It's kind of pieced together.

When it came to Bellamy, Clarke's five senses were heightened in a way they never have been before.

Touch:

Goosebumps appeared immediately after Bellamy touched Clarke, and she found it annoying. It could have been for the briefest moments, a hand on her shoulder, an accidental brush of his hand against the back of hers as they walked beside each other. Whatever the touch, goosebumps spotted her skin like the freckles on his face.

Clarke would also become a degree warmer than she was before. Bellamy's hand would clasp hers and she would feel as though she was holding it out against a flame and the feeling would shoot up her arm and out across her entire body. She would forget that only a moment before her hand was shivering from the cold, using and failing, the breath from her own mouth to warm it. It was Bellamy's own hand that would be her heater.

Other times she would be shot with a blast of cold air. Having his touch ripped away from hers and it would be as if Clarke had been pushed into a lake of freezing cold water. For those mornings when she would wake alone in bed, the space behind her empty, and absent the toned arms that wrapped themselves around her during the night; Clarke would be cold.

Bellamy's touch soothed Clarke like Monty's concoction of herbal tea, that Clarke would give to those that couldn't sleep or relax. She would often have to beg Raven a little to drink the herbal tea and she even had Monty make her own special blend because the stubborn mechanic couldn't stand the taste otherwise. On the occasional nights that she gave the tea to Bellamy, him fighting, her pleading, he would finally surrender. Pulling the cup from her hands roughly and downing it, as if he were doing a shot of Monty and Jasper's moonshine, while she would scoot herself up the bed and relax against the pillows. When Bellamy would shoot her a look, happy?, all Clarke would do was give him a grateful smile. Then his face would soften, his dark eyes lightening, and he would exhale, all the tension disappearing from his body. Clarke would smile as the older boy leaned back against her. His head would lay against her chest, her legs cradled his body as he laid between them with his back against her front. Clarke would run her fingers through his black curls, pressing butterfly kisses occasionally against them, and laughing softly when he would bring her free hand to his mouth and worship each of her fingers with his lips. Because as relaxing as it was for Bellamy, it was just as relaxing for Clarke.

She would even, sometimes, begin to hum quietly.

Then there were the times when Clarke couldn't have his touch. Those were the hardest and most painful times for her. One of those times were right after Finn's death. She couldn't remember how she got back to camp but she would be told by her mother later that Bellamy carried her. Clarke was in shock and pain after killing him. She held onto the knife so tightly in her hand that it had become imprinted in her palm. Bellamy knelt beside her on the ground and carefully unwound her fingers from the handle, taking the object from her. Then he reached out his hand to her face and brushed a tear away with his thumb. Clarke flinched away from him. With each gentle touch he gave her, was like an individual stab. Bellamy was being so gentle with her, the kind she had only seen him do with his sister, that Clarke couldn't deal with it. It was overwhelming to her, having just killed someone, someone she loved, and he was touching her with care. Clarke's tears were soon a mixture for Finn and for him. Despite her flinching, Bellamy didn't take it personally, he stayed beside her. He was the one who cleaned Finn's blood from her hands and her face, where she had unknowingly wiped some of it across her cheek.

Clarke also had those times where his touch was downright overwhelming and too much for her to handle. With skilled hands Bellamy would make her wither and come completely undone late at night. She couldn't understand how, it was as if his hands were made just for her body. Sometimes, always regretting it, she would have to push him away with shaking hands. Her entire being tingling and her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst through her chest. It was these touches that Bellamy teased her about, whispering them into her ear and smiling something wicked when she blushed. Octavia and Raven had a field day with these touching moments too. Jasper and Monty would high five each other and grin, nudging and winking each other all day when she was around. She would often knock them hard with her shoulder as she passed them or give them a training session with Lincoln. Bellamy always enjoyed those training sessions.

Clarke always wanted to be touched by Bellamy. Despite those times where it was too much or painful, she wanted his touches. She yearned for them.

Sight:

Clarke's eyes always searched for him. She would never tire of seeing him and she would never willingly admit that to him. She was too stubborn for that. She would never tell him that she always looked for him, needing to know where he was, that he was okay. She would never tell him that she watched him.

Bellamy knew anyways.

When Bellamy, Raven and Wick were having a discussion, she would watch him. How he stood up straight with his arms crossed at his chest and listening to every word that left Raven's mouth. When he leaned forward on the table, holding up whatever Wick had made, running his hands over it in concentration. She watched as he absorbed everything the engineer and mechanic said, listening to their suggestions and advice. Then with a nod he would give them orders, after telling them they did good. Clarke watched as he handled Raven as he always did. He respected her and didn't treat her any differently, despite Raven's bum leg. But she also watched as his gaze lingered on her, making sure her leg wasn't giving her trouble, before he turned and walked away.

