A Bellarke soulmate AU where soulmates are a rarity. You live their lives in your dreams.

She was only a child when she got scared of sleeping. When the only thing she saw was pain and hatred, and the yelling ruptured her heart at night. She usually called for her mother, letting the tears wash away the visions of broken glass and worn out clothes. But later, when her father got shot in front of her eyes, she wondered; is anyone seeing this? Would they get their mom to comfort them? As she thought of her own visions, and the poor soul who was seeing those things, she figured that, no, they would see this by themselves. From then on, she woke up, and cried in silence.

He was only a child when he noticed how terrifying the world of the living was, and, compared to that, how safe his dreams were. His dreams of laughter; wild, blonde waves being shaken into eyes; sunlight through a window and stainless curtains. It was after his sister was born that he stopped dreaming. He had to protect her, and he couldn't do that while he was asleep. So he gave up on watching those skilled hands perfect the drawings of little humans, or nests of puppies, or pretty flowers, or whatever they were drawing this time. Once in a while, he fell out for longer than he wanted to, and he could see; he could wander in his little world of peace before being sent straight back to hell.

As she grew up, her mother taught her that she'd been blessed with a soulmate. Certainly, Clarke thought, the use of the word blessed would've been an accident. She was hurting when she woke up and he'd gotten hurt that day because of his parents, or because he left his sister crying because he was just so desperate. She didn't want to know, but she also wanted to know more. She wanted to help, but there was no way she could.

He didn't know about soulmates. He kept telling his sister to go to sleep, to go to Elysium, as he called it, the place where all blessed people went. But she woke up crying every time, and when he dreamt of a man collapsing with a hole in his chest, he saw it wasn't all good. It left a sting in his heart. He wondered why, why did he have these dreams? And when Octavia could finally tell him what she dreamt of, she saw everything that happened to them. So what was the deal with the blonde curls and the unknown faces in his dreams?

Life went on and, with or without the dreams, they grew up. Clarke knew by then, that the other's dreams were a boy's, and he and his sister needed peace. She didn't know how to get them that. On a peaceful Sunday, in one of the last weeks before going off to college, she drew up a perfect picture of his little sister. Near perfect, because she couldn't produce a smile she had seen only rarely, but she tried. And she stared, for a long time, then went to bed.

He saw it as he collapsed after a long shift in the cafe where he worked. When he woke up in the morning, he could only cry. It was beautiful, but the smile, it wasn't right. He knew when he saw Octavia in the morning, the young teenager, who still liked to crawl in his bed occasionally. When she was off to school, he tried to draw up a message back. But he couldn't think of anything specific to draw, and got mad at himself. There was someone trying to communicate with him, but he didn't know what to tell her. He wasn't even sure whether all this was real, or whether he was just going crazy. By the time he had considered everything, it was time for work. He wanted to start college in a few weeks, and wanted to finish that desperately. He needed every penny he could get.

Clarke threw her bag on the bed and shoved her suitcase under it. There was a case on the other side of the room, but no person attached to it. They would arrive anytime now, for sure. The blonde put a few things on the nightstand, her alarm clock for instance, and settled on the bed with her sketchbook in her hands. The pages had started to bubble from water paint and the book was slightly swollen. It was also nearly full; she needed a new one. Again.

She was considering drawing the view from the small window - which was on her roommate's side, of course - but had only put down one line when the roommate in question barged in.

"Oh- hi," the Latina spoke, raising one perfect eyebrow.

"Hi," Clarke replied, stepping back and lowering the sketchbook. With a snap, she closed it, and folded the pencil and the book in her left hand. "I'm Clarke Griffin." She reached out with her other hand.

The other shook it. "Raven Reyes," she announced. "Aerospace Engineering."

Clarke chuckled, then lifted the sketchbook a little. "Art."

Raven could see the humour in that, and laughed too. "Figures. Do you mind?"

The blonde stepped off. "Sure," she said, and sat back on her bed as Raven dropped her bag onto her own. She started digging in it until she pulled out a crackling plastic package.

"Ah, I've missed these. Lollipop?" she offered, but Clarke shook her head, with a question mark on her forehead. As Raven freed one of its wrapper, she explained: "I'm a basic mechanic, right? I always loved to eat these as I was busy fixing things, but my boyfriend didn't really like me eating them, so I quit. Thank god that ended. He was screwing someone else." She popped the red, hard candy into her mouth.

"I'm sorry," Clarke replied, and felt the urge to ask for a lollipop anyway, even though she didn't really like them.

"Nah, no biggie," Raven waved it off. "I can finally focus on getting this degree. Always wanted to go to space," She smiled, and wiggled her eyebrows a bit. "Maybe I'll get the chance."

