A/N:

Things to keep in mind:

1.) This story has a different tone than some of my other works. The humor is still there, but since I'm dealing with more serious issues in this story, it comes and goes.

Idk if my writing is changing, or it's just me, but the plot bunnies have taken the wheel and I'm just trying not to let them drive me off a cliff.

2.) This is like a very, very light "To All The Boys I've Loved Before" fusion. You'll have to squint to catch it, honestly.

The only thing I'm really borrowing is the concept of the letters, those letters getting out, and the fake dating trope-but since I'm covering so much time before the letters get out, it won't be very apparent that this is TATBILB inspired tbh.

3.) Also, please be aware this fic is very, very Bellamy focused.

Note: Clarke doesn't make an appearance until the end of the first chapter.

Also Note: I will be going through all of Bellamy's crushes/relationships, which I personally think will be more impactful when he finds himself with Clarke, but if you don't like seeing these two characters in other relationships, you probably won't like this fic.

Jsyk, there will be Clexa, Murphamy, and Becho story lines-and other relationships may occur as well. It will always be Bellarke endgame.

Title of Story and chapters are from the lyrics for Elina - Here With Me

CHAPTER WARNING(S): Implied child sexual abuse/kidnapping (it's only implied/referenced, absolutely zero inappropriate details given that do not pertain to the story line).

Bellamy Blake has his first heart break at age eight.

It happens slowly, like the crack on their living room ceiling, growing with each year that passes after Octavia is born—a soft bundle of peach colored skin and unfamiliar eyes squinting up at them.

Presently, she sits cross-legged in the middle of the trampoline, a messy fishtail braid (Bellamy's handiwork thank you very much), unraveling on her shoulder, loose baby hairs framing her sweaty, round face.

He smiles, baring his teeth like predator and leaps as close to her as he can without crushing her beneath his feet. She squeals in delight and goes flying towards the sky, kicking her legs out from underneath of her and nearly kneeing him in the gut in the process.

"Watch it!" he barks, barely containing the grin on his face when she bounces back down on her butt, cackling at him and beaming.

"Again, again!"

It's somewhere between the fourth and fifth jump that his stomach lurches at the sight of her falling just out of his reach. Even as he tries to grab on to her, he knows it's already too late. He's lost half a second before she hits the ground.

They leave the hospital room with Octavia sporting a new royal blue cast from her wrist to her elbow and Bellamy's cheeks red with shame.

He doesn't know which time he apologizes before Octavia gets fed up and yanks him down to her height by the loose sleeve of his baggy t-shirt, smacking a sloppy kiss to his cheek and then kindly telling him to shut up or they'll both be leaving there with broken bones. He wrinkles his nose at the threat and the feeling of her sticky candy lips from the sour apple lollypop the nurse handed her-per her request after they attempted to give her the banana poop flavor and Octavia's eyes swelled up with tears faster than they did only a few hours prior.

Just five years old and his baby sister might actually be scarier than he is.

He tells her just that, like it's something to be proud of, but she only sighs and rolls her eyes.

"I'm not a baby, Bell-a-my!" She whines, stomping her feet and then plopping herself on the floor, demanding he draws a butterfly on her cast with the purple glitter glue she stole from the children's waiting area while their parents were too busy signing paperwork at the front desk to pay attention to them.

He opens and closes his mouth, but ultimately decides it's safer to agree with her.

Later, in the parking lot, Octavia grasps his hand after their mom slaps it away—a move that probably would've made Bellamy cry at her age, but she just puffs up her chest, sticks out her tongue out, and spits in the air.

He squeezes her palm and covers his snort with a cough.

There's a tension on the car ride back that Bellamy mistakes for anger directed at his own carelessness for failing to protect his sister and the looming hospital bill hanging over their heads.

His father catches his eyes in the rear view mirror and there's hollowness in them he doesn't recognize.

That night, O falls asleep on his chest to his voice re-reading, The Little Princess, for the hundredth time; his mother stumbles into the wall to make her presence known, as if it was at all possible to miss her swaying in the middle of the doorway, cradling a bottle of wine to her chest like an infant.

