Chapter Text
The tires hummed against the cracked road, a low, rhythmic vibration beneath her palms as she gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Raven sat beside her, legs kicked up on the dash despite Clarke's earlier warning that her shoes were not made for dashboards - or that Clarke's patience was thin today. Not that Raven particularly cared. Not that Clarke really did either.
"Almost there," Raven said, glancing down at her phone. "Turn left up here."
Clarke followed the road out of town, past the stretch of shops and into that liminal space where rural started to bleed in. Trees grew thicker, taller. So much green. Clarke had always been partial to that color. The occasional mailbox jutted out from gravel driveways like forgotten soldiers. Steadfast in rain, hail or shine.
Clarke didn't mind the quiet, not today. Her brain was already a buzzing mess - Finn, her exhibit, the fact that she hadn't painted anything remotely worthwhile in over a month. Celibacy wasn't exactly a cure-all, but it beat the emotional damage her last mistake had left behind. However as always, Raven was quick to remind her that it didn't exactly give her the fire deep in the pit of her belly to be creative either. Clarke missed that. Missed the days where her hand would automatically traverse the wide expanses of unknown that were a blank canvas. Missed the feeling of new beginnings, of a million possibilities to unlock with just the start of one brushstroke.
"You sure this is the place?" she asked, slowing as Raven gestured forward.
"Yup, Monty's birthday's coming up, and this place is apparently heaven for nerds."
Clarke shot her a look.
"You say that like it's a bad thing Raven."
Raven smirked, "Well, if anyone needs serotonin, it's you princess"
Clarke exhaled softly, the corners of her mouth twitching. She hated that Raven wasn't wrong.
They rounded the last bend, and the house came into view - if you could call it that. It was massive.
Three stories of large weathered cobblestone, and timber beams, tucked just far enough into the trees to feel secret. Vines had begun to climb one side, curling like lazy fingers. The windows were tall, some leadlight, some open, all warm from the inside. A small wooden sign swung from an iron post near the edge of the gravel lot:
"Triggeda Komwoda"
Games. Art. Imagination
Below that, in hand-painted scripted lettering:
OPEN
"Oh," Clarke breathed, pulling in slowly.
"Okay, that's... unexpected."
"Right?" Raven grinned, already hopping out before the car had fully stopped. "Come on! Nerd haven awaits!"
Clarke stepped out into the cool air, and stuffed her hands into the hoodie pocket against her front. The house was even more beautiful up close. The stonework was intricate - someone had taken real pride in this place. It didn't scream retail. It whispered something older, quieter. Something dear Clarke say, even inviting?
The front door creaked open before they even reached it.
"Hey!" came a voice - confident, loud, sharp-edged. "Come on in."
A woman stood in the wide hallway beyond - jeans, leather jacket, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. Her hair started dark at the roots, getting lighter towards the tips. Intricate braids hung heavy over one shoulder. She didn't smile, but she wasn't unfriendly either.
Raven gave her a mock salute. "You must be Anya."
"And you must be the girl who called asking if we had the collector's edition D&D box set."
Ravens grin widened. "Guilty."
"Come on in. It's in the back. Don't touch anything you can't afford. Break it, you buy it."
They disappeared into the depths of the house with a clatter of boots on floorboards, voices echoing down a side hallway.
This left Clarke totally alone to explore the expanse of the store she was in. She lingered by the entry, gaze drifting over the tall shelves of games, dice sets sitting atop glass, shelves lined with fantasy books, hand-painted miniatures, and - near the far wall - artwork.
That's what pulled her. Past the game shelves. Past the old velvet couch near the fire. Toward the wall of canvases, each one mounted with careful precision. All color. All magic. Painted wolves with glowing eyes, forests brimming with shadowed creatures, sword-wielding queens lit by starlight.
She stepped closer. The details were extraordinary - brush strokes so deliberate they looked like they had been beathed onto the canvas. She felt her heart stutter. And then -
"You like the art?"
Clarke turned, startled. And froze.
Standing there - jeans, tank top, arms crossed but somewhat relaxed - was a woman with the most arresting eyes Clarke had ever seen. Green, so green they seemed to belong to the very trees they passed on the way there. Her hair was half tied up into similar intricate braids that Anya donned, falling down in a way that shouldn't have been fair. Clarke mapped the woman's features for a time that was likely entirely too long. Her jawline was angular, worthy of an artists love. Clarke's fingers all but itched to trace down its expanse. Moving her eyes down, she could see that the woman's tank top clung in all the right places, and Clarke was almost certain she caught a glimpse of toned muscles beneath the hem.
Jesus.
She hadn't realised she was staring until the woman stepped closer, her presence calm but somehow commanding. Like she didn't walk - she arrived.
"The works are from a local fantasy artist," she said smoothly. "We like giving them a place to shine." - God, her voice. Smooth as silk. Wrapping around Clarke like a warm embrace.
Clarke swallowed. Her heart decided now was a great time to trip over itself. "They're incredible," she managed, her voice lower than she intended. "The contrast in colors... the shading..."
Her fingers twitched, almost reaching for the canvas instinctively before she caught herself. Her hand dropped, hovering near her thigh.
The woman - Lexa, Clarke would later learn - smiled. Just faintly. But her gaze didn't move from Clarke's face.
"You an artist yourself?"
Clarke's lips curved. "You could say that."
Lexa cocked her head slightly, like a curious wolf. "Not from around here." It wasn't a question. More of an observation.
"No."
"Visiting?"