Clarke returned the smile. "I hope you do."

Balancing college, two jobs and being the closest thing to a parent that Octavia had, was harder than he had originally thought. But he managed, he liked to tell himself. He majored in history, and because he'd dropped that on a friend sometime a go, he now worked a job at the museum, which was most definitely not a bad one. He had Jasper to thank for that, who happened to know Dante Wallace, the manager. It was one of the best jobs he had ever had, and things seemed to be going well for Bellamy.

He wandered about the museum, making sure to stay in his section, to watch whether everyone remained at a safe distance from the art. Wouldn't want to have anything damaged because some idiot decided to feel if it was real.

He walked back to the expressionist section, to find a woman bent forward, nearly pressing her nose into a Rothko. He frowned and stepped forward.

"The details are hard to see, right?" he joked as he halted next to her. A Rothko was a simple painting with maybe one or two squares of one colour. There wasn't any detail to see.

She blushed, and stumbled back. "I'm sorry, I get so caught up in these." She gestured to the orange square on the red background.

Bellamy thought she was pretty. Sky eyes, and the hair reminded him of the wavy locks in his dreams. But hers were pulled back into a braid. The red on her cheeks faded slowly. He chuckled, and turned to watch the painting as well. "I could understand, don't worry," He took a moment to take in the colours, then said: "Just make sure you stay at the assigned distance."

She confirmed that with a nod. "Sure, I'll watch it next time."

He nodded as well, and aisled onward until his shift ended.

That night, he saw a lot of red and orange in his dream.

She had never dreamt about her own experiences, but she had now. The painting had shown up in her dream that night.

She didn't pay too much attention to it. Perhaps the painting had been even more intense than she thought. She started her day like every other.

After three weeks, she finally spotted him across the lecture hall in English. Her jaw dropped when she realised the undeniably cute security guard in the museum was going to her college. He had a head of dark, messy curls and puppy eyes that could probably make anyone melt. And, bonus, he knew a little about art - at least she hoped, or the museum wouldn't have hired him.

When he rushed out of the lecture hall quickly after the professor finished, she caught up with him, catching onto his sleeve. "Hey," she announced herself.

He stopped, jerking his head around to her. "Ye- Oh, hi," he muttered, realising who she was. He showed her a quick smile.

"Do you major in art as well?" she promptly asked.

He shook his head. "No, history. I just have my... connections, with the manager of the museum," he explained vaguely, then proceeded to walk backwards, away from her. He looked apologetical. "I'm in a hurry, see you later?"

"Sure," Clarke replied, but he didn't hear her. She frowned. She still didn't know his name.

Bellamy tried to keep his mind off of the pretty blonde, but since she approached him, she kept hovering in his thoughts. He waited to fall asleep to consider whether she was the girl in his dreams. But it couldn't be. They hadn't met before.

She majored in art. She'd told him that. But that was all he knew. He didn't even know her name.

A week after she told him that, something awful happened.

Octavia got sick. A simple disease that young children have, and get vaccines against. But O hadn't been a wanted child. And because of that, their parents started drinking. And because of that, they'd never taken proper care of her. Bellamy should've done that. So when she fell ill, he blamed himself. When he couldn't really get the money he needed for healthcare, he blamed himself. He was lucky to get a loan from his friend Murphy, even though he wouldn't know where the money came from. It's money, and all that mattered was Octavia. He sat at the hospital and looked at her. He was exhausted and hungry, but not nearly as hungry as the guilt that was eating away at him.

When the nurse kicked him out the next morning, telling him that his sister will be fine, he didn't know what to do. He couldn't go home and sleep, could he? Going to school wouldn't really work out either. He knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate. But he went anyway, even though it was early in the morning. He entered the building where classes are held when it wasn't even light out.

He was going straight for the library, but when he passed a classroom where a little light illuminated the walls, he couldn't resist taking a peek inside.

Of all the students that stayed up until half five to finish their assignments, how lucky would he be to run into her? "What are the odds," he expressed out loud.

She was painting when he came in, but she swiveled her blonde head around to look at him. Her fingers were covered in grayish brown and dusk-like blue. She had a streak of lighter blue on her cheek. She looked tired, and it shone through in her watery smile. "The security guard," she acknowledged him.

"The art major," he showed a similar smile, and walked closer. He could see a pile of sketches, all of them with the same two colours that covered her hands. "Attempting to make a Rothko yourself?"

She nodded. "It's pretty peaceful to do, really. To not watch the details for once."

He frowned lightly. "Rough night?"

The girl sighed. "You could say that." She sounded exactly like he felt; overly exhausted. Her stomach also piped up at that moment, so it was complete.

He leaned back against a table nearby. "Do you wanna- Like, eat something?"

