When they return from having dinner, Bellamy and Elsa walk into an apartment that's completely trashed. His television is broken, his sink is overflowing, the window of his room has a thick crack in it, and his books have been ripped apart and thrown onto the floor.
Elsa gasps whereas Bellamy peers around his apartment incredulously. With her hands pressed over her mouth rather than in his hands, he can't help but laugh at her expression as she looks around the apartment with wide eyes.
"Surprise, I guess," Bellamy shrugs. He reaches for one of her hands, pulling it gently away from her face, as he leads her further into his apartment.
"I'm so sorry," she says, stepping onto the tips of her toes to avoid trampling the pages of his books. Bellamy steps outright onto them as he guides her toward his bed.
She peers up at him when his legs hit the side of his bed. Elsa's hand drops from her face as she looks up at him incredulously. "You're not mad?"
"About?" he looks down at her, eyebrow arched.
She looks around his apartment. "Your things …"
He shrugs, looking around his apartment. "Shit happens," he says. He looks down at her with a kind smile, "This isn't the worst thing that's happened to me."
He knows she knows, and maybe that's why her head dips as she looks even more crestfallen.
Reaching down, he presses his fingers gently against her jaw, encouraging her to look up at him. "Hey, it's not your fault," he says with a smile. "I didn't like those books anyway."
She looks at him pointedly.
"I liked them a little," he relents. "But I like the snowgie more."
She smiles. "Really?" His fingers press hers between his like she's placed leaves between the pages of the ones she's bought for him. He's grateful he placed those in the cupboards of his kitchen.
"Yeah," he says, lifting his shoulder. "It's not every day you're given a living snowball."
"Snowgie."
"Same thing."
"It's really —"
"Elsa," he laughs. His hands drop to her hips as he cocks his head to the side. "Lets make our own mess."
She grins widely before she removes herself from where he touches her. Kneeling on his bed, she crawls along its width to press her hand against the glass. He follows after her, kneeling behind her. With her palm pressed against the window, frost blooms from her fingers as she freezes the window.
Bellamy raises his to draw his fingers against the frost to draw a few wobbly snowflakes. A few flurries fall from the ceiling, settling in his hair. A few gather along his shoulders, but most of it begins to clump on his bed.
He doesn't say anything at all, not even when the snowgie slams into something in his bathroom. She flinches at the sound, but he continues to draw the flakes before he settles back onto his legs and turns to her.
She smiles as she looks down at her palm. His gaze follows hers to find she's made him a perfect snowflake.
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drop a ship ‣ bellamy + elsa
for andie; bellamy + elsa