Work Text:
Me: Hey slightly weird request
Artist: Usually I'm the one giving those to my models, not getting them
What is it?
Me: My brother is kind of stupid and paranoid
So he wants to come with me to make sure I don't get killed
I promise he won't do anything
At worst he'll just hang out in the corner on his phone and glare sometimes
Unless you're planning to stab me
In which case he'll probably intervene
Artist: I was, but he's onto me
But yeah, that's fine
I have a chair he can sit on
He knows you're going to be naked, right?
That's not news to him
Me: He's going to be on his phone really hard
But yeah that's weird
Do you have blinders or something?
Artist: He can sit in the other room
It's probably close enough he'll hear you scream before I can kill you
But yeah I really don't mind
I know advertising for models in coffee shops is sketchy
Me: I wasn't going to mention it
So, tomorrow at two?
Artist: Yup
I'll have extra coffee for your brother
*
"You know that's not actually a reassuring text message exchange, right?" Bellamy asks his sister, passing her phone back to her. "Like, he mentioned murdering you a couple times."
"Just because I brought it up." She side-eyes him. "You know you're a total hypocrite, right?"
"I'm aware," he says, because it's true. He answers craigslist ads all the time, or at least he used to. Now that he's older and financially stable, to say nothing of busy, he doesn't really do it anymore, but--he has a history.
Still, part of why he did that was so that his sister wouldn't have to, so he's not thrilled she wants to pose nude for some random person from a coffee shop to supplement her income. She's doing fine. He's made sure of that.
"I never got naked for any of mine."
"You act like the nudity makes it more suspicious," says O, as if this is a completely unreasonable position for him to hold. "If he wanted to murder me, he'd probably be more subtle about it."
"Watching Criminal Minds marathons does not make you an expert on serial killers."
There's a pause, and then she says, "You realize I told you, right? It's not like I didn't know you'd make me take you."
Bellamy has to pause too. "You couldn't have just asked?"
"And deprive you of the opportunity to be righteously angry?" She pats his arm. "I'd never do that to you, Bell."
"Great. Thanks. If he kills us both, I'm going to make your afterlife miserable."
"Just like my regular life. He had a college email," she adds. "And his signature said he's a grad student. Advertising in a college coffee shop. I told you when I realized it was a guy, just to be safe."
"Women can be serial killers too, you know."
"Thanks, I learned that from all my Criminal Minds marathons already." She looks up at the building, which is really kind of sketchy. Bellamy's pretty sure it's objectively sketchy. Definitely not just him.
His sister must agree, because she says, "Thanks for coming, Bell."
"Yeah, yeah," he says. "Let's get this over with."
They head up to the fourth floor, and she hesitates for a second before she raps on the door, a dark gray wood with the numerals 401 painted on it in black. It would look clinical, if it wasn't so dark and dirty. If it's a clinic, it's a back alley clinic where you go when you're not picky about where the organ you're getting comes from.
And then the door opens, and there's a cute blonde girl with messy hair and crooked glasses smiling at them, completely open and friendly. Welcoming.
"Hi, you must be Octavia and brother," she says.
Bellamy doesn't fundamentally think cute blonde girls can't be serial killers. She could be planning to murder them just as much as a white dude could be.
But--he knows her.
"Oh, wow, Clarke?" Octavia asks. "Sorry, I was expecting a guy."
"Clarke," he manages.
She's looking at him too, and when he says her name, she lights up. "Hey, Bellamy."
Bellamy wasn't close to Clarke Griffin in college. For one thing, she's a couple years younger than he is, so their social circles didn't really overlap, and for another, almost every time they interacted, one of them was yelling. Which isn't exactly the foundation of a friendship, as a rule.
But, well--he kind of liked her anyway. She was annoying and kind of privileged and he didn't think she was right most of the time, but she didn't back down and used evidence for her positions, and always deferred to him on race stuff. Every class he shared with her was a highlight, and it was because of her. For all they were always at each other's throats, he always got the impression that she argued because she liked arguing, and she still valued his opinions.
He hasn't thought about her in years.
"Bell?" Octavia prompts.
"This is Clarke, we went to college together." He clears his throat and pastes on a smirk, trying to regain some equilibrium. "Seriously, you're luring innocent students to your sketchy den with ads in coffee shops now?"
"It's not a den, it's a studio," she says, and steps out of the way so they can come in.
