warm in its simplicity. And yet, tonight, it felt different. Like stepping into something new, something important.
When the door opened, Clarke’s breath caught for just a second.
Lexa stood there, casual yet effortlessly put together, dark green sweater hugging her frame just right, the soft glow from inside casting a golden tint on her sharp cheekbones. Her hair was loose tonight, waves framing her face in a way that made Clarke’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch.
Lexa’s eyes flickered with warmth as she smiled. "Hey, beautiful."
Clarke felt her face heat instantly. "H-hey, you."
She held out the tiramisu. "I, uh, brought dessert. It’s my favorite. Hope you like it."
Lexa took it like Clarke had handed her something precious, fingers brushing against hers in the brief exchange. "Tiramisu? That’s a solid choice. I already know I’ll love it."
Clarke swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. Lexa’s voice had this way of making simple words feel intimate.
"Come in."
---
Lexa’s place was neat, warm, and subtly inviting. Clarke had expected maybe a romantic setup, something extra, but Lexa had kept it simple—no excessive decorations, no elaborate display.
Just dimmed lighting and a single aromatic candle on the table, the scent soft enough not to overpower the rich aroma of food. It was thoughtful. Considerate.
And Clarke loved it.
"Dinner’s ready," Lexa said, pulling a chair out for Clarke.
Clarke hesitated for a second before sitting, feeling that little flutter in her chest again at the small gesture. Lexa moved gracefully, settling into the chair across from her, her smile never fading.
There was something about the way Lexa looked at her—like she was worth being seen, like every moment was something to be savored.
Clarke cleared her throat and pushed the tiramisu box that Lexa put on the table toward her. "You should put this in the fridge first."
Lexa smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Afraid I’ll eat it all before dinner?"
"Yes."
Lexa chuckled but got up to place the dessert in the fridge before returning to the table.
Dinner was good. The kind of good that made Clarke pause every few bites just to savor it.
Lexa had prepared something simple yet flavorful—grilled salmon with lemon butter sauce, roasted vegetables, and a light pasta dish on the side. Everything was balanced, not too heavy, and perfectly seasoned.
Clarke hummed in appreciation, taking another bite. "This is really good."
Lexa leaned on one elbow, watching her with barely concealed satisfaction. "I did say I was going to pamper you like a queen tonight."
Clarke rolled her eyes but smiled, taking another bite.
Lexa did most of the talking, which Clarke was grateful for. Not because she didn’t want to talk, but because she liked listening.
Lexa had this voice—warm, smooth, steady. She could be talking about work, a funny thing that happened in the office, or even something mundane, and Clarke would still want to listen.
She found herself nodding, humming in acknowledgment at the right moments, letting Lexa’s words fill the space between them.
Then, without thinking, Clarke blurted, "I really like listening to you talk."
Lexa stopped mid-sentence, blinking.
Then, as if on a delay, a slow blush crept up her neck, dusting her cheeks. "Yeah?"
Clarke, realizing what she had just said, quickly stuffed another bite of food into her mouth. "Yeah."
Lexa glanced down for a second, lips pressing together in something like a smile before she met Clarke’s gaze again. "I’ll keep that in mind."
Clarke looked away, ears burning.
The rest of the dinner continued in the same quiet rhythm—Lexa talking, Clarke listening, their energies balancing in a way that felt effortless.
---
When they moved on to dessert, Lexa took her first bite of tiramisu and let out a soft hum of appreciation. "Okay, you were right. This is really good."
Clarke smirked, satisfied. "Told you."
Lexa took another bite, then glanced at Clarke, an amused look in her eyes. "So, if I wanted to bribe you, I just need to keep a stash of tiramisu?"
"Basically."
Lexa chuckled, shaking her head. "Duly noted."
After a few minutes of quiet enjoyment, Lexa leaned back slightly, watching Clarke with that quiet intensity again. "I was thinking… I have some wine. No pressure, but if you’re not in a hurry, we could stay a little longer, talk some more?"
Clarke knew what Lexa was really asking.
It wasn’t about the wine.
It was about time. About sharing space, about deepening whatever this was between them.
And Clarke… Clarke wanted that.
