After returning to the Upper East Side, Jenny Humphrey finds her heart torn in two. Despite Blair Waldorf Bass' intentions, it's not as easy a choice as one might think. Jenny struggles with the war between head and heart; between what she has and what she never did; her friends-with-benefits-turned-boyfriend, or the man she's long-suspected to be the love of her life.

Because the inevitably was that she was going to see him again and, this time, she wasn't going to miss. She expected that he would put up a fight. She didn't expect him to appear before her on the path, hands raised so that his palms faced her on either side of his head. Her wand was pointed at his heart when he spoke. "I've come to turn myself in."

She leans on her knees again and they carry on in silence. He traces shapes on her back; circles, squares, little raven birds. He likes to draw, and she's his perfect canvas.

Clarke settled that, by the end of tomorrow, she would have a fake boyfriend to take home for Christmas. Even if it was Bellamy Blake.

Clarke felt herself flush at the thought of him. The way he sat lazily in his chair, but was obviously thinking deeply. The way he'd come to class that one time with his dark hair still wet; he'd mentioned something about coming straight from the gym, and it had taken Clarke a good, whole day to force herself to stop thinking about him so sweaty and glistening and –

Since then there's been moments, conversations, blissful little pieces of happiness in-between trying to rebuild their home and their lives.

'We did what we had to do,' Bellamy says. 'Finn would be dead.'

Princess, pain in the ass but noble and just, and freaking beautiful inside and out, whichever way he looks.

Her worry, her strength, her logic and most of all her heart. It's all Bellamy.

'Severide, huh,' he says, trying to keep cool about it, trying to act casual.

In retrospect, she wouldn't have done that. In retrospect, she would have moved her hand away, and not bitten her lip in desire when he looked at her.

He was jealous of the guy – so goddamn jealous of him.

It had been a week, and he couldn't sleep. He could only see her on the ground.