“Octavia, put some pants on, we’ve got a guest,” Clarke called out as they walked through the door that evening
“Nope, don’t want to.” Octavia leaned back over the arm of the couch carefully, doing her best not to slosh her cereal out of its bowl. “Oh, hey Lexa.”
Lexa bobbed her head. Watched Clarke kick off her shoes around the corner, where several other pairs waited, and she neatly did the same. Though, Clarke just pressed her toes against the heels of her shoes and literally kicked them off, Lexa knelt and undid her laces, slipping them off and placing them neatly next to the pile. “Hello, Octavia,” she said, looking up from the rather stubborn knots, “it’s nice to see you again.”
“Of course it is.” She seemed to shrug, swore a little at the cold milk that splashed from the movement. “Gross. Anyway, colour me impressed Clarkey-”
“Don’t call me that.”
“- you work fast. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Do I need to put headphones in tonight? Do I need to call a date of my own? Do I need to get Raven over here for a double date? Do I need-?”
Clarke tutted, moving to Octavia’s side and moving her laptop from her lap to the coffee table. “What you need to do is stop irradiating your body. Okay?”
“Yes mum.” Octavia rolled her eyes at Clarke’s back - the blonde disappeared into her room, from the sounds of it she dumped her bag - and rolled completely off the couch, hand extended to hold her cereal steady. She padded, shirt underwear and socked, around to the kitchen and Lexa held her gaze steady on the ceiling.
“Also, you should know that Raven is otherwise occupied tonight,” Lexa told Octavia quietly. “In case you were in fact serious about asking her on a date.”
“Nah, she’s not my type.” She swung the fridge open, hung off it.
“No?” Lexa peered down at her hands next. “Female?”
“Mm.” Octavia shook her head, looked back over her shoulder away from the welcoming dim light of the fridge. “Loud. I have a bit of a thing for the strong, silent types. Speaking of,” she raked her gaze over Lexa, winked. “How you doin?”
“Octavia,” Clarke said warningly, lowly, walking into the kitchen to search the fridge.
“Hey, it’s alright.” Octavia made room for Clarke, wrapping her non-broken arm around her waist. “You know you’re the only girl for me.”
Clarke made a pleased sound - or possibly a laugh, Lexa couldn’t tell - and she only moved away when Octavia started pressing kisses to her shoulder. “Ew, ew gross Octavia, stop it.”
“I love you dearly, Clarke,” she said, somber. “Never forget that.”
“You disgust me greatly, Octavia,” Clarke mimicked. “Never forget that.”
“You say,” she said, pretending to sob, “the sweetest things.”
Lexa wondered when they would remember her. The scene felt rather like something that had happened many times before and the way Clarke’s eyes widened when she saw Lexa, standing very still by the kitchen counter, only confirmed that they had forgotten her.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Bullshit. I can hear your stomach from here.” Octavia opened the fridge door a little wider, scoffed when it began to beep its distress for having been open for so long. She slammed it shut, waited five seconds, and opened it again. “What do you like?”
When Clarke smiled at her - and she had changed into shorts and a white tank top so she looked positively angelic and there was something very strange going on in Lexa’s lungs that meant they seized every time she looked Clarke’s way - Lexa thought it might be best if she concentrated on something other than her new friend.
“Do you have anything other than take out?”
“For sure. Cereal, some fruit stuff, vegetables. A pantry of stuff.” Octavia waved her hand. “It’s a kitchen.”
“Do you ever eat anything other than takeout?” Lexa asked, because Octavia was looking at one of their utensils with a confused expression. (It was a can opener.)
“Not really,” Clarke answered for them.
Lexa thought it best if she searched in the pantry rather than look at Clarke. She was quite fond of breathing. “Would it be amenable if I cooked for you tonight? It’s the least I can do,” she told them, exiting with a number of ingredients.
“Sure!” Octavia sock-surfed out of the kitchen, CLarke catching her.
“Please, O, don’t break your other arm.”
The smaller girl just pushed into the space between Clarke and the counter, which wasn’t very much to be honest, and wrapped both arms around her waist. “For you, I will try.”
Lexa didn’t like the twist in her gut. She set out her pots and pans, and the ingredients. “Are you allergic to anything?” she asked, voice mild.
“No. Oh, Clarke is allergic to shellfish.”
“And Octavia doesn’t like cinnamon.”
Lexa ignored the bigger twist in her stomach when they answered for each other and just frowned down at the counter. “Alright. How does a chicken pesto pasta sound?”
“Amazing,” the girls chorused, wide-eyed.
“You can really make that?”
“Of course. Would you like to learn?” she asked Octavia, who nodded quickly. “You should put pants on first,” and then Octavia was gone, stumbling - yelling an ‘I’m good’ back because Clarke was up and out of her seat at the noise, worried that she’d broken something else - and back in the blink of an eye with pants in hand. “Put them on,” Lexa repeated.
“This is a first,” Octavia mumbled. “A hot girl telling me to put my clothes on.” She winked at Clarke and grinned when she laughed, grin growing when she saw the small smile on Lexa’s face too. “Alright. What’s first?”
“Clarke, would you care to learn?”
“I’m good watching,” she told Lexa. “Besides, someone has to be on hand with the first aid kit if it all goes horribly, horribly wrong.” As one, they all reached out and rapped their knuckles on the wood counter.