She swallowed, fingers brushing the rim of her plate before she nodded. "Yeah. I’d like that."
Lexa’s smile softened into something deep, something real.
"Good."
As Lexa stood to get the wine, Clarke let out a slow breath, her heart settling into something steady.
This felt good.
Safe.
Like something worth savoring.
----
The evening had taken on a golden glow, the kind that came with warmth, good food, and easy companionship.
Clarke wasn’t usually one for drinking alcohol, but she felt safe here, tucked away in the quiet of Lexa’s living room, where the world outside didn’t matter. The wine wasn’t strong, but it had made her warm, softened the edges of her thoughts, lowered the usual walls she kept around her emotions.
Lexa had come back from the kitchen with effortless grace, carrying two empty wine glasses in one hand and a bucket with ice and a chilled bottle in the other. Clarke had watched her, noting the ease, the quiet confidence, the way Lexa fit so naturally into her own space. It was grounding.
She set everything down carefully before pouring the deep red liquid into their glasses. Clarke took hers, inspecting the way the light played in the glass before glancing at Lexa.
"I don’t drink much," she admitted. "I hate the buzzing feeling, makes me feel out of control."
Lexa’s gaze flickered up. "Then you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to."
"A glass won’t kill me." Clarke took a sip, letting the flavor settle. "And I trust you."
Lexa’s expression softened. There was something in the way she looked at Clarke—patient, unhurried. She said nothing, just sipped her own wine.
Clarke took another small sip before setting the glass down with a teasing glint in her eyes. "But just so you know, I’m not responsible for my actions after this."
Lexa chuckled. "No worries. I consulted with Raven and Octavia earlier, so I’m fully prepared."
Clarke barked out a laugh, shaking her head. "Good call. I don’t want to scare you off. I like having you around."
Lexa’s lips twitched into a smile, something fond and knowing. "You’re not scaring me off, Clarke."
They settled into something quieter then, sipping wine, eating small bites of tiramisu, letting the warmth of the evening curl around them.
It was Clarke who asked first.
"What happened with your marriage?"
Lexa didn’t tense, but there was a slight shift in her posture, a moment of consideration before she answered. "Costia and I… we weren’t a bad match, but we weren’t the right one either."
She turned the wine glass between her fingers, watching the liquid move. "I think we held on longer than we should have, trying to make it work because we were afraid of what failing would mean."
Clarke listened. Really listened.
"Are you still haunted by it?" she asked, voice softer now. "By the failure?"
Lexa exhaled. "Not haunted, no. But I think about it sometimes. What I could have done differently. What she could have done differently. But in the end, I don’t regret letting go."
Clarke nodded, letting the words settle before speaking again. "I only had one real relationship," she admitted. "And I don’t think I ever understood it the way I was supposed to. I didn’t know how to… talk it out back then. I missed things. Subtleties. It’s hard when everything feels like a puzzle no one taught you how to solve."
Lexa turned slightly, watching Clarke with something unreadable in her gaze. "You’re doing everything perfectly," she said, voice gentle but firm. "The fact that you try to communicate, that you speak up about your boundaries—that’s what matters."
Clarke’s fingers curled slightly against her glass.
Lexa’s voice softened further. "I never want you to feel pressured with me, Clarke. If I ever make you feel overwhelmed, you can tell me."
Clarke let out a quiet breath. "You’re doing it right—understanding my quirks. I like that."
Lexa blinked, lips parting slightly before a small, knowing smile curved them.
Their bodies had gravitated closer without them realizing it.
And Clarke, feeling a little bolder— the wine had made her warm and fuzzy but not out of control. She tilted her head and pressed a soft kiss to Lexa’s jaw—just a little too close to the corner of her mouth.
She liked feeling Lexa's soft and warm skin on her lips. And Clarke would blame her impulsiveness later on the wine and Lexa for being, well—Lexa.
Lexa inhaled sharply, her body tensing for just a fraction of a second before she relaxed into it, exhaling softly.
Clarke lingered, then pulled back, cheeks warming as she whispered, "This is the best first date ever."
Then, before she could stop herself, "Also, you look really attractive in that sweater."
