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Before Clarke and Murphy became friends, Clarke didn't really think Murphy had friends. He was the kid who sat in the back of every class and made sarcastic comments and never seemed to really interact with anyone else. If someone had told Clarke that he just ceased to exist when he exited her line of sight, she would have believed them. He certainly never seemed to do anything with a lasting impact.
And then, he shows up at the first GSA meeting of tenth grade.
As someone who joined thinking she was on the "straight" side of the alliance, Clarke does get that not everyone who joins the GSA is gay, but she has trouble imagining Murphy just showing up to be a supportive ally. Even if he is somewhere on the LGBT+ spectrum, Clarke is still kind of shocked he's showing up. She didn't think Murphy participated in groups of any kind.
Not that he really participates in GSA either. He introduces himself only as "Murphy" every time they go around the circle for names/orientations, and then he sits in the back and cracks quiet jokes when the opportunity arises. It's like having another class with him, except that no one is forcing him to be there. This is what he chooses to do with his time.
"It's weird, right?" she asks Finn. He doesn't belong to the GSA, but she gives him the updates.
Finn shrugs. "I guess. Why do you care what Murphy does?"
"I just don't get it."
"You don't have to understand everything, princess," he teases, and Clarke just rolls her eyes. Obviously she doesn't have to understand, but she still wants to.
Sign-ups for the group trip to Pride happen in May, and Murphy is behind her in line, so he's there when Taylor asks, "You're coming, Clarke?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Pride is for LGBT members, not allies."
"I'm bi, remember?" It's still new, saying it out loud, a word that tastes clunky in her mouth, but it feels right. After she and Finn break up, she'd like to date a girl. That's an experience she wants to have.
"Oh, well, still," says Taylor, like that's somehow all he needs to say.
Clarke's eyebrows shoot up. "Still what?"
"Well, you're with Finn. I feel like it doesn't look good for straight-passing people to be in the group."
Clarke's jaw drops, and she's glad it's anger that floods her veins and not humiliation. Taylor's never been her favorite person, but even from him, this is a lot.
Defenses crowd her mind, but so do the inevitable counterarguments. She's had this debate with herself so many times, if she can really be bi if she's never kissed a girl, how she can know, how she can consider herself a part of the community when she's dating a guy. She got through all of those things for herself, but if Taylor doesn't think she's bi enough for Pride, she doesn't have any better argument than "I think I am."
Unexpectedly, Murphy pipes up. "Hey, dipshit, she's bi, that means she can go to Pride. What's the holdup?"
"And why are you going, Murphy?" Taylor shoots back. "I still don't know why you're here in the first place."
"You don't get to vet people's sexual orientations," Clarke says. "We all heard Pride isn't for allies, so anyone signing up is queer. Like me."
"I'm asexual," Murphy says. "Is that good enough for you? I'm genuinely curious," he adds. "If you think bi girls with boyfriends don't belong, I'm guessing you're not real big on letters that don't even make the main acronym."
Taylor's jaw works. "Obviously, if you think you should come, I can't stop you, I just think you should consider that it's not entirely appropriate for--"
"You know what? Fine. I'm not coming with you." Clarke grabs a sharpie from the bucket on the desk, crossing her name out so hard it's probably going to bleed through to the table. "But I'll see you there. Because I belong there."
She's out of the classroom before she realizes Murphy followed her.
"If I stayed there I was just going to have to talk to Taylor," he says, with a small shrug. "Didn't seem worth it."
Clarke smiles with half her mouth. "Yeah, I guess not. You want a ride to Pride?"
"If you're driving, yeah."
And just like that, they're friends.
*
Junior year, motivated primarily by spite and a mutual dislike of Taylor, Clarke and Murphy start a Queer Student Union, open to everyone who identifies as queer. To Clarke's surprise, Murphy not only cares about LGBT issues, he's actually shockingly informed about them. He identifies as biromantic asexual, although he admits the biromantic part feels a lot more theoretical than the asexual part, mostly because he has yet to meet anyone he likes enough he wants to be romantic with them. But he's theoretically open to it. He's done a lot of reading on not only sexuality stuff, but feminism and general activism, mostly because he seems interested in it. Academically, he's not the greatest, but he's intellectually curious, likes learning when he's engaged.
When Finn cheats on her a few months later, he eggs Finn's car, which is one of those things that Clarke would never approve of and would have told him not to do if he asked, but since he didn't and she had no idea until several days after it happened, she doesn't have to even pretend to not be happy.
