Part two!-Ish. I don't like naming part two's unless it's a one-shot sequence. Please review!

We rushed to the car, the wind chilling our already frozen clothes. I felt guilty for getting inside wet again but when Bellamy plopped inside without a second thought, I did the same. My jeans squelched under me.

Bellamy turned on the car and blasted the heat as high as it would go. He rubbed his hands together over the wheel, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

I wondered if he was waiting for my apology.

I wondered if he knew one wouldn't be coming.

After a few minutes, he pulled the car back onto the dirt road. It was like déjà vu, being in the car drenched again with Bellamy. We were retracing old footsteps.

We returned to the paved road and neither of us spoke. I expected to my house or back to the school where I'd abandoned my car. And detention. That would go over well with the principal. I almost cringed at the thought.

But when we passed the routes that would take us to either of those places, I asked him where we were going.

"I don't want to dry off at your place again," said Bellamy. "And my place is all the way downtown." As if that answer were sufficient enough, he kept driving until we'd reached a shopping center. He parked in front of a small café.

My eyes narrowed. "Why are we—?"

But he was out of the car the moment he pulled the keys from the ignition.

Now I was starting to regret my pond-diving decision, as I was left with no alternative but to grab my bag and follow in his wake into the café. The wind was so cold it burned and my teeth gnashed together in chattering fits.

I hurried after him and a string of bells chimed as he opened the door. I shook even more once enveloped by the warmth of the café and the brilliant smell of coffee. The place had a cup theme going on. Pictures of cups hung on the walls and decorated the tabletops. They lined the countertops and dangled precariously from the ceiling. An image of one snapping free from the wire and clocking a customer in the head surfaced in my mind.

When the employee behind the counter looked up to greet us, her eyes widened as she took in our dampened state. She looked like she wanted to say something about the trail of water we were leaving behind—especially Bellamy, with his wet shoes—but he walked farther inside before she had a chance.

He went to a rack in the back. Of shirts, I saw. He pulled off two white ones and tossed the other over to me. I snatched it and caught a glance of the logo: Keep Calm and Drink Coffee.

Bellamy retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and dropped a wet twenty on the counter. I prayed he didn't have his phone on him somewhere.

"Two coffees, please," he told the employee, who looked distastefully at the damp cash.

Bellamy walked over to me. "You change first," he said, motioning with his chin to the small bathroom in the back.

I realized I hadn't said anything. I didn't know whether to be embarrassed at the gawking employee or amused. I went to the bathroom and quickly pulled off my slick shirt and replaced it with the café one. I tugged my jacket on over it, feeling my temperature rise a few degrees.

I emerged a few minutes later, Bellamy was waiting and took my place in the bathroom. I stood outside and waited. The memory of him changing in my own bathroom flashed through my head. I thought of those scars.

Shaking my head, I turned my back to the door just as he came out, the sound making me jump, as if I could be caught thinking about that.

I appraised his shirt, pausing on the saying that was embellished on the front of it: I'm only as strong as the coffee I drink.

A warning burned in his eyes. "Don't laugh."

I pursed my lips, trying very hard not to and took a seat at one of the cup-adorned tables. I set my bag on the floor and dropped the cold shirt at the edge of the table.

The employee came over with the coffees and I gripped it greedily, letting the warmth seep into my still-cold fingers.

"Thanks," I managed before gulping one scorching sip. I didn't care that it burned off my taste buds. A few of them were worth it.

Bellamy eyed me over his cup, like he was debating whether or not to give me a lecture on jumping into freezing ponds. But the lecture didn't come and after a few awkward minutes, I pulled my bag into my lap and scrounged around for my wallet. I set the Rubik's cube I still had on the table to see the insides more clearly.

Bellamy swiped up the Rubik's cube. "You really carry one of these around with you?"

I drew my eyes back up to him, watching as he messed with the sides, flipping it around in his hands.

Wallet forgotten, I shrugged. "Principal Jaha gave it to me," I said. I dropped my bag on the floor and took the coffee cup back in my hands.

Bellamy shifted another side, messing up the white rows I'd achieved to align. "I never understood the point of these anyway," he mused.

I watched him curiously as he continued to fiddle with the block. "People like them because they're technical. They have a system."

"So you've completed a whole one?"

I shook my head. "I watched a documentary on it."

Slowly, Bellamy looked from the cube to me. The ghost of a smile played around his lips. "You . . . watched a documentary on it?" he asked, disbelieving.

I shrugged like it was utterly normal to watch a forty-five minute show on the purpose of a Rubik's cube. Actually, it hadn't even been my idea. It was Finn who'd wanted to watch it, but that memory hurt, and I didn't mention it.

"I like the idea of them," I said. "But they're kind of infuriating." I couldn't count how many times I'd been tempted to toss the square devil against the wall. Rubik's cubes were the killers of patience.

Bellamy smirked, and gripped a corner of the cube. In one swift movement, he pried one of the squares up. It snapped.

"You broke it," I said, staring down at the jagged piece of cube that now rested in his palm.

"And you said it infuriated you."

"But it's the principal's."

Bellamy grimaced. "Idiocy is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, so," he set down the cube and pushed it over to me, "who's the real putz?"

I wanted to be annoyed, but it was almost gratifying to see the insufferable toy dismembered on the table.

I pushed away my coffee and picked up the larger portion of the cube. I turned it between my fingers. "What's your favorite color?" I asked suddenly, the question blossoming out of nothing.

A look of genuine surprise crossed over Bellamy's features. He tilted his head to the side, just enough to disturb the brown curls. "What?"

