Trying out a bit of a different structure this time! Based on the song Beautiful Darling by Kate Miller-Heidke.
Bellamy wakes up late, which is unusual for him. But he'd been up until the early hours of the morning, talking mostly, and then other stuff. But he reaches for Clarke now and she's not there, and he wonders if maybe he dreamed the whole thing. Or if she changed her mind and left as soon as he fell asleep. His gut lurches sickeningly, but then he realises her side of the bed is still warm, the pillow still indented from where her head lay all night.
He hears sounds from the kitchen then, something clanging, and Clarke's awful singing and he breathes a sigh of relief, smiling to himself. She's here. She's still here. He feels guilty for thinking anything different, but he's still having trouble believing that any of this is real. That Clarke Griffin actually wants him, after wanting her for so long, after everything they've been through.
He's been thinking about her a lot more lately, since she broke up with Lexa. It was her relationship with Lexa that forced them apart in the first place, and Bellamy hates that he let it happen, but he couldn't sit around and watch Clarke fall in love with someone who didn't have Clarke's best interests at heart.
He'd had a couple of drinks last night, not enough to be drunk, but enough to make him feel brave, and of course to make him think about Clarke. They'd caught up for lunch the previous week, and it had been a little awkward at first. It was the first time they'd really seen each other since she broke up with Lexa. Since he and Clarke had fought and Clarke had told him he could either learn to like Lexa or learn to live without Clarke. He picked living without Clarke, but it only took him two days to realise he made the wrong choice.
-One Week Earlier-
"How have you been?" she asks him awkwardly, sipping a glass of water across the table from him in a café he'd never been to. Two people who once knew each other but now neither of them knows where they stand.
"Fine," Bellamy lies. "You?"
"Well, not so great," Clarke shrugs. "Lexa and I broke up. A couple of months ago now." Bellamy nods and sips his own drink. He doesn't know what it means that it took Clarke two months to reach out to him after breaking up with Lexa. "You're probably happy to hear that."
"I could never be happy that you're unhappy," he says, and Clarke smiles faintly. He wonders if she's remembering how he told her he was in love with her, and how he would treat her so much better than Lexa ever could. He tries not to cringe at the memory of rejection.
"I missed you," Clarke says, a little hesitantly, like she's testing the water to see if they can go back to how they were before.
"Yeah," Bellamy agrees, but he can't actually bring himself to say it back. The words stick in his throat, and he feels guilty at her disappointed expression. It's not that he didn't miss her. He missed her so much he could barely breathe half the time. And he's not – he's not mad. He's the one who walked away, after all. He's just – still hurting.
He swallows, glancing at her as she thanks the waiter that brings them their meal. He's still in love with her, he knows that. His heart beats twice as hard whenever she so much as looks at him, and he's remembering what it's like to feel something other than loneliness.
He's pretty sure she just wants to be friends again, and he's okay with that, for the most part. He still feels guilty for trying to push her for something more. He knows it's not entirely her fault they stopped speaking. And if there's any possibility they can rekindle the friendship they had, he's got to try. He clears his throat.
"You know how Miller is always trying to be cool and act like he doesn't care about anything?" he says, and Clarke nods. "Well, the other day I caught him stalking Monty's Facebook," Bellamy grins and Clarke returns the smile, looking delighted at this piece of gossip.
"No way!" she says. "I always knew he had a thing for Monty," Clarke laughs, and Bellamy thinks it almost seems normal.
-Last Night-
It's Saturday night, and he had planned to go out and have a couple of drinks with Miller, but then Miller invited Monty along so Bellamy thinks it's better if he just lets the two of them do their thing, rather than tagging along as a third wheel.
He pours himself a drink to have alone instead, which he tells himself isn't that sad. It's perfectly acceptable to drink alone when you're almost thirty, especially if you're drinking scotch.
He sprawls on the couch with his drink and turns the TV on, flicking through the channels, but nothing interests him. He switches it off and takes a sip of his drink, wishing he had someone he could call. He wonders what Clarke is doing. They're friends again now, right? Maybe she's free and they can hang out. In a friendly way.
Except he knows in his heart of hearts that's not what he wants. He wants somebody to love him. He wants Clarke to love him, the way he loves her. He wants to hold her hand, run his fingers through her hair. He wants to kiss her and make love to her and fall asleep with her. He's tired of waking up alone.
He pulls out his phone and opens his messages to her, staring at her name on the screen. It's not the first time he's done this in the last few months. So many times he wanted to call her and he'd get this close, his fingers hovering over the screen, but then he'd reconsider, telling himself she doesn't want to hear from him.
