Modern AU:

She'd forgotten her umbrella and of course not a single cab was available, because the entire population of DC was allergic to rain. So Clarke flipped up the collar of her peacoat and heaved a sigh that became visible as it touched the chilly air, and walked home. She made a game of identifying the puddles on the sidewalk: that one looked like a kidney, this one more sort of stomach-shaped, and the long slice of water at the curb just before she crossed was definitely a femur.

The wool grew heavy on her shoulders. Her hair, too. Heavy… clingy… cold. He'd give her shit for being out in this weather; he'd bitch about her blue lips, that her hands were like ice. He'd strip off the peacoat, throw it over the always-too-hot radiator in the bathroom. She smiled at that thought as she slipped into the tile lobby and up the stairs and through their apartment door.

Nobody did welcome home as well as Bellamy Blake.

"I made soup," he announced, squeezing into the cramped hallway to unfreeze her—from the inside out—with an easy smile and a hungry kiss. "Welcome home, Princess."