Coffee ☸ Clexa AU [DISCONTINUED]

• three •

lexa's pov

We get to the door of my apartment, shoving it open. I haven't realised how dirty it is: clothes that I wore a week ago are still on the floor and the place smells of damp. I can see Clarke turn her nose up at the stench.

"Sorry about that," I tell her.

"It's fine. Anyway, where're your band aids?" she asks.

"I don't know. Maybe in the bathroom?" I suggest.

She nods. "And where's that?"

"I'll show you," I say, winding through the short corridor. I open the cabinet and two packets of Costia's pills fall out. "Shit!"

"What are these?" Clarke asks.

"They're Costia's," I say, picking them up.

She snatches a packet from me, frowning. "Lexa, these were last opened on Friday night." She points to the word Friday stamped above an open pouch.

I don't have any words.

"The night before I found you," she adds. "These type of pills don't mix well with alcohol."

"I didn't take them," I lie.

"You clearly did," she says. Suddenly, she opens the window and chucks them out.

"Clarke!" I shout. Luckily, I still have the second packet; she sees them and chucks them out too.

"You shouldn't take them," she says after. "My mom's a doctor, I should know."

I shrug. "I wasn't going to," I mumble.

There's silence for a few minutes before Clarke speaks again. "We should sort out my chin," Clarke says.

"Right," I say, grabbing a sheet of toilet paper and wetting it under the tap. I wipe Clarke's chin and she winces.

"Ow," she says. "Be more gentle."

"Sorry," I apologise, rubbing my thumbs across her jawline.

She turns a deep shade of red. "Lexa," she says. "Stop doing this."

"Doing what?" I ask.

"Stop confusing me."

"How am I confusing you?" I frown.

"I don't even know if you're doing this because you want to, or if you want me," she says. "I want to know."

"Does this justify your thoughts?" I ask, leaning in. Her soft lips taste sweet; she must have put on lip balm or something. She deepens the kiss, pushing me against the wall. I wrap my legs around her waist and open the door, walking to my bedroom. She finds it easily enough.

"Clarke," I say breathlessly, breaking away.

"What?" she asks.

"Do you know my answer now?"

"I think so," she says.

"You're single, right?" I ask, laughing nervously.

"Single and ready to mingle," she answers. "Oh, God. That was cringe-worthy."

She laughs again, which is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. If someone was to record it and play it around the world, people would smile. Crying people would stop thinking about what was wrong and listen to her. It sounds like angels singing.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Nothing," I say. "But we need to stop avoiding sorting out that scratch of yours. Stay here, I'll get the stuff."