Author's note: Hey guys! So I haven't uploaded in a while and I was recently inspired by 'The 100' to begin writing again. I just love the characteristation of Bellamy and Clarke so I'll probably be writing more but for now, I hope you enjoy it! Also let me know if you'd like me to continue the story or if it's better as a one-shot. I welcome many reviews as long as it's constructive and something I can work on.

Disclaimer: Also I own nothing but the plot and descriptions in this story.

Adagio Sostenuto

There are three distinct movements in Beethoven's classical piece, Moonlight Sonata; Bellamy was still playing the first one – Adagio Sostenuto – when Clarke woke up. Its hauntingly beautiful melody passed through the thin walls of the academy. She recognised it almost immediately, as one of her favourite pieces to play when she was younger. Listening to it, she instantly felt a sense of nostalgia – the feeling of reminiscence she experienced when remembering her many piano lessons – she loved the C sharp minor tonality; just the way the harmonies blended together in a sonorous melancholy.

It was beautiful.

Deciding she should get up soon, Clarke lay still for a moment longer as she heard Bellamy make several mistakes; and almost laughed out loud when she heard him swear. Typical. She thought with a shake of her head.

Rolling out of bed as quietly as possible, Clarke stretched comfortably, ran a hand through her tangled mess of hair -it was always like that in the morning- and without so much as a glance in the mirror, left her dorm room. As she headed down the hallway, she smiled, remembering Bellamy's comment about how he had never taken music seriously. It seemed as though he had listened to her after all.

Clarke pressed forward, taking a left turn as she followed the sweet tune drifting boldly from the performance room – eager to witness the musician himself. She wanted to see him for her to truly believe it; she wanted the proof that this was not a dream… no illusion.

And, she got her wish.

Finally reaching the sound source, Clarke eyed the small crack that was left open to the performing room; she stepped towards it, and watched as a thin strip of golden sunlight spilled through in a straight line across the floor, barely touching the tip of her toes. Still unable to see anything, she moved closer – as stealthily as she could – and the light refracted, bending so it shone onto her body as she pressed her palm on the door, cautiously peering through the gap.

Ah, there he was.

After giving the door a gentle push, a small smile graced her lips as she folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. Now she could see him properly.

Bellamy was sitting by the piano just as she had pictured him; and he moved with a surprising grace. Yet, he looked different somehow, younger in a way; it seemed as though all the tension he usually bore, had ebbed from his muscles. He seemed… relaxed. Clarke cocked her head to the side as she watched him quietly; her presence still unknown to him, as she looked for the right word to describe the way he looked at this moment. Open? Yes, he was vulnerable in a way she had never seen him before. It was refreshing, to say the least.

The slow, sure movements of his arms as they glided over the keys; the simple caress of his fingers with each note struck; eyes closed and his head slightly bent – she could have watched him all day. She did not think that he could have conveyed such emotion as he did in this piece; possibly because of the unreadable expression he usually wore and his sarcastic nature. He was, after all, a guarded person; and quite complicated at that.

"Enjoying the view, are we?" Bellamy said, interrupting her thoughts.

Clarke blinked, then looked at him sharply, realising that it seemed like she had been staring. How could he tell? And, belatedly she noticed – with irritation – that he was still playing the piece, eyes closed – and, he was smirking. The git.

"Maybe." She merely replied, watching the way the sunlight splayed through his dark hair which curled at the nape of his neck. He turned to face her.

Some strands fell into his eyes as he raised an eyebrow at her, amused, "Maybe?"

Clarke gave a small nod, keeping a straight face as she unhitched herself from the door frame and walked towards him. She let her fingers trail along the side of the piano, avoiding his gaze as she came closer. He stood up; their faces were mere inches apart.

Suddenly she smirked, "But, then again, despite what I say… you'll never know."

Bellamy only grinned in response.