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Bellamy gets more than he bargained for during a hail storm. Like a wet, angry, sobbing Clarke in his tent.
The rain came out of nowhere—the kind that drowns out all other sound and pulverizes the ground into a muddy mess in seconds. And to think, Bellamy used to like the rain. Thought it was magical and refreshing that first night on the ground. Now he just feels wet. He throws open the flap to his tent, grumbling about rain and mud and anything else he can think to curse.
They’ve been on the ground less than two weeks and have already endured a hurricane and countless other storms. He’s tired of being cold and wet all of the time. His jacket catches on his arms when he tries to take it off. He slams it onto the ground in frustration when he finally gets unstuck then runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes with a sigh. He really, really hates being wet.
Peeling off his soaked t-shirt, he leaves it in the pile with his jacket. The tent flap suddenly catches in the wind, letting in a blast of freezing rain just as something plinks against the roof. The sound turns harder. Like a thrumming. Hail, he realizes. Terrific. He’s a foot from closing the flap when something slams into him. Something solid, wet, and with golden hair.
Bellamy looks down at Clarke plastered to his front. He’s not quite sure what to do about this. His body has a few ideas that he’s trying to suppress, though. He steps back.
Clarke’s gaze drifts up slowly, taking in his exposed abs and chest. She’s totally checking him out—her expression going from bewilderment to curiosity to mortification. He smirks when her eyes finally meet his. Her cheeks are scarlet. So are the tips of her ears that peek through the stringy wet mess of hair. She opens and closes her mouth like a little fish. It’s adorable.
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