"Unfortunately not." Clarke said, then immediately regretted the way it sounded. "I mean - I live here now. Just moved back. Temporarily. Maybe. I haven't decided."
Lexa's smile twitched again, barely noticeable. "Undecided. Sounds fun."
"It's... Something," Clarke muttered.
There was a long pause. Not awkward. Just... charged. Like the room had taken a breath and was waiting.
Lexa glanced at the piece Clarke had been looking at. "That one's mine," she said casually, as if it didn't matter.
Clarkes mouth parted, eyes flicking back to the work. A woman in a dark cloak, with a long dripping red sash stood in the ruins of some ancient place, sword in hand, her eyes glowing against the storm.
"You did this?
Lexa nodded.
Clarke swallowed again. "Holy shit."
Lexa raised a brow, amused. "Good holy shit or bad?"
"Very good. Like... dangerous levels of good."
Lexa's mouth curved, just slightly. "From an artist like yourself, I'll take it."
From across the room, Anya's voice rang out. "Lexa. Don't flirt with the customers."
Clarke felt heat surge to her face. Lexa didn't even flinch.
"I'm not." she called back, tone dry. "I'm being polite."
"Uh huh" Anya sassed, just as dry.
Raven and Anya reappeared with a box tucked under Ravens arm and a small grin on Anya's face. Lexa shifted subtly, back straightening again.
Clarke stepped back from the art wall, her fingers suddenly fidgety.
"I'll be outside." she said to Raven, before she did something truly dumb. Like blush harder. Or ask Lexa if she could paint her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The passenger door slammed shut and Clarke yanked her seatbelt on like it had personally offended her. The hoodie collar still tugged high, like maybe it could hide the heat that hadn't left her cheeks.
She sat and waited for what couldn't have been longer than 5 minutes. But that felt like an eternity when one was left with only their thoughts.
Clarke didn't know what had come over her. It wasn't like she couldn't recognise a beautiful woman when she saw one. She wasn't blind. Just didn't swing that way. What was different about this encounter was that Clarke had an incessant need to know Lexa. The woman had somehow wriggled her way into her psyche and had settled herself there, like a smug cat who had just stolen your seat the second you vacated. Who was she? The guarded exterior, with an obvious soft interior. The measured gaze of those forest green eyes that held so many unasked questions. The way Lexa's head had tilted, as if trying to figure Clarke out. It disarmed her. Left her wanting, no needing to know more.
When a giddy Raven re-entered into the drivers seat of the vehicle, Clarke didn't say anything.
Raven didn't either - not at first.
The engine turned over. The gravel shifted beneath the tires. Clarke stared straight ahead, pretending like she hadn't just short-circuited in front of a literal goddess with green eyes and a voice like dark silk. Pretending like her skin wasn't buzzing from that low, barely-there smile. Like she hadn't considered, just for a second, what Lexa's hands would look like wrapped around a paintbrush.
Or her hips.
Stop.
“You good?" Raven asked, casually, like she was asking if Clarke wanted fries for lunch.
"Yup." Clarke tried to mirror her tone.
"Cool."
Silence again.
Five seconds.
Ten.
"I mean, because you looked like you were about to combust in there."
Clarke blinked. "What?"
Raven snorted. "You were blushing. Like actual blushing. Like 'I wrote about her in my diary' level of blush."
"I don't have a diary."
"Not the point."
"I wasn't-" Clarke paused, glared at the road, then muttered, "I was not combusting."
Raven gave her a look. "Uh huh. So you didn't just have a sexual awakening at the art wall?"
Clarke threw her head back with a groan.
"Raven."
"What? I'm just saying, you were looking at her like you wanted to paint her."
"I'm an artist. I look at everyone like I want to paint them."
"Sure. But most people don't make your voice drop two octaves when you talk about contrast and shading."
Clarke crossed her arms, rolling her eyes at her friend, determined to die with some dignity.
"She was attractive. Objectively."
"Objectively?" Raven echoed. "That's what we're going with?"
Clarke turned her head to look out the window. The trees blurred past in a wave of green and gold. "It doesn't matter."
"Oh, because the whole 'vow of celibacy' thing?”
Clarke shot her a side glare. "Yes."
"Right. That thing you declared two weeks ago after Finn left town with that girl from - where was it?"
"South Carolina."
"Right. Her." Raven let out a low whistle.
"Honestly, if a girl like Lexa looked at me like that, I'd let her break every single vow I've ever made. Even the ones i forgot."
"She didn't look at me like anything."
"She looked at you like you were the only person in the building.”
"She was being polite."
“She was mentally undressing you."
"Raven."
"I'm just saying."
"Well, don't. Need I remind you that I'm not into woman anyway?"
Raven snorted again at that. "Like that's ever stopped anyone before."
Clarke didn't dare dignify that with an answer.
They drove in silence again. This time heavier. Like Clarke's own thoughts were pushing down on her chest.
It wasn't just that Lexa was beautiful. It wasn't even that Clarke felt something twist low in her stomach when she spoke. It was the way Lexa had looked at her own painting. The way she stood like the room belonged to her - but she'd made space for Clarke anyway.
Clarke wasn't used to that.
And that scared her more than anything.
"Hey," Raven said gently, a beat later. "I'm teasing. Mostly."
Clarke let out a breath. "I know."
“But seriously... you okay?"
Clarke stared ahead. "Yeah."
And she was.
Mostly.
Until later that night, when her fingers finally reached for a brush again, and the only color she could bring herself to use -
Was Green.