It feels like the kind of relationship that might not survive college, but they both end up in Boston. Clarke's at Harvard because she's that over-achieving legacy kid, and Murphy goes to UMass because Clarke pointed out he could actually get a BA in Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies while still avoiding the classes he hates, which is his ideal learning environment.
It turns out he's a good litmus test for her pretentious Harvard friends, less because he's a good judge of character and more because it's useful to see how other people react to him. Clarke doesn't really care if they like Murphy--Murphy doesn't care about being liked much--but how and why they dislike him and how they deal with it tends to give her some good insight into whether or not they're worth befriending. She and Lexa break up in part because Murphy and Lexa never figure out how to coexist, while Murphy and Niylah's weird friendship is part of why Clarke starts hooking up with her.
"He's like all the parts of you that you want to pretend you don't have," Niylah observes one night, and Clarke frowns.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're supposed to be--The perfect princess. Rich, straight A's, top of your class at Harvard. And then there's Murphy, your excuse for not liking people. The scapegoat for all your worst instincts."
"You have a very weird idea of what makes good pillow talk," Clarke teases.
"I just think it's interesting. Have you ever heard the term morality pet?"
"No, psych major."
Niylah doesn't bother responding to that. "It's a concept in fiction. You've got a bad character you need to humanize, so they have a morality pet, the sympathetic character that they actually treat well, the one who's there to make you think the villain isn't all bad. Murphy's your immorality pet. He's the asshole you like because part of you is an asshole too."
"I can't believe this is what you think about right after sex."
Niylah grins, rolls over for a kiss. "I just think it's an interesting dynamic. The two of you simultaneously make each other better and worse people."
"That sounds about right," Clarke agrees, and tugs her closer, ending the talking for a while.
She and Niylah never get quite to being in a relationship, so when they graduate, they don't break up so much as move apart. Niylah goes back to California, and Clarke stays in Boston in a cheap two-bedroom apartment with Murphy.
Sometimes, she thinks about what her ninth-grade self would think about her life: openly and comfortably bisexual, working in a museum instead of going to med school, living with John Murphy. Even her post-college self has trouble believing it's real. But it's good.
After six months of largely successful cohabitation when Murphy comes home late on a Saturday night with a giant bottle of flavored vodka and says, "We need to get drunk."
Clarke never needs to be asked to drink shitty liquor twice. "Okay."
Murphy roots around the fridge, frowning when all he finds is Coke and green powerade. "I thought we had lemonade."
"Nope."
"Well, this is going to taste shitty with the mixers we've got," he says, frowning at the vodka, which is apparently raspberry flavored.
Clarke grabs the Coke. "If we drink the first one fast enough we won't taste the second one."
"Cheers to that," says Murphy, and pours one generous slosh of booze into his world's okayest sister mug and another into Clarke's novelty Pikachu glass.
They're adults.
After a glass and a half of raspberry-Coke vodka, Clarke asks, "Why are we getting drunk?"
"You need a reason?"
"I don't, but it was your idea. What happened?"
Murphy makes a face, then drains his drink. "I think I've got a crush on a girl."
It shouldn't be unthinkable; romantic interest has always been a theoretical possibility for Murphy. He's always said he could like someone, but Clarke sort of assumed he wouldn't. It was just hard to imagine what Murphy with a crush would look like, and even harder to imagine Murphy's type. What does he even like, in a person?
She wants to ask about a thousand questions, but she knows better. Murphy would just shut down. So instead she grabs the vodka, pours him more, and tops it off with what's left of the Coke. "What girl?"
"She works at the pawn shop."
John Murphy is probably the only person she knows who, in 2018, not only goes to a pawn shop, but goes to a pawn shop regularly enough to have developed feelings for someone who works there. It's just so painfully Murphy.
"Is she just being polite to you because you're a customer?"
He snorts. "She's not polite to me. She's an asshole. I keep trying to bring in stuff to sell and she tells me to get better shit."
"That sounds about right, yeah."
"So what do I do?"
"Can you just ask her if she wants to get a drink sometime?"
He pulls a face. "Pass."
"Can you figure out a way to see her outside of the pawn shop without actually asking her?"
"I think she's in a band."
"So you got me drunk to agree to go to your crush's concert with you? I'd do that anyway."
"Isn't that weird? Like--going to her concert?"
"How do you know she has a band?"
"She told me."
"And the concert?"
"There's a flyer by the register."
"Did she ever mention it?"
"I asked her what it was and she said it was her band and they were decent."
"So that seems like a pretty normal way to express interest in someone. You can just say you were curious or bored or whatever."
"And you're coming?"
"I'm coming."