He doesn't have to do that now though, he realises. They're talking again, he can message her any time he likes. Even if the things he wants to say might make him feel like a fool again. But she needs to know that he's not over her, and maybe if he tells her they can still just be friends, but he just needs her to know. He's done keeping secrets from her.
I don't want to feel like this anymore.
She responds almost instantly.
Like what?
He thinks for a moment, taking another sip of his drink.
Lonely.
She doesn't respond, though it says she's read the message. He puts the phone down, disappointment welling in his chest. He's not sure what he expected.
He finishes his drink in subdued silence and is pouring himself another one when he hears knock on the door. He pauses, trying to think of who it could be.
"Bellamy?" Clarke's voice comes through the door, and Bellamy's heart stops. He sets his glass down and it's all he can do not to run to the door. He opens it slowly, swallowing when he sees her standing there.
"Hey," he says. "Come in." He stands aside to let her in, and he manages to sound casual, though his head and his heart are both racing. Why is she here?
Clarke wanders over to the couch and sits down, and Bellamy follows her hoping he doesn't look as nervous as he feels.
"Sorry for just coming over like this," Clarke says. "I should've asked but you said you were alone and I just really wanted to talk to you."
"I said I was lonely, not alone," Bellamy points out. "In this case I was… both. But they aren't the same."
"They aren't, are they?" she agrees. "I guess that's part of why I broke up with Lexa," she glances at him, almost looking apologetic for bringing up her ex's name. Bellamy remains impassive. He was never going to push her to talk about why she broke up with Lexa, but if she wants to tell him, he's willing to hear it. "Even when I was with her I felt lonely. Like she wasn't really there. And then when she was gone not only was I lonely but I was alone. Like really alone. I basically lost all of my friends because I picked her," Clarke laughs humourlessly. "And worst of all I lost you." Her voice cracks and Bellamy puts his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.
"We both made some bad decisions," he tells her gently. Clarke drops her head to his hand nuzzling him slightly.
"I don't want to be lonely anymore either," she whispers. She lifts her head and looks at him searchingly. "Is it— am I too late?" she asks, her eyes welling with tears. "Do you still-?" But she doesn't get a chance to finish before he's kissing her, his lips on hers the best response he can think of.
"Yes," he murmurs against her lips. "Yes. I still love you." Clarke makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief and then she's kissing him back, locking her arms around his neck. He pulls back, kissing the tears on her cheeks.
"We still have stuff to talk about," he says, though there are things he'd much rather be doing than talking. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page."
"I love you too," she says quickly, and Bellamy's heart skips a beat. She slips her hand into his. "In case you didn't get that."
"Yeah?" he smiles.
"Yeah," she nods. "I just… didn't realise it before."
"And I wanted to say I'm sorry. For walking away. I regretted it everyday," he admits.
"I don't blame you for walking away. I was in love and I guess love made me stupid," Clarke says wryly.
"Yeah, love made me stupid too," Bellamy laughs. "You know it only took me two days to regret walking out on you?"
"Two days? I regretted what I said the second you left my house," Clarke scoffs.
They talk like that for hours, hand in hand, filling each other in on what had happened in their lives in the months they'd spent apart, and then finally there's nothing left unsaid between them and they make their way to Bellamy's bedroom, undressing as they go, touching each other like they never have before. And then when they're both satisfied they talk some more, until it's almost sunrise and they fall asleep wrapped in each others arms.
-Present-
Clarke walks back into the bedroom carrying two cups of coffee, and Bellamy can't keep the idiotic smile off his face. She's wearing his shirt, her hair a mess and his heart swells, feeling like this is everything he ever wanted.
"You're awake," Clarke notes happily.
"Your shitty singing woke me," he jokes, taking the mug Clarke offers to him as she sits on the bed beside him.
"I'm an excellent singer," she scoffs and Bellamy just laughs. Clarke watches him intently as he drinks his coffee and he raises an eyebrow at her.
"What?" he says. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?" she says, putting her coffee on the bedside table.
"Like you've never seen someone drink coffee before," he replies. Clarke snorts and rolls her eyes, but then she pauses, hesitant.
"It's just—this is real, isn't it?" she asks him and she sounds so vulnerable that he immediately sits upright, putting his coffee down.
"Of course it's real, Clarke," he tells her, pulling her into his arms. "At least, it is for me," he swallows.
"Me too," Clarke promises, her lips pressed into his shoulder. "I don't want to lose you again."
"You won't, Clarke. Everything's going to be okay," Bellamy assures her, and he really believes it. And for the first time in ages he feels hopeful.