Lexa let out a quiet, breathy laugh, cheeks tinged pink. "Are you flirting with me, Clarke Griffin?"
Clarke blinked. "Apparently?"
Lexa shook her head, amused. "May I kiss you too?"
Clarke stilled.
She wanted to say yes. She did say yes—after a beat of hesitation, after bracing herself, thinking Lexa would lean in and kiss her lips.
But Lexa didn’t.
Instead, she pressed a gentle kiss to Clarke’s forehead.
Clarke exhaled, the warmth of Lexa’s lips lingering against her skin, settling deep in her chest.
Lexa pulled back, watching Clarke carefully. "I meant it when I said I’d wait," she murmured. "I want you to kiss me when you’re ready. Not because you think I want you to."
Clarke swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding.
Lexa studied her for a moment, she had a feeling that Clarke was a little overwhelmed and knew that Clarke liked her warmth. So, Lexa opened her arms slightly—silent, open, an invitation.
Clarke didn’t hesitate.
She surged forward, pressing herself into Lexa’s embrace, sighing against her shoulder.
And then, without thinking, she mumbled, "Your body warmth is the best."
Lexa chuckled, rubbing small circles against Clarke’s back. "Yeah?"
Clarke nodded against her. "It’s like… when I crave ice cream."
Lexa pulled back slightly to look at her. "Ice cream?"
"Yeah." Clarke sighed, shifting so she could look at Lexa properly. "I wasn’t planning to say this, but it’s out now, so… ice cream, for me, has always meant comfort. If painting is a method, a way for me to take control, to calm down and put the world into perspective that suited me, ice cream is something I want when I feel safe. When I need to feel good again. And you… you make me feel like that."
Lexa stilled, lips parting slightly.
Clarke, a little self-conscious now, shrugged. "So, yeah. You’re like ice cream."
Lexa let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "That might be the best compliment I’ve ever received."
Clarke huffed, eyes flickering to Lexa’s lips for just a second before she averted her gaze. "I meant it."
Lexa was quiet for a moment, then softly asked, "Do you want to cuddle?"
Clarke hesitated. "I do. But… not while I’m still feeling the wine. I want to be fully me when I do."
Lexa’s expression melted into something almost impossibly soft. "I love that about you."
Clarke blinked. "What?"
"The way you know yourself," Lexa murmured. "The way you communicate it. The way you don’t settle for anything that doesn’t feel right. It’s… rare."
Clarke swallowed, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in her chest.
She ducked her head slightly, exhaling against Lexa’s collarbone. "You say the most ridiculously sweet things."
Lexa only smiled, resting her chin lightly against Clarke’s head. "Only when they’re true."
And Clarke, heart full, let herself melt just a little more.
---
Lexa hadn’t meant to keep Clarke up so late.
She realized it when she glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall—9:12 PM. Her brows furrowed slightly as she silently scolded herself. Clarke sleeps at nine. No wonder she had gone quiet on the couch while Lexa was tidying up.
Sure enough, when Lexa walked back into the living room, Clarke was curled up against the cushions, fast asleep.
The sight made something deep in Lexa’s chest tighten.
Clarke looked peaceful, her expression soft and unguarded in sleep. The dim glow from the TV cast gentle shadows on her face, highlighting the relaxed curve of her lips, the way her lashes rested delicately against her cheeks.
Lexa lingered for a moment, just watching her.
It wasn’t often that Clarke let herself rest so easily in someone else’s space. But here she was, dozing on Lexa’s couch, completely at ease.
She trusts me.
Not wanting to wake her, Lexa moved carefully, retrieving a soft throw blanket from the armchair. She draped it over Clarke’s body with quiet precision, tucking it lightly around her shoulders.
A few loose strands of golden hair had fallen across Clarke’s forehead, shifting slightly with each slow, steady breath.
Without thinking, Lexa reached out, fingers brushing over Clarke’s skin as she gently tucked the stray strands behind her ear.
Clarke stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Instead, she let out a soft sigh and burrowed deeper into the couch.
Lexa exhaled slowly, her lips curving into a faint smile.
Then, pulling out her phone, she hesitated for only a moment before texting Raven.