"Your favorite color," I repeated. "I know probably some of the most personal things about you, but nothing simple. Nothing trivial."

"You only know what I've told you," he said.

I shook my head. "Some of the most important things you learn about someone isn't through their words."

Bellamy pursed his lips and shifted the cup of coffee in his hands. He looked at the table and then back at me. "You think you know a lot about me based off...what, actions?"

In answer, I shrugged.

He scoffed, and leaned back in his chair. Then he leaned forward again, as if with newfound interest. "All right. Let's make this interesting then. You tell me something you think you know, and I'll do the same."

I sized him up and couldn't keep away my smirk. I took a sip of coffee, and studied him. "You don't like trusting people," I said. "You let very few in, but those you do trust, you'd do anything for."

He considered this, and finally, gave a small nod. "You don't like to be called Princess."

"That's not a secret."

"The reason is. I used to think you were a spoiled brat that loved the attention. Turns out, you hate it about as much as I do. You don't like being Jaha's pet, because the only expectations you ever cared to exceed were your own."

I stared at him for a moment, so surprised I nearly dropped my coffee. I set it down and leaned forward, too, matching his posture. "You're good with cars," I said. "I'll bet you even know how to hotwire one."

Bellamy inhaled slowly, eyes sharp, gaze as studious as my own. He didn't deny it. "You probably cook a lot, what with your mom AWOL all the time. And yet, you still manage to make an undrinkable cup of coffee."

"You like being in control of things," I said. "Not people, but the situation going on around you. You don't like it when anything unexpected occurs."

Bellamy's lips pressed into a thin line. "You don't like music."

I paused, wondering how he'd know that. But then I remembered my outburst in the car when he'd turned on the radio, and I understood.

I swallowed. "You hate wet clothes, but have a surprising appeal for Jon Bon Jovi."

"Your taste in TV is about as bad as your coffee." Bellamy smirked. "I'd even bet hard money you've watched at least one hospital show, like House, or Scrubs."

I grimaced in reply, and his smirk broadened into some semblance of an actual smile.

I took my coffee back in my hands, twisting the cup sleeve around the Styrofoam base. "You don't drink," I said, and almost regretted the mention. It had nothing to do with the aid he'd given me at the party. I knew why he wouldn't want to touch alcohol. If anything could dissuade a person from drinking, it was growing up with an abusive dad and booze tucked inside of toy chests.

The muscle in Bellamy's jaw flexed and his gaze flickered away, only for a moment. Then he looked back at me. "You can't drive in the rain," he said. "Because it reminds you of things you don't want to remember, but won't ever forget." He momentarily looked away again. "At least that's something I can understand."

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek and looked down at my cup. It took its own effort to meet his dark eyes again, sparkling under the dangling table light. "You're terrified of losing your sister, because she's always been your responsibility, and you hate seeing her go home with anyone else that isn't you."

I knew I hit the nail on the head with that one, because the light in Bellamy's eyes diminished some. His grip tightened over the cup and then, as if thinking better about it, he relaxed them.

"You don't want to be a doctor because in your eyes, you've already failed as one," he said slowly, no haughtiness in his voice. "You've put all you could into your studies and then your dad happened, but it made you work harder. And then your boyfriend happened. And now, you don't see a point. You blame yourself for not saving them, and that's why you're bombing in school and dropping everything and acting like you don't care. It's why you refuse to try again. Because the first time hurt you. The second time broke you. But a third...would be enough to kill you."

I didn't say anything. In fact, I was finding it difficult to hold his gaze. I shrugged in an attempt to roll his words off me. It didn't work. "I'm not afraid that it would kill me," I said, glancing out of the shadowed window. An elderly couple strolled by, slow and rickety. Their intertwined fingers rested like a knot between them. "I'm afraid that it won't." There were some things worse than dying, and that included living with someone else's death on your conscience. It was why people claimed they wish it'd been them instead. Because death was comparatively easier on the dead than it was on the living.

"It's selfish," Bellamy's words rang back to me now, the ones he'd spoken to me over the chorus of rain. He was right. But selfish wishes had a knack for being undeterred.

Bellamy grabbed his wet shirt from the tabletop and gestured with a tilt of his head to the door. "We should go," he said, and stood. "I'll drive you back to your car."

I shook my head, retrieving my own waterlogged shirt as well. A few drops sprayed the table's surface. "That's okay. Home's fine. I'd rather walk tomorrow anyway." It wasn't a lie.

Bellamy looked like he thought about protesting, his expression dubious, brows knitted together. But then he dismissed it and gave a small nod. "Okay. If you're sure."

I nodded, and we walked out together. One of the employees bid us a good night and Bellamy held the door open for me.

We didn't speak on the drive to my house, but it wasn't an awkward silence like so many times before. Bellamy wasn't the type to speak without inclination, which was fine by me. He seemed to have a way of speaking without any words at all.

When we pulled over, I thanked him for the coffee and got out. I didn't mention his father or the events that had transpired earlier. He'd been there to witness them himself, after all.

"Hey, Clarke," Bellamy called to me when I was halfway up the drive. The wind chilled my face and made my hands cold from the still-wet shirt I held. I turned back to him, his silhouette shadowed from the dying light. "Yeah?"

Bellamy peered over to see through the passenger window. "It's blue, by the way," he said. He lifted his shoulders in a small, noncommittal shrug.

I bit back a smile as I walked up the rest of the driveway and to the front door.

I didn't hear his car leave its spot until I was safely inside.