Clarke's blue eyes warmed at the sight of Bellamy with the younger kids. He was good with all of them but especially the little girls. Clarke figured it was because he saw a little of Octavia in all of them. She watched as his lips curved into a smile as he knelt to the ground, speaking fondly to them. He nodded along to whatever they said, his smile growing wider so that the corners of his eyes crinkled. Not to say they didn't warm when they would visit Lexa's people and he would allow the boys to tackle him to the ground, telling them they got so much bigger than the last time. Clarke was positive that she caught Lexa, from the corner of her eye, smirking at that.

Clarke watched as he undressed and got ready for bed at night. He would pull his shirt over his head, throwing it to the ground, and then sat on the edge of the bed. He would pause and take a deep breath, leaning his elbows on top of his knees and bow his head, exhaling. He would roll his shoulders as if to shift the invisible weight that sat upon them. She watched as all the tension in his body disappeared when she reached out and touched him.

As much pleasure Bellamy took in making her come undone, Clarke got just as much watching him come undone. She would roll them so that she was on top, her thighs cradling him on either side, and she stared down at him. She watched as his chest heaved up and down, sweat trickling down his abs, the vein in his neck protruding. Her blue eyes darkened as she watched his lips part and allow a moan escape when she moved and his eyes closed. Her eyes softened when she leaned forward, brushing his hair from his sweaty forehead and met his clouded ones.

Taste:

Bellamy had a taste that Clarke couldn't describe. Sometimes when she kissed him, she would taste the hint of mint, from the mint tea that she had him drink earlier to help with his cough. Other times she would get drunk from the moonshine that covered his lips and tongue.

Either way she was addicted to his taste and always wanted more.

Smell:

Clarke loved how she was surrounded by Bellamy's smell even if he wasn't there. She loved how their tent smelled as much of him as it does her. She would sometimes sit, holding his pillow in her lap, and bury her face in it to smell him. She often did that when he was out on a scouting mission.

There was one time when she was working at the medical bay, organizing the supplies to see what plants she would send Octavia, Lincoln and Monty for when Bellamy came to see her. He had to have been training because when he wrapped his arms around her from behind and leaned over her, she smelt the dirt and sweat on his body. She laughed and shoved him away, telling him to take a bath. When he came to bed that night he smelt like fresh rain.

When she was swept up into a hug by him when he returned from being gone for two days he smelt of the woods and smoke, from having a campfire, and she buried her head further into his neck.

She hated when he smelt of blood and moonshine mixed together. Those were the times more often than not that she would have to stitch him up because he got wounded. Clarke would pour the moonshine over his wounds and the tools, while wiping the blood away. When it became too much she would have to leave and get sick outside. When it was Bellamy as the patient, it was usually Octavia rubbing her back and holding her hair back. One time it was Murphy. That had been horrible, Bellamy was injured and she didn't think he was going to make it. All the other times it was Bellamy holding her hair and rubbing her back. Though the night of Finn's death is hazy, and when Clarke tortured herself thinking about it, the one thing that's always clear is she remembered smelling Bellamy. His scent surrounded her like a blanket and she's never forgotten that.

Smelling him keeps her grounded and safe.

Hearing:

Brave princess.

She hears it behind the teasing tone of his voice. She hears the caring and the love, the affection that now surrounds the word, princess, that use to be a cruel taunt. There are times, when she's been in danger, that she hears the relief of having her back in his arms.

I need you.

Clarke can hear the desperation behind those three words that Bellamy won't allow himself to show anyone else. She remembered how, after months had passed since Finn, he had stormed into her tent and argued with her, trying to get a reaction out of her. He had yelled those three words at her, and Clarke gasped in shock. When he repeated the three words, his voice softer, Clarke allowed herself to cry. Bellamy held her as his own tears mixed into her hair.

She hears it behind every sigh he exhales before the start of another one of their arguments. That although she sometimes frustrates him to no end that he's there for there no matter what. That he would be lost if they didn't argue.

She hears it behind every taunt and threat he shoots at Lincoln. Behind every single one is Bellamy saying, I trust you with my sister, don't fuck it up.

She hears it between every fight between the Blake siblings, what Bellamy won't say, you're my sister, O. I don't want to loose you. I love you.

Clarke.

Whether he's saying it through clenched teeth, shouting it at the top of his lungs, pleading through chapped lips as she bleeds or whispering it in bed, she always hears what he's saying when he says her name. I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Clarke always responds the same way. A hand on his cheek, a brush of her fingers, her eyes staring into his own, the smell of her hair on her pillow besides his, the taste of berries on her tongue or the whisper of his name as he kisses her neck, Bellamy.

It's all the same. He understands.

I love you too.

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it. (:

(Also thank you for all the comments and reviews! I appreciate them all!)

-KT xo