Lexa: Clarke fell asleep on my couch. Should I wake her up, or let her sleep?
The reply came almost immediately.
Raven: Let her sleep. But stay with her. If she wakes up, let her decide what she wants—whether to drive home or stay.
Lexa nodded to herself, locking her phone and setting it aside.
She dimmed the lights, turned on the TV, and put on a documentary about deep-sea creatures. The volume was low, just a quiet hum to fill the space.
Then, she settled onto the couch beside Clarke.
At first, she kept a respectful distance, leaning back against the cushions, watching the TV absently as Clarke’s breathing remained slow and even beside her.
But at some point—Lexa wasn’t sure when—she must have shifted.
Because when Clarke woke around midnight, she was wrapped securely in Lexa’s arms.
For a moment, Clarke’s body tensed.
She blinked in the low light, disoriented, her brain taking a few seconds to catch up.
Lexa’s warmth was all around her. The steady rise and fall of her breathing, the solid presence of her body curled behind Clarke’s, one arm draped loosely but securely around her waist.
Clarke didn’t remember how they had ended up like this.
But she did remember that she had felt warm and safe, and had unknowingly sought that comfort even in her sleep.
The familiar scent of Lexa—something subtly clean and warm, like fresh linen and a hint of pine—filled Clarke’s senses, grounding her.
Her initial tension faded.
Slowly, she smiled.
Lexa’s body was still, her breaths deep and even, the kind of rhythm that meant she had drifted off completely.
Careful not to disturb her, Clarke shifted just enough to pull Lexa’s arm tighter around her.
She should move.
She should get up and grab her things and go home.
But she didn’t want to.
She didn’t mind this.
Didn’t mind the closeness, the way Lexa’s presence wrapped around her like a quiet kind of protection.
So she closed her eyes again, relaxed into Lexa’s embrace, and let herself drift back to sleep.
---
The first thing Clarke registered when she woke up again in the morning was warmth.
It wasn’t the usual kind—the kind from her blankets at home, layered just the way she liked them, or the heated weight of her cat when she decided to claim Clarke as her personal bed. No, this was different. This was someone.
It took her brain a few seconds to catch up.
Her body was comfortable, her breathing steady. Normally, waking up in an unfamiliar place would trigger at least mild anxiety—a moment of disorientation, of recalibrating, of making sure everything was fine. She had a mental checklist for these situations. Was she in her own bed? No. Was she at Raven’s? No. Her old room at her parents' house? Also no.
But… no discomfort. No crawling unease under her skin. Just warmth, steady breathing, and the feeling of being held.
Lexa.
Clarke realized it at the same time she realized just how close they were.
Lexa's arm was around her, solid but not heavy, draped over her waist. Their legs were tangled, and Clarke’s back was flush against Lexa’s front. It should’ve felt suffocating, overwhelming. But it didn’t.
With anyone else, she might have needed to move, to fix the sensation of being confined, to find space to breathe. But with Lexa, the discomfort didn’t come. Or rather, it existed at such a low level that it was barely detectable—so faint that it almost didn’t count.
Why?
Her mind latched onto the question immediately, a problem to solve, a puzzle to pick apart. Why is this different?
She didn’t have an answer. Not yet.
She should’ve gone back to sleep. Or at least stayed still to sort through her thoughts properly. Instead, her brain did what it always did—it threw images at her. Unfiltered. Unbidden. And given the time of day and the presence of Lexa, it had to be that image.
The one Raven had planted. The one Octavia had reinforced. The one Clarke definitely wasn’t supposed to be thinking about while still in Lexa’s arms.
Do you even want that kind of intimacy?
Beyond kissing? No clothes? Just the two of you?
Her artist brain took those words and painted them into something vivid—dim lighting, warmth pressing against her, hands tracing over skin—Lexa’s hands. The quiet, breathless intimacy of it.
Her stomach flipped.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Clarke groaned internally and turned, burying her face in the crook of Lexa’s neck. A safe space. A reset. If she ignored everything, maybe her brain would shut up and let her enjoy the simple comfort of being held.
For a few blissful moments, it worked.
Then Lexa shifted slightly, tightening her hold just for a second before taking a slow inhale. The sound of her waking up.
