single moms are ugly... and other lies | clexa AU

eleven

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Lexa thought Clarke talking about the art gallery in the car was beautiful, but that was before they're actually inside the museum. Clarke looks like this is exactly where she belongs. She buys tickets, against Lexa's attempts to pay for herself, and the guy behind the counter seems to know her well. It doesn't surprise Lexa that Clarke must be a regular.

They're in the first exhibition and did Lexa mention she loved to just soak in art? To just exist around it and watch it and think about it? She hasn't been in a gallery in far too long, and she loves that Clarke brought her. Clarke, who settles next to her on a bench after several long minutes and begins to quietly tell Lexa all about the painting they're looking at.

Clarke, who knows all about the paints and the history and the parts of the paintings.

She tells Lexa her opinions and sometimes Lexa gives a little note to agree, sometimes to disagree. They move through the rooms and always, always find that sleek wooden bench or velvet loveseat and sit on it to discuss all that's around them. There are historic pieces and modern ones, paintings, constellations, statues, and to Lexa there's nothing more beautiful than to listen to Clarke go on and on about them, to listen to her voice that's so devoid of anything to do with something that's not the art or Lexa.

It's when they sit in a part of the Asian culture exhibition that Clarke is quiet for a moment. She's been quiet like this before sometimes in the other rooms, when she had to think about the art in front of her and then sometimes she would tell Lexa about it and sometimes she wouldn't, instead she would just stand up and take Lexa's hand to tug her along into the next room.

Now, she's quiet for a little longer, and something shifts. Lexa feels Clarke's eyes move from the statue in front of them to her. She turns her head and feels the breath being sucked out of her lungs.

Clarke sits close to her, closer than Lexa thought her to be, and in the light of the gallery, in the light of everything around them, she's breathtakingly beautiful.

There's only one thought in Lexa's head, for the first time, and she feels a nervous tingle going down her spine upon realization.

She really wants to kiss Clarke right now.

She really wants to close in that far too small gap between them. She wants to taste those soft, pinkish lips. Clarke put on lipgloss- Lexa wonders if like everything else about her, it's something flowery. She wonders how something flowery tastes. She wonders how it tastes when mixed with Clarke.

Lexa doesn't think she's blushing, thankfully, but her chest is contracting a little.

Those are likely very inappropriate thoughts. She should move on from them.

"Is this even interesting to you?" Clarke asks and Lexa is a little embarrassed that it only registers a few seconds delayed.

"Hm?"

"I'm babbling on and on about this, I don't want to bore you," she says with a pinkish blush and Lexa needs to get a grip on herself.

"I love hearing your ideas about everything. It's beautiful."

You're beautiful.

"Hearing my ideas is beautiful?"

"Yeah. You're an artist. It's beautiful to hear all the endless ideas and possibilities and opinions going on in your mind. Don't you have pieces here? Did we pass them?"

The blush on Clarke's cheeks turns up just one tiny notch. "Not yet. Would you like to see?"

"I would love to."