"Your sister, your responsibility," she drawls, eyes sharp like knives cutting into his chest where his heart beats so erratically he fears Octavia might wake from the sound of it.

Two days later, Aurora is a single parent and Bellamy isn't sure who to blame, her for lying about who Octavia's father was, or himself for being the reason they all found out.

It doesn't occur to him to blame his dad, until he misses his birthday party and mails a crappy card with singing moose in his absence.

A freaking moose.

Aurora pretends to not know his phone number when Bellamy asks, so he checks the return address on the envelope and rips a blank page out from one of his sister's Tinker Bell notebooks, ignoring her huffing at him to keep his cooties off her prized possessions.

He locks himself in his bedroom and writes out every terrible feeling he's had since the day he left. Admittedly, it probably would be a lot more impactful if it weren't for the pink daisies and fairy dust decorating the edges of the paper, let alone the fat tear stains smearing the ink on the last line where his sloppy slanted script ends.

I blew out my birthday candles and wished I never loved you.

The following day, he sits at the tops of the staircase, clutching the letter to his chest.

An hour after the mailman has come and goes; he buries it under his mattress and doesn't bother arguing with his sister when she calls him a hufflepuff for losing to her in a game of Candyland twice in a row.

The birthday cards stop after two years.

The unopened envelope is moved to a shoe box in the corner of his closet and the picture frames that used to hang down the hall disappear, the crisp white paint exposed where their smiling faces used to be, outlined with yellow, smoke stained walls.

Bellamy is thirteen when his sister runs away.

Aurora promised to take her and the neighbor girl down the street to the zoo to see the Christmas lights, and despite Bellamy's best efforts to try to not get her not to get her hopes up, she is furious when they get off the bus from school and find her passed out in the recliner.

"She promised me."

"I warned you not to listen, O," Bellamy snaps, because he can't deal with this and Aurora at the same time. She should've known better. "Mom, come on." He jostles her shoulder, but she only groans and babbles incoherent nonsense. He grimaces at the thick smell of sweet wine coming off of her. She rolls over on her side and drools on the armrest.

Great, mac and cheese dinners again tonight.

"This isn't fair!" Octavia cries, kicking her shoes off and throwing them across the room and knocking over a lamp in her rage.

"Octavia, that's enough," Bellamy growls at her, moving away from his mother to clean up the mess. "You're not doing us any favors by throwing a tantrum."

"I don't care! I never get anything I want, ever! Why? Why couldn't she try just this one time?"

"Yeah, and I have it so freaking easy, right?

"At least you have friends!"

"What the hell are you talking about? You have—"

"I have a friend, Bell—one. People at school are only nice to me because you say you're going to beat all of them up if they blink at me the wrong way. No one likes me; they're just scared of you! And now even Charlotte is going to hate me and I can't—"

He rolls his eyes. "She's not going to hate you."

"I pinky promised her!" She screams and chucks a pillow at his head.

He smacks it away, seething. "Sometimes life gets in the way of our promises, Octavia! We don't always get to do what we said we would."

"Dad never broke a promise," she whispers darkly, glaring at them both.

Bellamy scowls. She was barely old enough to even remember. "Sure, right up until the day he disappeared."

"That's her fault!" she screams, rounding back up on him. "He left her, not us."

"He left you!" he shouts and immediately wants to go back in time and shove the words down his throat, but the damage is done.

There's a beat of silence that's louder than any cruel thing they've ever said to each other.

"I hate you," she spits out the words like nothing has ever been truer in her life.

Yeah, he hates himself, too.

"Go to your room," he says, numb, voice sore from screaming, he turns his back to her before he can watch her stomp up the stairs.

The door slams.

He drapes a ratty blanket over his mother and tries to make himself comfortable on the sofa adjacent to her, shielding his face with his forearm.

Octavia isn't in her room when he wakes up.

He runs outside and realizes her bike isn't in the shed next his, like usual. He curses, yanking his down off the rack, and peddles it down the street, until he finds the house he's looking for. He scrambles up the steps, pounding on the door.

A woman he recognizes from Octavia's soccer games peeks out the window and frowns at the sight of him, hurrying to unlock the chain. "Bellamy? Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"Please, I can't—" He struggles between breaths. "I can't find my sister, is she here?"