Then, a raspy, sleep-coated voice filled the space between them.
"Good morning, Clarke."
Clarke jerked, her body moving before her brain could catch up. Her limbs always felt off when she first woke up—like they didn’t sync correctly with her thoughts. Sudden movements were a bad idea.
Which was why she almost fell off the couch.
Lexa’s reflexes were fast.
A warm hand caught Clarke’s waist, steadying her before she could completely tip over. And then came a soft chuckle. Deep, amused, still edged with sleep.
Clarke’s heart raced.
Lexa wasn’t laughing at her, not in a mean way—no, it was softer than that. There was fondness in it, in the way her lips curved into a small smile as she propped herself up slightly, watching Clarke with gentle eyes.
"Sorry," Lexa murmured, voice still rough with sleep. "Didn’t mean to scare you."
Clarke’s brain latched onto the tone first. That was always the first thing she processed—not just the words, but the way they were said. The cadence. The emotional weight behind them.
Lexa sounded genuine. Warm.
Her body slowly unclenched.
She shook her head quickly, still trying to recover, still desperately trying to act normal.
"It’s fine," she said, voice a little too high-pitched. "Just—uh—forgot where I was for a second."
Lexa raised an eyebrow. "You forgot?"
Clarke groaned. "Okay, no. I just wasn’t expecting you to—talk. I thought you were still asleep."
Lexa chuckled again, softer this time. "I was. Until you started hiding your face in my neck."
Clarke wanted to die. Right then and there.
She knew she was blushing—she could feel the heat spreading across her face, down her neck, probably all the way to her ears. She hated that she couldn’t control it.
"Okay, you really didn’t have to point that out," she muttered, flopping back against the couch and throwing an arm over her face.
Lexa just hummed in amusement. "It was cute."
Clarke peeked at her from under her arm, narrowing her eyes. "I will fight you."
Lexa smirked, shifting to sit up properly. "Mmm. Maybe after breakfast."
Clarke groaned again, knowing exactly how flustered she must look. But despite the embarrassment, despite everything, she felt... safe. At ease.
She stole a glance at Lexa, taking in the way the early light softened her features, the way her hair was slightly messy from sleep. The way she was still watching Clarke, amused but patient.
Clarke let out a long breath and finally sat up, rubbing a hand over her own tangled hair, grounding herself in the familiar texture.
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled. "But first, coffee."
Lexa smiled. "Coffee, then."
And just like that, the morning shifted back into something normal. Easy. Natural.
Clarke could deal with the intrusive thoughts about intimacy later. For now, she just wanted to enjoy this—whatever this was—with Lexa.
It was a Friday, mid-morning, two weeks after their spontaneous, awkward cuddle, and Clarke had never felt more out of control. The small apartment, usually her safe haven, felt stifling and overwhelming now.
Clarke stood in her kitchen, a trembling hand clutching her phone. Her stomach churned with anxiety, the pulse of fear thrumming at her temples as she stared down at Juno, who was curled on the floor, barely moving. The cat had vomited several times already, and Clarke was paralyzed with panic.
What if Juno dies?
The thought kept circling in her head like a dark cloud, too heavy for her to shake. Juno wasn’t just a pet. She was family. The little cat had a tendency to get into Clarke’s art supplies, knock over brushes, and steal her pencils. But Clarke had grown so attached to her—Juno was the first pet she’d ever owned. The thought of losing her was unbearable.
Clarke’s hands were shaking now, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She crouched beside Juno, running her fingers through the cat's fur, but it didn’t help. Her mind was racing, trying to come up with a solution, trying to make sense of everything, but the anxiety was overwhelming, like a thick fog that clouded her ability to think.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.
She froze. Her mind went blank as fear gripped her chest. It was like an invisible force paralyzing her, making her feel small, incapable. She felt helpless. She felt useless.
And that’s when her hand, almost without thinking, reached for her phone. The muscle memory kicked in before her brain could fully process it. Her thumb tapped on Lexa’s name. Not Raven. Not Octavia. Not her mom, a doctor, or even her dad.
It was Lexa. The thought, the action, was so automatic that it startled Clarke for a moment.
Why Lexa?
