The Three Truths

Chapter 1

There were three truths to Clarke Griffin, Lexa knew:

     Meeting her their sophomore year of college was a stroke of mere chance.

     Becoming her friend by the end of their junior year was an active choice.

     Falling in love with her by the time graduation rolled around...falling in love with her was an inevitability.

There were three truths to Clarke Griffin, and Lexa had them memorized and etched into every crevice of her skull, swearing to herself—promising herself—these truths would never in any way influence her relationship with the blonde. And they don't.

She was practiced in the art of hiding the depths of her feelings for the medical student.

She knew that when Clarke was drunk, she tended to become more outgoing, louder, talkative—tended to say painful things like how much she needed Lexa, how much she appreciated Lexa, how much she loved Lexa.

She knew that after a particularly hard day, Clarke liked to call her, how her guards went down for just a moment and things like 'I miss you' slipped from her lips.

She knew that when they got together, especially in environments that Clarke knew Lexa wouldn't be comfortable in, Clarke would press against her side, never moving far away—never once asking if the heat of her skin bothered Lexa more than the heat of the bar. (Lexa knew that Clarke got particularly handsy on these nights, yet somehow she never found the strength to say anything.)

Lexa was practiced in the art of hiding her feelings for the medical student. She knew to avoid Clarke when she was drunk. Knew to text Clarke rather than chat with her on the phone on the days her guards were down. Knew to wear clothes that would make it impossible for her to feel Clarke's skin against her own, knew that the easiest way to keep Clarke's hands (her soft hands, igniting miniature flames against Lexa's skin wherever they brushed, driving her mad, driving her past all her limits, making her want to stop fighting, stop pretending, stop, stop, stop, stop) was to buy her another drink, occupy her with talk of the men in the bar, asking which one she preferred—all the while pretending that this didn't send shards of ice through her heart, that the fire against her skin spluttered out with nothing more than a whimper, that all her guards and protections flailed for a moment before regrouping and reforming and coming back stronger.

It was always easy, because Lexa had known Clarke for five years. It was always easy, because medical school kept Clarke busy, kept them out of bars, out of each other's apartments, out of each other's hair. Because Lexa spent more time reading and studying, couldn't and wouldn't answer Clarke's calls. (She didn't think about how the current distance between them made things easier, she didn't think about why they've been so distant, she didn't—she can't—think about that.)

It was always easy, until it wasn't.

"It's important, Lexa. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't." (There were three truths to Clarke Griffin: 1. Meeting her was a stroke of mere chance.)

"I know. I just...I don't understand."

"You made the most sense." (Three truths: 2. Becoming her friend was an active choice.)

"Because I'm the only one who'd agree?"

"Because you're my best friend. Because I trust you...because you were believable. Acceptable." (Three truths: 3. Falling in love with her...falling in love with her was inevitable.)

"Whatever you need, Clarke."

"It's only two weeks. And all the wine you could possibly want."

"Like I said. Whatever you need."