"The girls said your mother—" She hesitates when she steps outside and catches sight of the SUV in Bellamy's driveway. "They never left?"

He shakes his head. "My mom's drunk. She's not—Octavia's bike is gone and I don't know—" A look of panic quickly replaces the confusion on her face. His chest tightens. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

He's not sure if she hears him.

The Police find Octavia Blake walking down the sidewalk next to the park about two miles from home. Her bike isn't with her, but her helmet is still on. There are bruises down her arms and scrapes on her knees.

The other girl—her friend—

She's just gone.

Octavia doesn't talk about that night, not with him at least. She must've said enough to the right people, because there's a warrant out for at least one man believed to be involved.

Aurora loses her parental rights a few months into the rigorous mandatory social worker visits after Charlotte goes missing.

She cries and begs and tells them she loves them.

Octavia hides behind him, clutching his waist.

Bellamy says nothing.

He's not sure why he took the shoe box, honestly. At least that's what he tells himself.

He thinks about the letter sometimes.

He thinks about the things he wanted to say to his mom, but didn't.

His pencil hovers of his history homework. He's supposed to be writing an essay, not thinking about—

He hurls the hardcover book so hard it dents the clean cream colored wall he is so fucking tired of looking at.

Two arrests are made.

Shumway and Dax.

Dax and Shumway.

Charlotte. Charlotte. Charlotte.

What would he have done if—

The door creaks open and Bellamy changes the channel to some bizarre anime cooking show the moment his sister steps foot into their shared bedroom, courtesy of their third temporary foster home.

But at least they're together.

"What were you watching?" she mumbles sleepily, crawling into bed with him and snuggling into his side. Her hair's still wet from her bath and it seeps through the fabric and the holes in his shirt.

"Nothing important," he replies easy. Octavia tilts her chin up and looks at him, disbelieving.

She sighs. "You know I hear things at school, right? I'm not stupid."

His grip on her tightens and he takes a deep breath. "I don't want to upset you."

There's a pause. And then, "I'm okay, Bell."

He doesn't look at her.

"You can ask," she tries again.

He swallows hard and counts the seconds between their heartbeats. "Did they . . ." he trails off.

"No," she says with more fierceness than he's heard from her in months.

He waits.

"I was on my bike," she whispers. "I thought she was right behind me, but—maybe they said something to her, I don't know. When I saw them grab her, I screamed, but I didn't stop. I lost control down the hill and fell, but I didn't stop." She chokes on a sob and he squeezes her tighter. "I don't even know if they were following me," she murmurs low. "I never looked back."

"I'm glad you didn't," he says with conviction. "You couldn't have helped her, O."

"Bellamy," she says, soft, but the words left unsaid weigh heavy on his chest.

"It's not our fault," he says after her breaths even out and he's sure she's fast asleep.

He's not sure who he's trying to convince.

Gina Martin is a sophomore in high school, a year ahead of him, and sleeps in the room next to his, and across from someone named, Murphy, like that's even a real name.

"Says you, Bellamia," he sneers back at him and slams the door in his face.

If he wakes up early enough he gets to pretend he's not staring at Gina's exposed thighs in her sleep shorts.

Unfortunately, Murphy learns this too, and doesn't have the class to hide it. Although she seems unaffected, Bellamy believes he is fully capable of kicking his ass, if need be, and tries conveying this message via clenched fist and intimidating eye gestures.

Octavia is looking less and less impressed with them these days.

"You ever going to man up and kiss me, Blake?" she says, casual skimming through his collection of books, moments after teasing him for owning three copies of The Iliad.

He nearly chokes on the soda tab he's chewing on and gawks at her.

She smirks and raises a brow.

Something tingles low in his belly and his cheeks are on probably on fire and he's definitely the world's biggest idiot if he doesn't get off his ass right this second and—

"Ew. No, being told to man up contributes to male toxicimity."

He blinks and his sister is standing in front of him like she materialized out of nowhere and he has half the mind to shove her in their dirty laundry hamper.