"No argument on sketchy, though."
"That's a personal call," she says. "Sketchy isn't an objective measurement."
"I'm pretty sure it is here." But the inside is a lot nicer than the outside. It's still fairly industrial, but well lit and clean, with some seating and a ton of stuff scattered around. "Do you live here?"
"Not always. I have an apartment. But I set it up so I could sleep here if I need to, yeah. And my roommate made me put in some kitchen stuff so I wouldn't starve to death." She gives him another bright smile. "Speaking of which, I assume you want somewhere private to hang out so you don't have to watch me painting your naked sister."
Honestly, he could probably leave, at this point. After all, it's Clarke. Clarke is definitely not going to murder Octavia and harvest her organs. So he could go spend his afternoon doing any of the other things he should be doing with his life. It's not even that far to turn around and go home.
"I heard there was also coffee," he says, and Clarke grins.
"Octavia, there's a bathroom over there? There's a robe hanging on the door, so if you want to get undressed and put it on, I can get coffee. Which you can't have, sorry."
Octavia's looking at him with a thoughtful glint in her eye, which is unfortunate, but unavoidable. It's not his fault her male artist turned out to be an acquaintance of his with a gender-neutral name. And he should obviously take the opportunity to catch up, since they ended up in the same city. It's a cool coincidence; he shouldn't ignore it.
"Can I have some if I drink it really fast?"
"Depends," says Clarke. "You do have to pose for a few hours after, so--"
"Oh, yeah." She makes a face. "Fine, no coffee for me. I'll go get naked."
Clarke jerks her head at him. "Come on, you can hang out in the bedroom. It's slightly more private."
"Wow," he says, following her into the kitchenette. "I'm honored."
"Don't say that, you haven't seen the bedroom it," she shoots back. A pause, and then she's worrying her lip. Nervous is a new look on her, and he kind of likes it. "So, how have you been?"
He has to laugh. "For the last six years, you mean?"
That seems to relax her. "Yeah. Five words or less. I haven't got all day."
He gives it some thought, and counts off on his fingers. "Teaching high school, still alive. You?"
"In grad school, mostly dead."
"Sounds right, yeah." He pauses. "So, can I say you're luring college students into your lair? Is that an acceptable term for what's going on here?"
"Lair's cool, yeah. That's accurate."
"So, what do you do with them once you have them?"
"Paint them and give them money for their time. Like an asshole."
"Wow, really working a long game, huh?"
"Clearly." She holds up a carton of milk, eyebrows raised, and he shakes his head, so she just gives him the mug of coffee and nudges a pot of sugar packets in his direction. "What do you teach?"
"History."
"Oh good. You don't know anything about art or English, so--"
His laugh surprises him enough that he sprays some coffee out of his mug, and Clarke looks pleased. It feels safe enough to say, "Fuck you."
Her smile widens. "I'm just glad you're playing to your strengths is all. That shows self-awareness."
"So I assume you're being professionally wrong about everything."
"That's one definition of being an artist, yeah."
"So, MFA?"
"Yeah. It's cool. I'm looking forward to never having a job."
"That's the dream, yeah."
They lapse into silence, and he tries to figure out what to say. He doesn't know any friends they shared, and her hobbies are largely a mystery. He'd like to get to know her, but--it's weird.
"So, what are you doing today?"
"Painting your sister, remember?"
"I meant what are you painting her in? Other than not clothes."
"Oh!" She looks pleased. "It's a part of an art project I'm doing with a couple friends, we're calling it Telephone. Everyone starts off producing a piece, whatever medium and subject they want. I'm doing a painting of your sister, obviously. Then we all pass our pieces on to someone else, and they produce something based just on our piece. And we do it again and again until everyone has interpreted each one once. And then we're displaying them all together to see how they evolve. Like the telephone game."
"Huh. That actually sounds really cool."
She bumps his shoulder. "It's almost like I'm a real artist."
"Almost like. Why a nude painting?"
"We're all starting with a kind of--typical piece. I'm doing nude studies for my MFA, so I wanted to do that. But I didn't want to use any of my usual models because I didn't want to work with my usual, like--" She waves her hand vaguely, as if he has some idea what she's talking about and might figure out what she means on his own. "Preconceptions," she finally settles on, and then grins. "Which is why I had to lure your sister into my lair with the promise of a paid gig sitting for me."
"You're a monster."