But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Lexa was reliable. Lexa was calm, competent, and Clarke knew, deep down, that Lexa would know what to do.
The call went through. Lexa picked up almost immediately.
"Clarke? What’s wrong?"
Clarke barely registered the tremor in her voice as she spoke, her words spilling out in a rush. “Lexa, I—I don’t know what to do. Juno’s sick. She’s vomiting, and I—I don’t know what’s happening. I can’t—she’s not moving, and I just—I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m—I'm so scared. What if—what if she dies? I can’t—”
Her voice cracked, and the sound of her own distress made her pause. She didn’t even realize she was crying until her breath hitched, sobs following in a broken rhythm.
Lexa’s voice cut through the chaos in her mind, calm and steady. “Clarke, breathe. Focus on your breathing. I’m on my way. Just tell me where you are.”
Clarke swallowed hard, trying to steady herself, but the panic had already taken over. Her hands were trembling so badly she could barely hold onto the phone. “I’m—I’m at home. Just—please hurry.”
There was no judgment in Lexa’s voice. No panic. Just the sound of steady movement as she processed the situation. Clarke heard the rustling of papers and a faint sound of Lexa standing up, likely grabbing her things.
“I’m coming, Clarke. Just breathe, okay? I’ll be there soon.”
Before Clarke could even respond, the line went quiet, and she stood there, tears sliding down her cheeks, trying to slow her breathing. The weight of the fear hadn’t lifted, but Lexa’s calm words felt like a tether, a lifeline pulling her back from the edge of her panic.
It didn’t take long. A few minutes passed, though they felt like an eternity, before there was a knock at the door.
Clarke stumbled toward it, still wiping at her eyes, trying to collect herself, and when she opened it, there stood Lexa, her usual composed self, though Clarke could see the hint of concern in her eyes.
Before Lexa could say anything, Clarke stepped aside and led her in, feeling the warmth of her presence calm the anxiety that was still bubbling inside her.
She didn’t need to say anything; Lexa had already noticed Juno.
The little gray cat was still curled up, her fur matted slightly from the vomit, her body trembling. Clarke’s heart dropped into her stomach again. But Lexa knelt down beside her, checking the cat with practiced hands.
Juno wasn’t unwell. She wasn’t dying.
“Clarke,” Lexa said gently, “she’s okay. This is just—” Lexa paused, studying Juno for a moment before speaking again. “She’s just getting rid of some accumulated fur. Cats groom themselves, but sometimes they swallow more fur than their stomachs can handle. It’s not uncommon, especially when they’re stressed. She’ll be fine.”
Clarke exhaled, the tension she didn’t even realize she was holding in her shoulders releasing. But her relief didn’t fully come. “Are you sure? What if—what if she’s sick?”
“I’m sure,” Lexa reassured her, brushing her hand through Juno’s fur. “I’ll drive you to the vet if it makes you feel better. Just to be safe.”
Clarke’s anxiety didn’t dissipate completely, but the trust she had in Lexa’s calm steadiness made her nod, letting Lexa lead them out to the car. The short drive to the vet felt like a blur, but when they arrived, the staff confirmed what Lexa had said: Juno was perfectly healthy. A little extra vitamin boost, and she’d be fine.
Back at Clarke’s apartment, Juno was allowed to roam the space freely, while Clarke collapsed onto the couch, still feeling the weight of the emotional toll.
Her mind was racing with guilt. I should’ve known better. I should’ve done more. I should’ve—
Lexa seemed to sense the shift in Clarke’s mood, the way her body had slumped into the couch, her shoulders tight, her posture hunched. It was the same way Clarke carried herself when she started spiraling into self-doubt, when she became convinced she was failing.
Lexa didn’t speak right away. She just sat beside Clarke, giving her the time she needed to collect herself. Then, quietly, she said, “It’s not your fault. You’re learning, Clarke. Juno is your first pet. No one’s perfect.”
Clarke blinked, her breath still shaky, and finally let herself lean into Lexa’s presence. “I just—wanted to help her. I couldn’t even—I didn’t know what to do.”
“You’re not alone,” Lexa said softly, her voice steady and full of warmth. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Clarke let her words settle into her mind, grounding her.