Gina just laughs-this soft, carefree sound that fills the air and his lungs. She's so freaking pretty he can't breathe.

Maybe it's asthma. That could be a thing.

"I think you mean male toxicity," she says, fond.

"Oh. Yeah, that too," she agrees, unfazed.

"Who the fuck told you that?" Bellamy blurts before he can think better of it.

Gina flicks his foot and mouths, "be nice."

"Tumblr," Octavia deadpans. And then as an afterthought, "I follow Murphy's blog."

"Get. Out."

Gina's skin is softer than his bed sheets and she smells like tangerines.

She tastes like them, too.

"So," Octavia says, casual, sucking on sour punch straws. "Do you guys do it like discovery channel style?"

"What," he says, flat, and stills his girlfriend's fingers on his knee under the dining table.

"You know," Octavia whispers. "s-e-x."

Gina muffles her laugh in his shoulder.

"No, Octavia! Jesus, where are you getting this shit?"

"Snapchat."

He blinks.

"You don't even own a phone."

She hums, noncommittal and shrugs, skipping off to their room.

He looks up to the ceiling. "Must you torment me?" he asks no one.

It's Sunday and it's raining outside and Bellamy has distinctly unmovable plans to do absolutely nothing other than cuddle his girlfriend and ignore his sister.

Of course that's when Gina finds out she has a distant aunt in Mount Weather who wants to take her two hours away and effectively ruin the temporary happiness he was just starting to think he could get used to.

Murphy snorts. "Well, aren't you the lucky duck."

Bellamy suddenly remembers he has a test he needs to study for at the library for the next . . .

Inconceivable future.

The night before she leaves she makes out with him in her room, until his lips are raw, swollen, and burn like the ache in his chest.

Then she dumps him.

Gina,

I wish you loved me like I loved you.

He sighs, crossing out the sentence, still visible under the blue ink that stains his fingers.

I miss you.

He thinks he should have more to say, but it's mostly just different variations of pretty much exactly that, and he's not sure if any of it is worth the effort writing down.

"What are you doing?"

He jumps, scrambling to close his notebook.

"Nothing," he says, bright. Too bright. Murphy's eyes narrow.

He switches tactics.

"What do you want, John?"

He lifts one shoulder and leans against the door. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't drowning in your tears."

He grabs the first thing he can find on the floor (which happens to be a dirty pair of boxers) and tosses them at his face.

Bellamy and Octavia Blake have lunch with Professor Kane on the third of August. It's humid and gross and the eggs he ordered taste like rubber.

It's approximately four days later that he asks if they would like to be adopted.

By him.

Specifically.

"Why?" Bellamy asks the same time Octavia demands to know, "Are you on hard drugs?"

Kane smiles, amused.

"I find your candor refreshing," he says, mild. And then, "I like you. I think you deserve more than what you're being offered now. I'd like to provide that for you."

Bellamy squints at him. "We're not the only ones who deserve it. And no, offense but we don't know you."

He winces when Octavia kicks his ankle under the table.

Professor Kane pretends not to notice.

"I understand this is a difficult decision. Take all the time you need." There's a pause. "But might I just say, the longer you stay here, the higher chances are that the next place you go, you won't be going there together."

Bellamy spends the next fifteen minutes weighing the options of punching him in the throat.

With a butter knife.

Octavia thinks she convinces him, but Bellamy stands by the fact that he already made up his mind.

There's just one condition.

"Murphy? Murphy was your one condition?" Octavia says in a way that he thinks is supposed to sound appalled, but really she's delighted.

He's not entirely okay with whatever weird friendship they've found in each other.

"Be thankful he refused to actually be adopted. Then you'd have to start calling him, big brother number two."

She barks out a laugh and Bellamy freezes at the sound, staring after her even as she disappears down the hall.

Dear Mom, he writes, then changes his mind.

Mother, he tries, but that doesn't seem to fit either.

Aurora,

If there was a way Octavia and I could exist without you, I'd take it.

I think about what our lives would have been like if someone could have took us in before you poisoned us with all your bullshit.

When I believed good people like Gina still existed without an expiration date to walk out of her lives.

He sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face. He's not mad at Gina—he just.

