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Bellamy grabbed a blueberry muffin off the kitchen table, bent down to kiss his mother's check, threw his bag over his shoulder, and yelled a quick "see you later" before pushing open the screen door and hopping down the steps onto the front lawn. With his muffin in one hand and his phone in the other, he walked up the driveway until he reached the road, and he leaned on the mailbox while he waited.
On any other day, Bellamy wouldn't have to do any waiting — his Jeep Wrangler, which he paid for with so many long hours, would be parked in its spot, waiting for him to put his keys in the ignition and drive. Octavia was a variable in the equation, of course; sometimes she insisted on taking 20 minutes to decide on her outfit, other days she'd be ready long before him, complaining that she waited in the passenger seat with feet up on the dash and the radio on full volume "for hours while his slow ass wrinkled and withered the days away." Long story short: most of the time, depending on Octavia, Bellamy didn't have to linger for very long in the morning.
However, that was before some idiot rear ended him while he was on his way to get milk. His mom got so mad at him for fucking up the car and for forgetting the milk that she made him walk all the way back to the IGA, and she made him pay for the car damage himself. In full. No favors. Even though his grades were getting better, and he hadn't been slacking on chores.
"But the loser was fucking baked, and it was a red light!" He begged.
She just raised her eyebrows at him, inviting him, daring him to say another word. Knowing better than to test his mother, he stormed off to his room, and in his frustration, broke his bed lamp. Of course, he had to replace that by himself too.
So now, here he was — waiting at the top of the driveway, for his ride. Octavia had gotten picked up a while ago by her friend Roma, the hot rich girl who drove a sleek, red Mustang. Compliments of her father, of course; that girl never had to work a day in her life. Bellamy wished he could befriend people like her. Instead, his only friends had shit for cars. Murphy rode his bike to school, and Miller's mom still drove him. So Bellamy had to call Finn Collins.
He had been partnered with Finn for one science project ages ago. Finn was a nice kid, pretty popular, pretty good grades. But there was something about Finn that ticked Bellamy off. He wasn't really sure if it was his hair, or his smile, or the fact that he never, ever, ever seemed to get upset... just something about the kid bugged him. For that reason, Bellamy wasn't altogether excited about riding in a car with him for 20 minutes. Though, everyone always talked about Finn's killer Mercedes. Bellamy would easily spend time with Finn if it meant driving around in a freaking Mercedes.
As he finished the last of his muffin, Bellamy unlocked his phone and opened his messages. He tapped on Finn's name and typed a short text: Hey, first class in half hr. Don't forget me, Collins.
A few minutes passed and no response came from Finn. Bellamy was almost shocked: he didn't know much about Finn, but he didn't seem like one of those guys who refuse to text and drive. Was it due to a tragic accident that affected them so deeply? Bellamy laughed at the thought, but his humor soon escaped him. He was beginning to get worried. Had Finn overslept?
No sooner than the thought had passed his mind, the roaring sound of an engine materialized down the road. Bellamy heaved a sigh of relief and straightened himself off the mailbox. He tucked his phone inside his back pants pocket, ran a hand through his hair, and cleared his throat. He shook the doubt and worry from his mind, newly reassured of Finn's commitment. He didn't oversleep after all, Bellamy thought with solace... until he turned his head to the direction of the sound, caught a glimpse of the vehicle he drove, and let his jaw drop to his chest.
It wasn't a car he drove, and it definitely wasn't the rumored Mercedes. Finn pulled up to Bellamy on a small, black motorcycle, the engine purring and small puffs of smoke emitting from the tires.
Bellamy stood still for a second, staring at Finn in shock, before he raised his arms above his head and an absolutely petrified look passed his face. "What the fuck is this, Finn?!" he roared. "I need a ride to school, not a piece of crap motorcycle in the middle of my driveway!"
Finn dropped his feet to the ground, still straddling the bike. Slowly and somewhat dramatically, he pulled his all-black helmet off his head, leaving his hair messy, frizzy and wild. He didn't look at Bellamy, though he was clearly smiling as he hung his helmet on the front bars. He stepped over the back of the seat so that his back faced Bellamy, and pulled open the compartment under the second seat. Ignoring the incessant yelling of Finn, Finn! from Bellamy, Finn reached under his bookbag and pulled out the spare helmet. He turned to face Bellamy, and threw it to him. "This piece of crap motorcycle is your ride. Good morning to you too."
Bellamy caught the helmet easily, but as soon as it reached his hands he was tempted to drop it. "Are you telling me that I have to ride on the back of... that thing?" Behind you, holding my arms around your middle, my knees touching your thighs...
Finn nodded, sticking his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and smiling from ear to ear. There was nothing teasing or mocking or malicious in his smile — it was genuine and friendly, and it just deepened Bellamy's frown. "Yeah, that's the idea. Unless you want to walk, which is pretty much your only other option."
With his mouth gaping, Bellamy looked from Finn, to the motorcycle, to the helmet he held. He knew he couldn't miss any more days of school; he already had too many absences due to hospital visits for his father and sick days of his own. Plus, his mother would flip her shit if she found out he'd skipped again. And there was no way he could walk, he lived on the complete opposite side of town from the school. He slowly inhaled and his eyes landed on the bike. Bellamy was the most concerned about his ego, and how showing up to school on the back of another guy's motorcycle might get him called a few names behind his back. However, he eventually realized how stupid that sounded and how little he cared about what people might say. Besides, he really needed a ride.
With a very obvious huff, Bellamy pulled the helmet over his head and approached Finn. "Just get on the fucking bike, Collins." He muttered, his deep voice muffled by his helmet. Finn smiled and nodded in satisfaction, turning towards his motorcycle and grabbing his own helmet. Once he put it on, he stepped over the center, turned the key, and the bike hummed to life under him. Bellamy swallowed and hesitantly neared the bike.
