#so awesome and dunky donut

[ponyregrets]

ngl i was hoping you'd reblog the reunion prompts list, “you’re famous and just got asked if you were ever in love this should be good– WAIT WHAT” au seemed super bellarke and also super your thing, slight preference for famous clarke but either way is great

under 2k it’s still good it’s still good

Bellamy would like to say he doesn’t care that his ex-girlfriend is famous. It’s not really a big deal, after all. Her fame came long after they’d stopped dating, high-school sweethearts who broke up in the natural way when they went off to different colleges. They kept in touch for a few years, saw each other on breaks and over summer vacations, but then his mother died and his sister went to live with his grandmother, and he started going home to a new state for breaks, and two years after that, Octavia told him Clarke was a singer.

So now he knows that his ex-girlfriend is still beautiful, still bright and just a little too serious and not great at being a celebrity, and if he still knew her for any reason except that she was famous, he’d probably call her up.

But it’s the fame thing, so instead he just keeps track of her as best he can without feeling like a creep. He buys her album, which is amazing, doesn’t actually follow any of her social media, but instead checks her official Twitter, which she absolutely does not run, and keeps track of all her singles and public appearances. Which is, he has on good authority, hilarious, because he’s generally the least musically aware person on the planet, and now he is an expert on exactly one pop-culture figure.

“You should absolutely call her,” his sister tells him. “Like, come on. It’s not like you’re some random creepy fan.”

“Yeah, I’m a specific creepy fan. That makes it so much better.”

“You guys dated,” she points out, not unreasonably. “Not that I want to think about this, but I assume you’ve seen her naked.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you naked is a great way to start a conversation with a celebrity, O. It just makes them think you’re threatening to release a sex tape. Which I don’t have,” he adds, quickly. “Don’t worry. Just–seriously, it would be weird. I probably don’t even have her number any more.”

“I’m just saying, actually talking to her would probably be less creepy than what you’re doing now.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

Then again, given he’s spending his Sunday afternoon waiting for a stream of Clarke answering questions at some music festival in New York State, she might have a point. He’s already pretty creepy. Just talking to her would probably be an improvement.

Actual interviews with Clarke are pretty rare, but she’s got a couple Q&As set up while she’s at the festival, and he’s looking forward to just–seeing her talk. Finding out if the first girl he ever loved is still in there. And, okay, maybe if she is, he’ll call her up.

Like basically every livestream he’s ever watched, it starts off with technical difficulties, so by the time it’s working, the session has already started. Clarke is sitting on stage with a moderator, looking a little uncomfortable, but not in a way anyone other than him would notice, he doesn’t think. She’s always dealt with stress with a confident front, which is probably a good trait for a celebrity.

“I just started singing in college,” she says. “Which is pretty late, but I never felt like I had time before that. I tried out for an a capella group with my roommate, they said I was good, and it went from there.” She smiles. “Which I know sounds terrible. Easiest rise to fame ever! There was a lot of hard work and luck in there, but–that’s how I found out it was an option, and that I wanted it. Just random chance.”

“Next question,” says the moderator.

“Yeah, Dan, I’m from Massachusetts.”

“Cool, me too,” says Clarke.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask about that. Do you ever come home?”

“Sometimes. Most of my friends moved away, and so did my parents, so I don’t usually go to my home town, but I always love getting a chance to see Boston.”

“What’s the most stereotypical Masshole thing about you?”

She grins. “Dunkin Donuts addiction, definitely. My manager always wants to get good coffee and I’m sitting there with my extra-large iced Dunkies. It makes her want to cry. Thanks for the question. Next?”

“Hi, I’m Ally!” says a girl. She looks maybe twelve, at the oldest. “My friend says you don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend right now, but–have you ever been in love? Because you write the best love songs.”

Clarke is smiling, fond, and Bellamy can’t help a smile of his own. The kid is cute, and so hopeful.

“Yeah, I’ve been in love,” Clarke says. “I’m not saying you have to be in love to write a good love song, but–not to be a total cliche, there was this guy in high school. My first boyfriend.”

Suddenly, it’s not funny. Or, not ha ha funny. More the girl I never totally got over is going to discuss our relationship in front of a bunch of her fans funny. An entirely uncharted kind of funny.

“What was he like?”

“He was awesome. My best friend. I always wanted to try to make it work with him again, but–we fell out of touch. It sucks, but it happens. And I’m glad we had the time together that we did.” She wets her lips, looks down on her smile. “Anyway, yeah. Next question?”

Bellamy only half-hears the rest, his brain working overtime, unable to stop knowing that Clarke is talking about him. Writing songs about him, even.

“Are your love songs still about him?” a girl asks, right toward the end. “The guy from high school.”

“A lot of them aren’t about anyone,” she says. “Just the idea of love.” She bites her lip. “But yeah. Some of them are about him.”

He doesn’t really think about it, doesn’t weigh the pros and the cons. He just thinks–Clarke is still into him. Clarke hasn’t gotten over him. And if he’s not over her either, it just feels stupid, to not at least mention it.

And, really. New York isn’t that far away.

*

Her set the next day is great, even if he’s so far back he can barely see her. And she has another Q&A right after, so he leaves early to get a good place in line, feeling only a little anxious. He could just try to call, but, well. He’d honestly like to see her face when she sees him.

Besides, he doesn’t really want to wait.

Clarke comes out to applause, and she smiles, a little tired around the eyes, and waves. He looks away when she looks over the crowd, hiding under the brim of his hat, and when she says, “Hey, thanks so much for coming, guys! I hope you enjoyed the show!” he sees no indication she knows he’s here.

The crowd cheers, and she smiles again.

“Okay,” says the moderator. “Please keep questions short and appropriate, guys.”

The people in front of him ask a few standard questions, songwriting process, when her next album is coming, favorite artists, and he gets more and more nervous the closer he gets to the front of the line. She still doesn’t seem to have seen him, and he could just bail. Pretend he was never here and talk to her later. He could probably get to her. There isn’t a ton of security.

But then he’s at the mic, and she’s taking a drink of water, and he just leans in and says, “Hi, uh, I’m Bellamy, I’m from Northampton,” and she chokes. “Big fan,” he adds, when she meets his eye.

Her voice is a little weak, but she’s smiling. “Hi, Bellamy.” And then, when he fails to say anything either, she grins. “Did you have a question?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, uh–my favorite song of yours is "Orion’s Belt.” I was wondering if you could tell me about the inspiration.“

"That’s really your favorite?” she asks, sounding a little offended, and he laughs.

“Sorry, am I supposed to have a different favorite? They’re all good. It’s not a competition.”

“Thanks, that means a lot.” She seems to remember they’re in front of a crowd. “Um, yeah. Of course that can be your favorite. It’s about my first date with my high school boyfriend. He took me out to teach me the constellations. He was kind of a giant dork, but–it’s one of my favorite memories.”

“Sounds like a nice night,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for coming, Bellamy,” she says, and he catches her looking at him through the rest of the Q&A, quick glances to where he’s sitting. When she’s done, he goes up to the stage with a bunch of other fans, waits as they get autographs and selfies.

When she’s done, she jumps down off the stage and hugs him, warm and close.

“Seriously, is that actually your favorite song, or did you just want me to have to admit it was about you?”

“It can’t be both?” He buries his face in her hair, breathing her in, and she holds on just as tight. “Hi, Clarke.”

“Hi, Bellamy. Good to see you.”

“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”