"Cool." He groans and flops onto his back. "This already sucks."
Clarke pats his shoulder. "You get used to it."
*
Murphy's crush's name is Emori and she plays drums in a band called "Jose Chung's 'From Outer Space,'" which seems like a lot of name for one band, but Murphy tells her it's an X-Files reference, so at least it makes some sense. There are four of them, two other women on bass and guitar, and the lead singer, a guy with messy black hair and sharp black eyeliner who looks too pretty to be a real person. He's got a decent voice too, deep and kind of rough, an unvarnished kind of sound that Clarke feels down to her toes.
"Do you know any of the other ones?" she asks Murphy.
"Nope," he says. "She was right, though, they're not bad."
"They aren't." She pulls her attention away from the lead singer to focus on Emori, taking her in. She's cute, with a big face tattoo that must have hurt like hell to get, and long brown hair pulled away from her face by a red bandanna. She's wearing a black tank top that leaves her shoulders bare, showing off more ink that clearly continues under the fabric.
She's not who she would have pictured for Murphy, but she also doesn't know who she would have pictured. She's always thought Murphy's type was more about personality than appearance.
Jose Chung's "From Outer Space" are the first of three no-name local bands in the set, and Murphy, being the disaster that he is, wants to just leave as soon they're off the stage. But Clarke sees the lead singer making his way to the bar, so she makes a quick decision.
"I'm going to go make friends with the rest of the band," she says. "If you want to run away, you can go, but you're own your own."
She doesn't give him a chance to respond, but she hears some spluttered protests that let her know he is following her, and bites back on her smile. It's definitely a little bit selfish, but only a little; Murphy did ask for her help. Sort of.
There's just enough free space next to the singer for Clarke to wedge herself in, and the guy glances over, mildly curious, but doesn't say anything. She checks around for Murphy, finds he's hanging back, and leans in to murmur, "Sorry, I'm trying to force my friend to flirt with your drummer."
The guy's eyebrows go up. This close, he's even prettier, tan skin dotted with freckles, a small scar placed perfectly to bring attention to his lips, the eyeliner the icing on the cake. "I'm not sure how this is helping your friend flirt with my drummer," he replies, just as low.
"If I'm here, he can't talk to me."
"My drummer eats guys alive."
"I think he's into that. That seems to be his type."
"Huh."
Clarke flags down the bartender and orders a beer. "You guys are really good," she offers.
"Thanks."
Okay, so, he's hot, but aloof, and a little too full of himself, if Clarke is honest. The band is really good, but they're playing a small venue in Cambridge. They're not big enough that he should be above talking to people, so it's probably just a personality trait.
"What's your friend's name?" he asks, not looking at her.
"Murphy."
"He probably doesn't have a chance."
Clarke shrugs. "I'll be proud of him if he just gives it a try."
"Low standards, huh?" says the guy.
"He doesn't get out much."
"So, how long do I have to stay here for this?"
Clarke blinks. "Sorry?"
"You're hitting on me. How long do I have to stay?"
"I didn't know you were in a big hurry to be gone. I assumed you were at the bar because you wanted a drink. But I can go hit on someone else. Is your bass player into women?"
That perks him up, because he's apparently the kind of asshole who thinks girl-on-girl is hot. "Possibly, but she's got a boyfriend right now. Sorry."
Clarke cracks her neck as an excuse to look around. Murphy is talking to Emori and she's smiling, which means Clarke's work here is done and she can leave the surly asshole alone. It's always a shame when a hot boy in eyeliner lets her down, but she'll live. "Oh well. Murphy's set, so you should have a good rest of the night."
He looks a little surprised. "Oh, uh, yeah. You too."
Clarke raises her glass in salute and slides away from him, moving down the bar to a less crowded spot. She doesn't let herself look back to see if he's watching her, but she does let herself hope.
It would serve him right.
*
Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, Murphy doesn't come up with a better way to flirt with Emori than going to her shows, which means that Clarke is also going to her shows, to be a supportive friend, and getting to know Emori and by extension the rest of the band.
Emori, at least, she likes. She's quick and funny and takes no shit, which is perfect for Murphy, and despite what the surly singer said, she does seem kind of fond of him. It's hard to get a great read on her, but she keeps coming to talk to Murphy, and Clarke doesn't think she's the type to talk to people unless she actually wants to. Their whole relationship seems to be based on talking shit, but that's got to be Murphy's type.
Raven and Echo--the bass and guitar players, respectively--are cool too, easy for Clarke to hang out with while Murphy's busy with Emori. She likes them all, really. It's not a hardship.