Octavia comes out of the bathroom then, dressed in a robe, and that's when the awkwardness kicks into high gear. Because this part is happening.
"I'll show you the bedroom," Clarke says, and Bellamy purposefully avoids his sister's raised eyebrows and amused smirk.
"Great, thanks."
It's less a room and more a small alcove blocked off by a hanging curtain, but there's privacy and something to keep him from seeing O.
And no bed.
"So, bedroom seems inaccurate on like every level," he points out. "Not a room, no bed--"
"The couch folds out," she says. "I didn't want to make it too nice or I'd never leave."
"Mission accomplished," he says, and she elbows him.
"Shut up, I need to go get your sister naked."
He doesn't have any kind of response to that, so he just flips her off and she grins and ducks back out, and he's alone.
It's a lot like the rest of the studio, small and bare, but cluttered with random things he assumes she's left over the years. He doesn't know how long she's been working on her MFA, but her studio feels like she must have been here for a while. She would have graduated two years after he did, so she could have been here since then, depending on her program. There's a vague smell of paint, a few sketches around, a can with water and brushes, the couch, a couple photos on the wall.
But mostly, there are books, and maybe that's why it feels like a home to him. Anywhere books are is a home.
The majority are texts, or art-related, but she has a few novels in there, and the Nimona graphic novel, which he read some of but never actually finished, and he settles in with that and his coffee.
In theory, he's keeping an ear open for O, just in case, but it's not like he's actually worried. So the next time another person gets his attention, it's Clarke, sitting down next to him on the couch.
"Hey, what's up?" he asks. He's surprisingly stiff.
She smiles. "You've been reading on my couch for three hours. Your sister left."
"What?" He scrambles and finds his phone, which apparently he failed to notice buzzing in his bag. He has five texts from O, all of them mocking. "Shit."
"It's okay. I would have kicked you out if I wanted you gone. I don't mind." She bumps his shoulder. "I'm going to order pizza. You want some?"
He's still trying to catch up with the conversation. "Pizza?"
"Yeah. You can finish the book. I'm not leaving yet anyway."
It's on the tip of his tongue to protest, but she's smiling, looks a little hopeful, even, and it's not like he wants to go.
"Yeah, pizza sounds great, thanks."
"Cool. Come sit out here, it's less weird."
And somehow, it really is. Clarke paints and he reads and the weirdest part is how normal he feels about hanging out with a girl he hasn't seen in six years and was never actually that close to. It feels like something they do all the time.
It feels like something he could do more often.
He finishes up the book right around when the pizza comes, and Clarke clears off a table enough that they can have something that bears some resemblance to a regular meal.
"You've got some paint on your nose," he says, at the same time she offers her own conversation starter, and they both laugh. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
She scrubs at her nose with a slight frown, and he nods when she tilts her head to see if she got it. "I was saying," she says, not looking at him, "I actually missed you."
"Yeah?"
"Not--I know we didn't hang out or anything. But all my classes after you left were way less exciting."
"What, no one argued with you?" he teases.
She grins. "Not for long. Everyone else just gives up on it."
"Quitters." He wets his lips. "I didn't have any classes until I was getting my teaching license, so I didn't really have a chance to, uh--I didn't miss you like that. But I was really happy to see you today."
She ducks her head, smiling. "Me too. We should make it happen more often."
His chest feels too full, but in a good way. His sister will never let him live it down. "Yeah. We really should."
*
"I can't believe you're making me come to this."
"Yeah, it's totally unreasonable of me to assume my boyfriend would come to the opening of my show," Clarke says, which is unfair, because she knows that every time she calls him her boyfriend, he gets all warm and fuzzy inside. "I'm such an asshole."
"You definitely are." He lets out a breath. "Seriously, there are going to be six variations on my naked sister in this."
"Lincoln's doesn't really look like a person, if it helps. He does conceptual sculpture. And he got it third, so the last three are based on that instead of Octavia. So it's really just two variations on your naked sister."
"Wow, I feel so much better."
"Also I'm proud of all my stuff and it's cool."
He presses his lips against her temple. "Yeah, I'm proud of you too. And I'm glad I only have to see my sister naked twice."
"Whatever, your naked sister brought us together. Totally worth it."
"You only say that because you're an only child," he grumbles, but he's smiling, and she's pretty sure they both know what he really means is, totally.
Because, really, he wouldn't change a thing.