---
Lexa stayed.
She didn’t offer to leave, didn’t suggest Clarke needed space, didn’t make Clarke feel like she was being too much. She just stayed, sitting with Clarke on the couch, her arm still loosely around her, her warmth grounding Clarke in a way she had never let herself rely on before.
The exhaustion from the panic and fear earlier had settled deep in Clarke’s bones, leaving her drained in a way she couldn’t shake. And for the first time in her life, she felt clingy.
She didn’t want Lexa to leave.
It was an unfamiliar sensation, a strange contrast to how she had always been. Clarke had never been the type to cling—not as a child, not as a teenager, not as an adult. She barely tolerated people in her space most days. When she was overwhelmed, she would accept hugs from her parents, but never tight, long embraces. Those felt suffocating, like they were pressing down on her instead of comforting her.
But this?
Lexa’s hug wasn’t suffocating. It was warm. Solid. Secure.
For the past two weeks, something had been shifting between them, something subtle yet inevitable. They had grown closer, Clarke trusting Lexa in ways she didn’t usually trust people. It wasn’t a conscious decision—it just happened. She had started offering Lexa more affection, not in the traditional, expected way, but in her own blunt, honest manner.
Lexa had been flustered the first time Clarke had casually brushed her fingers over the inside of Lexa’s wrist while they were sitting on Clarke’s couch, a fleeting, absentminded touch as she explained something about a painting she was working on. Clarke had noticed the way Lexa’s breath hitched, how her eyes flickered to Clarke’s hand before quickly looking away, her ears tinged pink. Clarke had tilted her head, confused.
"Does that make you uncomfortable?" she had asked, voice completely neutral, just seeking information.
Lexa had shaken her head, looking somewhere near Clarke’s shoulder instead of meeting her eyes. “No, it’s just—” she exhaled, a small, self-conscious laugh escaping her. “You’re very straightforward.”
Clarke had frowned, not understanding. “Should I not be?”
Lexa had given her that small, almost fond smile, the one that made Clarke feel something she wasn’t ready to name. “No, I like it. It’s just different.”
Clarke hadn’t known how to respond to that, but she had stored the information away, cataloging it like she did with all the things she learned about people.
There had been other moments, too. Clarke explaining, with her usual honesty, how she didn’t understand why people said things they didn’t mean—like asking how are you? when they didn’t really want an answer. Or why they expected her to automatically know when they were upset without saying so.
"I don’t pick up on things the way other people do," Clarke had told Lexa one evening when they were painting side by side in her studio. "It’s not that I don’t care. I just don’t always see it unless you tell me."
Lexa had listened, really listened, not brushing it off or telling Clarke that she was fine the way she was. Instead, she had nodded and simply said, "Okay. Then I’ll make sure to tell you."
It had been effortless, after that night they had woken up tangled together. Something had unlocked in Clarke, something vulnerable she had always kept hidden from the world.
And now, sitting there in Lexa’s arms, the last remnants of panic fading into exhaustion, Clarke realized she didn’t want to move away just yet.
Lexa stayed with her until almost lunchtime. She didn’t talk much, didn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary words. She just held Clarke, the weight of her arms steady and comforting. Clarke, for once, let herself lean into it, her fingers gripping the back of Lexa’s shirt, holding on tighter than she ever had before.
She had never hugged someone like this.
Never held on this tightly.
And Lexa let her.
Eventually, when she felt ready for some distance, Clarke shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to see Lexa’s face. Lexa was already looking at her, soft green eyes full of quiet patience, and Clarke felt her face heat up.
"Hey," Lexa said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Clarke felt something in her chest tighten. She swallowed, then ducked her head slightly, embarrassed by—something. She wasn’t even sure what.
"Sorry," she murmured, though she wasn’t sure exactly what she was apologizing for.
Lexa shook her head, still smiling. "Don’t be. That was really nice."
Clarke blinked, surprised.
"The hug?"
Lexa hummed in agreement. "You’re really comfortable to hold, Clarke."
That made Clarke blush harder. She looked away, biting her lip. "I swear I’m not normally like this."
Lexa just kept smiling. "I know."