Except that there's Bellamy, too.
She does want to like Bellamy, but she can't get over thinking he's just kind of an asshole. He's never really as aloof as he was that first night again, seems to warm up once he's realized that Emori doesn't seem to be planning to kick Murphy's ass, but he's still kind of cold. And part of her can't help feeling like she should get over it, that it's unfair of her to hold a grudge for one night, but she just can't figure out how to get along with Bellamy.
She does try, but from what she can tell, he doesn't. She asks him about the band and he deflects, talking about how they're not really that good, it's just a hobby. She asks what his real job is and he makes a face, says it's boring. It's not as if every conversation is like that, but she always feels like he's not that interested in the conversation, like he's waiting for her to just stop talking to him.
"So stop talking to him," Murphy says, with a shrug. "Who cares?"
"Do you like him?"
"I guess. It's not like I'm making him a friendship bracelet or anything. Does it matter?"
"You're my barometer, remember?"
His eyebrows shoot up. "You want to date Bellamy?"
"No!" she says, but it's too late. Murphy's running with it.
"I guess he's probably kind of hot? Not my type, but makes sense for you. And you're pissed because he's not interested."
"I don't know why you're acting like this is news." It seems like a safer tactic than arguing. "I told you I tried to flirt with him the first day, it obviously didn't work."
"Yeah, but you're still pissed," he says. "So you're still into him."
"I want him to be into me." If she can't tell Murphy these things, what good is he? "I don't get why he's not."
"Okay, but if you're not into him, who cares? He doesn't like you, you don't like him, no harm, no foul, right? Way better than the alternative."
"I didn't do anything wrong. He should like me. At least as a person."
"I think he'd be good for you."
That actually does surprise her; she's not sure he's ever offered an unsolicited opinion on whether or not she should date someone.
"You do?"
"Yeah, probably. He's a pretty decent guy and we have fun hanging out. Doesn't take my shit and gives as good as he gets."
"But he's not into me, so I don't know why we're having this conversation."
"Because you wanted to talk about him. You started it."
"I was complaining."
"You complain about him a lot." Murphy groans. "Look, like him, don't like him, I don't give a shit. But if you don't like him, stop caring what he thinks, stop talking to him, and let it go."
It's exactly what she should be doing; she flops onto his stomach with a groan of her own. "I hate you she says."
"Yeah, I know."
*
"So, I owe you an apology."
It's a week after her conversation with Murphy and Clarke has admitted, at least privately, that she still wants to make out with Bellamy and still might kind of like Bellamy, despite all logic and reason.
And now he's smiling at her, nervous and casual in a t-shirt and glasses at Raven's game night, and she has no idea what's happening.
"You do?"
"It's stupid."
"Why don't you just tell me what you're talking about and we can go from there? Because I'm kind of lost."
He clears his throat. "So, uh--I didn't know Murphy's name was John."
"And you're apologizing to me for that?"
"The first night we met you said your friend was flirting with Emori, and I knew she liked this customer of hers named John, so I thought you were distracting me so some asshole she didn't like could slobber all over her. So I was annoyed."
"And you only just realized Murphy was her customer crush?" she asks, stuck between amusement and disbelief. "It's been months!"
"I know! I thought he just got lucky and she liked him, but then she said John was coming tonight and I said I hadn't met him and the rest of the band made fun of me for like an hour."
"It kind of sounds like you deserved it."
He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly, and Clarke smiles too. "Anyway, I feel like--I never knew how to explain without telling you I thought Emori was into someone else. And I still kind of thought you were a dick for trying to distract me with your feminine wiles."
"I was joking!"
He laughs. "Yeah, uh--anyway. Sorry?"
"You don't really have to apologize for that," she says. "It's not like you were--you're pretty polite mostly. I thought you had a bad night. And didn't like me much."
"Yeah. But I want us to do better, so--can we start over?"
It's strange, because part of Clarke feels like they never actually started. Like this is actually going to be their first try.
Which makes it easy. "Yeah, I'd like that."
It should fix all her problems, or at least all the problems she's admitting she has, but less than two weeks later she slams a bag into the island and says, "I bought vanilla vodka and orange juice and I want it to taste like a creamsicle."
"Won't work but okay," says Murphy. "What did Bellamy do?"
"Who says it's about Bellamy?"
"Can we skip the bullshit and you just tell me?"
Clarke considers. "Drink first."
They make it through the first round and then Clarke says, "He likes me now."
"And you hate him?"