He wishes it wasn't so easy for her to be happy about leaving them.

He's a fucking idiot, basically.

"Murphy's right. Daddy Kane is rich as fuck," Octavia declares.

Bellamy drops his box of books on his foot and hollers out in pain, and follows it up by cursing at her for cursing, which okay, he's aware it's a problem.

She raises a brow and he glowers at her.

"You're eleven."

"Old enough to be a child bride," she concludes, just as Murphy rounds the corner of the moving truck, guffaws and pats her on the head.

"Little Blake, stealing my sense of humor. I'm so proud."

Bellamy blinks at them, opens and closes his mouth a few times before he announces, "I'm telling Kane not to give you anything with internet access and no more talking to Murphy unsupervised."

Murphy pulls a cigarette out of his back pocket and shrugs.

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Yeah, oh-kay," she says in a way that sounds a lot, good luck with that, dumbass.

Like he needs it.

Twenty minutes later, Octavia is proudly wearing a Burger King Crown, sliding through the halls with her socks on, headphones in, holding an iPod in one hand, and a rope made out of bed sheets in the other, while Murphy holds the opposite end and runs as fast as he can, dragging her through the entirety of the house, screaming, "All shall fear Queen Bugereina!"

Bellamy takes it upon himself to be in a decidedly sour mood for the rest of the—

Wait.

Is that an Xbox?

Aurora,

I think you're a liar. I don't think you ever loved anything as much as you loved dad and he still wasn't enough for you.

He pauses, chewing the tip of the eraser.

But somehow out of all that, came Octavia.

So, I guess maybe I should thank you?

You gave me the one person in this world I could love until it kills me and never wish it any different.

I think that's how you were supposed to love us.

Why didn't you?

There's an estimate of four different computers in the house (mansion) and at least two kinds of tablets that he is aware of, and television sets appear to pop up at random.

Fucking rich people.

Bellamy has his own bathroom

Like inside his bedroom, or attached to it, at least.

He's never been more excited about anything, until he notices the door at the other end, and just when he's about to lock it, it swings open revealing John Murphy, and he has so many regrets leading up to this moment.

He curls his lips. "Big Blake," he pauses to survey him in a dramatic fashion. "Gonna finally live up to the nickname?"

He pretends to think it over.

Then he pushes him the tub and turns the water on freezing.

Murphy screams like a girl.

"That's sexist!"

He's more upset than he wants to admit about the empty space in his bed where Octavia used to feel safe.

He leaves his door cracked just in case.

No.

Absolutely not.

He refuses to let Octavia run around the neighborhood by herself. He doesn't care what bullshit statistics Kane throws at him, and he's certainly not going to change his mind about it.

And that's pretty much how he ends up being the wolf pack leader to a bunch of preteens with Murphy serving as the disobedient lackey he never wanted.

Octavia starts going through friends like she's shopping for the best of the best, and somehow winds up picking the shy Asian kid with glasses who doesn't talk enough, and the growth attached him with goggles on his head, a science kit in his backpack, and talks far too much.

Monty and Jasper.

Or as Murphy likes to call them, thing one and thing two.

A few others come and go, but honestly he prefers to avoid learning their names if they're not going to stick around long anyways.

He's pretty sure all Murphy has to do is sneer in their direction and they scatter like roaches.

He doesn't mind, as long as Octavia is happy and safe.

Sometimes he forgets that he's basically an adult compared to the kids he spends an absurd amount of time with.

Bellamy doesn't really have friends anymore—he mostly just babysits, even though O continues to insist his presence is unnecessary.

Mostly, she just calls him her loser loner brother.

She's not wrong.

He's pretty sure Murphy is more popular than him at this point.

Anyways, all things considered, it's probably inadvisable threaten bodily harm to a fifth grader just because they made his sister cry.

He's not entirely sure what happened exactly, but one minute they're playing tag football in the back yard of some more crazy-rich-white neighbors, (which Bellamy was already in a pissy mood about, because of the political signs in the front yard) and then the next thing he knows, this little dweeb knocking his sister in dirt.

"Atom!" Octavia shouts, in warning he thinks, but it's too late.