She looked up, and gently set the brush down. "That'd be good," she agreed, and wiped her hands on her clothing-protecting coat, before taking it off and throwing it with the others. She extended the cleanest hand - her right hand, because she was left handed, he'd noticed. "Clarke."

He took it. "Bellamy."

A comfortable silence hung between them as they picked up some sandwiches from a place that Bellamy knew about - apparently, he lived nearby. They communicated with tired looks, and she simply followed him to a bench at the edge of a small park to sit down. They ate in silence, and only after they finished, Bellamy started to speak.

"So, what happened?" he asked her. He had a low, husky voice, and it gave Clarke chills. She wanted to tell him everything, because he was almost a stranger and it seemed so easy, but she couldn't. Soulmates were still rare. What if he didn't understand? She secretly hoped to keep him around, not wanting to screw things up.

She decided to keep it at: "Bad dreams." Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her nose with her index finger.

"Oh," he uttered, the feeling that she was the one rising up in his stomach again. He pushed it away. "I'm sorry."

"Do you get any? Or do you just miss out on too much sleep?" Clarke looked at him sympathetically, at how exhausted he looked. A sad expression hung over his eyes.

"I've never had bad dreams. Not frequently, at least." He thought about the few he'd had, about waking up with a mountain of guilt in his stomach on top of his own. He hated those; it just wasn't what he needed. But when he dreamt in flashing colours, which was most of the time, he woke up feeling much better. He always focused on the good dreams.

"Hmm..." Clarke uttered, hugging her knees to her chest. "What do you dream about?" She yawned with her forehead resting on her legs.

Her question surprised him, and he took a moment to consider his words. "I dream about someone painting. A girl, I think. I've been dreaming about her all my life," As Bellamy spoke, he shot a glance at his companion, waiting for a possible response. This was the moment she'd recognise him if she did dream about him. She didn't respond at first, so he added: "I don't know, maybe I'm going crazy." He shook his curls, and crossed his arms.

Clarke turned very slowly, realising his words. She suddenly felt like the biggest coincidence was about to occur. "Sounds like you have a soulmate," she began, biting her lip. "You can see what she does in a day in your dreams, and, if everything's right, she sees what happens to you."

His face fell only half, because she hadn't called him crazy, and cleared up his whole life. But then again, she hadn't told him that was probably her.

He had been too fast. She sharply inhaled, and spoke: "I have one too, you know. But he's sad, almost every day. Some awful things have happened to him. I don't really sleep that well."

His heart fluttered in his chest, but as he took in her words, it sank right after. She was probably scared to fall asleep, while he loved to. He felt guilty, again. He wanted to reply, to tell her that he knew her. Her hair, her hands. He'd watched her draw everything. he wanted to say that he was sorry, for all the sleepless nights he caused her, but he was cut off by a phone ringing before he could scramble together the words.

It was his, and he saw it was the hospital, so he picked up. "I'm sorry," he mouthed to Clarke.

She shook her head. He had to leave her, running for the hospital, but he promised that he'd be back. She smiled only half a smile, before returning to campus.

Clarke barely slept for another two days. She fell asleep during biology and woke up feeling more awful. She also kept thinking about Bellamy, but didn't meet him again on campus. She was a girl who painted. And she had dreamt about a hospital multiple times over the past few days.

She considered going to the hospital when she hadn't seen him around, but when she came down with a stress fever, Raven stopped her. Clarke stayed in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. She was getting more and more sure; she'd met her soulmate.

When a set of knuckles came rapping on their door that night, Raven opened up. "No boys allowed," she joked, before Clarke could see who it was.

"Does Clarke live here?" It took her a few seconds before she realised it was his voice.

"Yeah, she's asleep," Raven said.

"No, I'm not," the blonde announced, climbing out of bed and walking up beside Raven. "Hey," she greeted the man outside their door.

"Clarke, you're sick," Raven countered.

"I'm fine. Raven, give us a minute, please?"

A little thrown off, Raven agreed. Clarke walked out in her pajamas. "Sorry I look like shit," she apologised, gesturing for them to walk through the hall for a bit.

"You really don't," he said.

"How did you find me?"

He inhaled sharply. He was taking a risk. "I saw it in my dream."

She stopped dead in her tracks. "It is you," she whispered, a glint in her eyes, and also an expression that was hard to identify.

He fidgeted with his fingers a bit. "I'm sorry, Clarke," His voice was so small. "I would've let you sleep if I could."

Unexpectedly, she threw her hands around his neck and pulled him close to her. He was taken aback, but finally wrapped his arms around her back as well. "I don't want to hear it," Her voice broke. "I would've let you live if I could."

He hugged her tighter. "Trust me," he replied. "You did."