I Like Hugs
For the last several months, Clarke has looked forward to the twilight of evening. Just as she is certain the sun will yield to the silver sheen of moonlight, she knows Lexa will call. It’s what they do.
Sometimes the phone rings in the middle of dinner, most likely left-over takeout or a frozen meal that has been plated nicely (because it makes Clarke feel less pathetic), and she’ll prop her phone up against the half-empty bottle of wine so that they came FaceTime. It’s almost like Lexa’s there.
Other times, Lexa will call during Clarke’s favorite reality television show, and they’ll keep each other on speaker as they each offer unsolicited commentary. Neither thinks the mouthy red head should’ve gotten her own spin-off after failing to get the final rose, but they can’t not watch it. It’s their shared addiction.
Recently, Lexa has been leaving the office later than normal, some high profile criminal case she can’t speak about in too much detail has been monopolizing her waking hours, so the calls having been coming after Clarke’s already in bed. Clarke usually reads while she waits, or doom scrolls through social media, but as soon as her phone lights up with Lexa’s name her focus shifts immediately. It’s the best part of her day, even though it’s already night.
Lexa sounds tired on the phone tonight, her voice is wary and rough. Clarke worries for her, hoping she isn’t forgetting the importance of self care. She’s probably forgotten to eat again, and is surviving on five cups of coffee too many. Clarke wishes out loud that she could hug her, the words tumbling past her lips before her brain catches on. It’s as if the words had been waiting for the right moment; a window of opportunity to express the desire to wrap her up in warmth and safety. Selfishly. Selflessly. Either. Both.
Lexa laughs low and soft in response, takes a deep breath in that escapes as a sigh on the exhale, before adding “I wish that too.” Clarke’s belly tingles in a way that has only intensified with every passing day, with every phone call.
Clarke smiles shyly, falling back into the downy fluff of her pillows, and covers her dark sapphire eyes with her forearm. She hides her response reflexively from the woman who can’t even see her. But behind the illusion of safety provided by her obstructed eyes and the darkened bedroom, her words run wild and free. “I wish you lived closer, I have so many hugs I want to give you.” Clarke’s brain gives up trying to rein things in now, as everything in her waits with anticipation to see how Lexa responds.
“Oh,” Lexa breathes out. Clarke doesn’t breathe at all. Several seconds later, Lexa continues, “What kind of hugs we talkin’ about here?” There’s a hint of playfulness in Lexa’s tone. It disarms Clarke. She breathes again. She feels emboldened. “All the hugs. Short ones. Long ones. The kind that’s almost too tight, but just right at the same time. The soft kind you melt into and never want to let go of.”
Clarke swallows thickly, realizing she’s toeing an invisible line in the metaphorical sand of their long term friendship. It’s up to Lexa now to either further accentuate that line, or erase it all together. “I like hugs,” is all she says in response. It’s ambiguous and also a little disappointing. Clarke attempts to save face and changes the subject entirely. The rest of their call is lighthearted and superficial and tinged with something neither of them comment on. Eventually, they say their good nights and goodbyes.
Clarke tosses and turns for over an hour, sleep eluding her in favor of scrutinizing their phone conversations over and over in her head. She’s seconds away from convincing herself that she has completely misinterpreted so many things over the last several months, when a very unexpected knock at her door causes her to physically startle. Clarke thinks, “Who comes knocking after midnight? No one good that’s for sure!” She grabs her phone and pulls the covers up over her eyes.
The knocking continues, each time slightly louder. Clarke readies her cell phone to dial 911 if necessary, her thumb hovering over the bright green phone icon that would initiate the call. When her text alert goes off, she startles again, and narrowly misses dropping the phone on her face. The piece of technology gets lost in the sheets for a moment, and once recovered, Clarke checks the incoming message.
Lexa (12:08AM): Answer the door…
Clarke tosses the linens to the side and slips out of bed quickly, completely disregarding her state of undress, as she answers the door in a pair of panties and a ratty old Polis University t-shirt. She’s smiling and breathless when she sees Lexa standing on her doorstep, “What are you doing here?” Lexa edges her way over the threshold slowly, there’s a look in her eyes that has Clarke’s belly tingling again.
Clarke stands to the side to give Lexa room to fully enter, and then Lexa shuts the door behind her. “I really like hugs, Clarke,” she finally answers. Clarke’s cheeks redden as she fights the smile that wants to take over her whole face. Lexa steps closer and opens up her arms. Clarke locks gazes with Lexa, her eyes shining like emeralds in moonlight. The space between them narrows, their bodies attracted to one another like magnets. Arms intwine around warm bodies, and Clarke nuzzles into the crook of Lexa’s neck. She smells like sweet eucalyptus and lavender, Clarke fills her lungs with her scent.
Clarke’s lips graze baby soft skin as she asks “What kind of hug do you want, Lex?” Lexa rests her cheek on silken blonde waves and tightens her hold slightly. She takes a shuttering breath in and swallows audibly before answering, “The kind that keeps me warm all night and makes me want to never let go.” Clarke closes her eyes and smiles as she celebrates internally. “I’ve been wanting to hug you like that for a very long time, Lexa.”