Bellamy's already got the collar of his shirt in his grasp, the kid's feet dangling in the air, fist raised for the punch, when someone beats him to it.

Only not in the way he expects, because Bellamy ends up being the one knocked on the ground with the bloody nose.

"Holy balls," he croaks, and then it's light out.

Opening his eyes, he's mildly aware of his head being the size of a balloon, and that he's possibly floating in space, but also his face is cold.

And then he sees the prettiest little thing hovering above him with sun in her hair and the ocean in her eyes looking like all the fairy tales he used to read his baby sister. There's a brief second where he thinks he's dead, but then she's pressing the coldness to his face harder, looking entirely displeased with his existence as a human.

He blinks and half expects the girl to disappear, but his vision clears and yeah, she looks pissed.

He groans and then coughs. "What the fuck happened?"

"You got beat up by a girl," he hears Octavia say, chipper.

And that's when he notices the shadow to his left, looking over to see her and Murphy, trying not to laugh with a phone shining bright in Bellamy's face, which is just perfect, because it's only a matter of time before he's an Instagram star.

But then, there's the more pressing matter of his attacker looking at him like she might be considering punching him again.

"Hi," he says, dry.

Her eyes widen like she didn't expect him to actually speak to her and she looks like she's about to do something horribly awkward, like wave.

He raises a brow and quirks his mouth in a way that he hopes looks cocky and cool in equal measure. "Do you mind letting me up, Princess?"

Apparently, it's not the right thing to say, because she scoffs and drops the ice on his head.

Rude.

"Do you mind not being a big fat bully?"

He squints at her. "Excuse me?"

"We're in high school," she says, slow. "What is it, Blake? You think beating up little kids is going to get you noticed by all the girls and boys?"

He takes a second to process the fact that this chick somehow knows his name and apparently goes to the same school he does, but also—

"Worked with you didn't it?" he counters, brushing the dirt off his knees.

Her mouth falls open and cheeks get all pink, then there's this familiar feeling of want pooling in his stomach that he's been going out of his way to avoid feeling since Gina.

But that doesn't stop him from holding out his hand, ignoring the unimpressed looks Murphy and Octavia shoot him. "So, you know my name. It's only fair I get yours, right?"

She huffs, and when she glares at him it feels like his skin is melting off.

"Or do you prefer, Princess?"

"Clarke," she snaps, but still makes no move to grab his outstretched palm, so he lets it drop to his side. "We have Algebra together," she continues. "With Indra."

"Oh," he says, stupidly, and yeah, maybe he is an asshole. "Uh—"

"Wow, Bell." Octavia cuts in. "You're so smooth."

"Yeah, it's wonder why he sits by himself at lunch," Murphy remarks, helpfully.

Bellamy contemplates twisting John's nipples off, when Clarke softens and says, quiet, "You eat alone?"

"What."

"Don't tell me that's working for you," Murphy says, appalled by the mere thought that he could be the reason Bellamy winds up making his first friend that's not the result of forced proximity.

Clarke shrugs, "I just think it's kind of sad."

"It's a lifestyle choice," Bellamy deadpans, because he refuses to let the pretty girl pity him.

He likes being alone.

It's quiet.

Clarke likes peanut butter sandwiches with apples, salt & vinegar chips in obnoxious crinkly bags, and asking him how his day is going, with a list of follow up questions, until they're having an actual conversation, much to Bellamy's dismay.

"Your nose looks better," she notes.

"What?" he says, amused despite his best efforts. "And it didn't look good before you punched me?"

She giggles.

There's a mole above her lip that Bellamy is pointedly not staring at.

"I like you," she declares, smiling.

Bellamy swallows. "Thanks, uh—I like you too."

Bellamy really likes Clarke Griffin.

He likes her enough to let her drag him to a party and play spin-the-bottle with their classmates, who apparently think he's some kind of drug dealer, going off the number of times he's been asked if he has any weed since he walked through the door.

His heart speeds up when her knee bumps his during his turn, and he hopes it lands on her.

Clarke kisses like she speaks, no hesitation, the center of attention, soft and biting and sweet.

Which is probably why Lexa Woods asks her to homecoming.