"No, I still want to make out with him." She sighs. "You were right, I'm totally into him, and now we're getting along, and everything sucks. He's really cute."
Murphy takes another drink of his vanilla screwdriver. "So ask him to make out. At least you're not trying to tell him you're into him but not into sex and you've never actually dated anyone before. Why are you complaining?"
"Have you figured out a way to mention you're ace yet?" she asks.
"Nope. It doesn't really come up in conversation. No one's like, how much does everyone love sex? They just assume the answer is a lot and don't bother asking."
"Sorry."
"It's fine. Keep complaining about your thing, that helps."
She flops onto her back. "He's just so pretty."
Murphy pats her leg. "Yeah, that sucks."
*
Murphy's problem seems easier to solve than hers, especially in early May. Clarke gives it a week and then, when they're out drinking with the whole band, asks, "Oh, is anyone going to Pride? Do you guys need a ride?"
"You're going to Pride?" Echo asks.
"She's bi," Bellamy says, even though Clarke's never told him that. "Or pan?" he adds, glancing at her for approval.
"I usually go with bi, but as long as it covers no gender preference I'm good."
"I'm biromantic asexual," says Murphy. Clarke didn't warn him, but he's pretty quick with this stuff.
"We always go to Pride because that's how we got to be friends. Some asshole in our high-school GSA told us neither of us belonged there because we weren't queer enough."
"Jesus Christ," says Bellamy. "Well, I could use a ride."
Clarke will admit to startling, just a little. She didn't really think anyone in the band was queer, had just wanted to give Murphy an excuse to share his sexuality. It was always possible she'd get a taker, but it hasn't seemed likely.
But Bellamy wants to join them. If he's gay, that kind of sucks, at least for her. But he's bi or trans--into women at all and queer, basically--he might be her dream guy.
"I know it's shitty to ask why people want to go to Pride, but I still want to know," Murphy says.
"Also bi," says Bellamy, so, yeah. Clarke wants to marry him. "I've never actually been to Boston Pride, though. I don't like going alone."
"Then you should definitely come with us," says Clarke, and he gives her one of his melting smiles.
"Thanks."
"Can I come along as a supportive outsider who would happily make out with a girl if the opportunity presented itself?" Emori asks.
"Definitely," says Murphy. "Just don't talk about ally pride or whatever and we're good. And kiss a girl if you can, I hear it's cool."
Echo's interested to learn that he's never kissed a girl, and she and Emori and Raven get drawn into that conversation, leaving Clarke and Bellamy off on their own.
"So, that first day we met," she says.
Bellamy cocks his head. "What about it?"
"I asked if anyone else in the band liked girls and you kind of--" She shrugs. "I thought you were one of those guys who thinks girls kissing is hot and for your benefit. But you were excited I was queer."
He laughs. "Shit, I didn't know you noticed. But yeah, I always like meeting more bisexuals. I was rethinking you."
"Where did you end up?"
"What do you mean?"
She smiles. "You rethought me, so--what did you end up thinking of me?"
He bites the corner of his mouth, glances over at his band mates. They're not paying attention that Clarke can tell, but she knows Murphy still has part of his focus on the two of them. The rest of the band probably does too. That's the kind of group dynamic they have going.
Bellamy must be thinking the same thing. "You want to get another round?" he asks.
"Maybe at another bar."
He laughs again, this bright, pleased laugh, at odds with his rock-star makeup. "Yeah, that sounds right."
Outside, he says, "I thought I should have picked you up when I had the chance. I was kicking myself for--I'm still kicking myself for not flirting back."
Her own smile creeps up, starting small but never stopping growing. "You still could."
"We could just get a drink at my place."
"I'd love to."
*
"How much do you think Taylor Macdonald would hate us going on a double date to Pride with our straight-passing partners?" Clarke asks.
Bellamy pauses in his application of glitter to Murphy. Apparently he's as good as makeup as he is because he taught his sister how to do hers, which works out really well. Clarke sucks at makeup; it's nice that they have complementary skill sets.
"Straight passing?" he asks, dubious.
"His words."
"Dick."
Murphy grins. "I figure if I'm pissing off Taylor Macdonald, I'm doing something right. I hope every time I'm happy, he feels like someone walked over his grave."
Clarke offers her hand and he high-fives her; Emori smiles. "I'm starting to see why the two of you are such good friends. It didn't quite add up before."
"Spite and stubbornness," says Clarke.
"Our main motivations in life."
"Exactly," says Emori. "It makes perfect sense."
"I wouldn't go that far," Bellamy teases, but Clarke just smiles.
"Whatever. We've got it all figured out."