"Take your time, class only starts in, like, 15 minutes." Finn said, and Bellamy barely realized that they were the first sarcastic words Finn had ever said to him.
He couldn't help but smile, even if only slightly. In that moment Bellamy forgot all his doubts and swiftly hopped onto the seat behind Finn. Instantly, their legs touched, the insides of Bellamy's knees grazing Finn's hips, but Bellamy chose to ignore that. Instead, he held tightly to the small metal bars just below the seat. Bellamy knew he couldn't avoid real contact forever, but he could try.
Bellamy hardly heard Finn mumble "Let's go," before they both lifted up their feet from the ground, rested them on the pegs, and they were in motion.
It was a cool, March morning, and there was still small piles of discolored snow scattered all over the place. Bellamy felt a chill travel up his spine, as he only wore a thin, barely insulated black jacket. However, he hadn't ridden a motorcycle or a dirtbike or anything similar in such a long time: he so enjoyed and missed the feeling of the engine under him. He loved the sound of wind scraping against the rounded surface of his helmet. And he would have really liked the feeling of the wind in his hair, but he really doubted Finn would let him take his helmet off. Finn was a mostly no-nonsense guy — else, why wouldn't he have checked his phone for messages while he's riding? Bellamy thought, of course not being serious. His smile slowly grew a little bit wider, and he was starting to feel suddenly more comfortable. This is nice.
The ride became increasingly less-nice once the bike came to a very sudden stop, however. "Shit!" Bellamy yelped, releasing his grip on the bars and grabbing Finn's waist for support. He didn't even think twice about it, as he was busy looking over Finn's shoulder for the source of the interruption. However, Bellamy soon felt Finn's stomach cave as he inhaled sharply. Bellamy then pulled his hands away, lingering only for a second because damn, he's so warm. Then he wiped his hands on his jeans, removing any evidence that contact had been made.
"Sorry about that," Finn said as he exhaled. "There was a turtle in the middle of the fucking road." Then, leaving no time for Bellamy to reply, Finn gassed the machine to life once more, leaving the both turtle and the awkwardness behind with a puff of exhaust and a skid of the tires.
For the next few minutes, Bellamy tried not to think about the slight spark he felt when the palms of his hands grazed the leather of his jacket. Instead, he watched the houses they passed and tried to remember the text he was supposed to read for English last night. Finn didn't have a radio, so the whipping wind and the purring engine would have to suffice as music.
Despite all the ways Bellamy tried to distract himself, the time would not tick by fast enough. They were still at least 10 minutes away from the school, and there were lots of hills and turns and stoplights that they would have to pass through before they made it. Bellamy pursed his lips. The position he was in was quite awkward and uncomfortable, as he had to strain to reach his arms down past his hips to hold onto the bars. It would be so much easier if I could just hold onto him... but then he would stop himself mid-thought and clench the bars harder.
This is why I work out everyday, he reminded himself as the muscles in his back began to ache. But then, what Bellamy dreaded the most came to pass. The hill.
He'd hoped Finn would take the long way, the way that avoided the hill, but nope, it just had to rain harder on his parade. Bellamy clenched his teeth as he struggled to hold on, but feeling Finn's back naturally press up to him and the warmth radiate off his body and the smell of the back of his neck made Bellamy give in. With a large, audible groan, Bellamy released the bars and wrapped his arms around Finn. "If I don't get better support, I'll fall right off the back of this damn bike and break my fucking back and I'd rather touch a guy than spend the next month in the hospital, alright?" He defended himself, although Finn probably couldn't hear him over the all the background noises.
The next few seconds, Bellamy got virtually no response from Finn, and he received no vibes that would signal for him to get his hands the fuck away, or otherwise leave them there. He mentally prepared himself for a comeback or remark, though he also braced himself for silence, and thus more awkwardness. If Finn remained silent, then Bellamy would probably remove his hands once they got up the hill, and return them too the bars under his seat, and they would never speak of it ever again. But if Finn agreed, then Bellamy would damn well keep his hands there, because he would be sore all over if he had to hold onto those bars for another 10 minutes. And, well, because Finn was a portable space heater.
To Bellamy's surprise, Finn responded with neither a solid yes, a solid no, nor silence. Instead, he eased himself into Bellamy's arms, pressing his back into his chest, making the situation more comfortable for the both of them. Bellamy was alarmed at first, instinct telling him that he should get out of this situation immediately, but he shoved instinct aside. Finn was warm and his body fit perfectly against him. Screw you, instinct.
As they made it to even ground again, Bellamy scooted closer to him, spreading his legs wider so that Finn could be as close as possible to him. He rested his head — or rather, his helmet — on Finn's back, looking out to the side, watching the houses once again. Occasionally he would let his eyes drift close as he focused on Finn's breaths, and the way his stomach caved in and expanded with each burst of air that entered his lungs. There wasn't much that Finn could do to comfort Bellamy back, as operating a motorcycle requires full attention 100% of the time, but sometimes he would chuckle, and Bellamy could feel the action with his hands, and imagine how it looked clearly in his head. That was comfort enough.
The time passed by so much faster once Finn was in Bellamy's arms. Before either of them knew it, Finn had turned into the school parking lot and turned the ignition off. Bellamy wanted to stay there for a few more seconds, just a few more, please, he's so cozy, but then they both heard the final bell ring and Bellamy's grip on him loosened.
Bellamy got up slowly and pulled his helmet off. He was almost shy to meet Finn's eye, but he did anyway, and offered a small smile. "Here," he said as he handed him back his helmet. They locked eyes for a few more seconds before Bellamy turned to enter the building. However, when Finn called his name, Bellamy stopped. He looked at him over his shoulder curiously.
"You need a ride back home too?"