Chapter 2: my dear, is that all we have ever been

Bellamy wakes at seven thirty to a silent house. There is a split moment where he worries Clarke left in the middle of the night—ran off because she couldn't fathom the next two weeks with him. Clarke has never been the quiet type, so it is only natural to worry. Even asleep, you can hear the girl tossing and huffing in her sleep—annoyed at her subconscious for whatever it dreamed up. Even in separate bedrooms and doors shut, Bellamy would always hear her when they were growing up. Being a light sleeper himself, it was impossible to not hear her mumbles, her sighs and seventeen-year-old Bellamy struggled with making sure his body didn't react to her noises. He was in deep shit enough with her awake and coherent that he didn't need to add getting turned on by her asleep added to the list.

And Clarke awake was even louder. Her clumsy nature caused her to constantly trip over and run into things and she always—without fail—mumbled an ow, a shit, a huff. Clarke didn't know how to hide her frustrations, the sassiness of her personality always seeping through resulting in scoffs and rolled eyes.

The fact she helped bring babies into the world without dropping them was an amazing feat in itself.

So, when he woke up and couldn't hear her, he assumed she was gone. He grabbed his phone, unplugged it from the charger and checked for messages. Echo had text multiple times throughout the night, questioning why he didn't just leave the house and if anyone was there with him.

He groaned at the message, knowing there was no way he could tell her Clarke was her because if he did, Echo would be here in record time to be quarantined herself. In all honesty, he was shocked she hadn't already. A message from his mom to him and Octavia, updating them on her symptoms and things to look out for.

His group chat with Miller and Murphy was blowing up and he had yet to tell them he would not be able to make it to their weekly meet up—even though now they still kept six feet apart from each other.

This version of the world sucked he decided as he shuffled down the stairs and he was pleasantly surprised and yet somehow still disappointed to find the blue haired girl sitting at her stool, coffee in her hand and glasses perched on her nose looking at her phone.

"Hey," He said to her causing her to jump.

"Don't you knock?" She glares over her phone and he can only roll his eyes.

"It's the kitchen, Clarke." He tells her, reaching for his own mug and chuckling at her glare.

"Well, it isn't nice to sneak up on people."

"I wasn't sneaking up," He shook his head, "And you should be used to that since your brother is the quietest person I have ever met."

She pushes her phone to the side, giving him her full attention, "Yeah, why do you think it was so easy for O to sneak him in all the time?"

Bellamy stilled and looked at her confused, "She what?"

Clarke smiled, obviously gaining the reaction she wanted out of her comment. Only fair since he "snuck up" on her. Why not remind him of all the dirty things his sister does—apparently when he is only a room away.

"Literally all through high school. Though it was harder for him to sneak out once mom started dating Kane."

Bellamy was still in shock from this revelation. He never once suspected his sister was sneaking Lincoln in all those years.

"Don't look so scandalized. You did the same thing with Gina." She pointed out.

Oh Gina. He had not thought of her in a long time. He and Gina dated on and off through high school and when it ended, he never saw her again. She was kind when she wanted, mean when she needed to be and was on the receiving end of Bellamy's moods after Clarke would come over. The amount of arguments they got into because of Clarke was higher than he cared to admit. And he couldn't even blame Clarke because she didn't even know.

"It is still weird."

Clarke rolled her eyes, but didn't continue the conversation and instead asked, "What are you gonna do today?"

"What can we do expect sit here and wait for the days to run out?"

"Well," She stands and walks around the counter, placing her mug in the sink and coming to stand in front of him.

Definitely not six feet apart but he wasn't about to tell her that. He can smell her pear shampoo, still traces even after using his mom's generic unscented dove. She was far enough away from him that he if he reached out, his arm would be outstretched yet somehow close enough to bring his nerve endings to attention. How is it possible? Is it because she is so unknown to him? He had never touched her except for the one time he helped get off a boat, never had he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body close to him in the twenty years he had known her. Maybe that was why—even now—when they were adults and no longer hormonal teenagers, he felt she had a string wrapped around him and at any moment all she would need to do is pull and he would unravel all around her.

"There's movies, board games, video games, eating," She riddles off and then pauses, "This is your house, Bellamy. Shouldn't you be telling me what there is?"

He chuckles but doesn't say anything. Instead, he only shrugs. Clarke always was at home when his house. Probably even more than at her own home. She was here every weekend growing up and even during the weekdays when her mom allowed it. Bellamy's mom was never Abby's favorite person saying as they went to school together as well. Because in Arkadia pretty much everyone knows everyone and your parents either hooked up at one point or hated each other.

Their moms were the latter mostly because Clarke's dad and his mom were the former. But that was something they never spoke of. The only time they even found out was that one night when Jake came to pick Clarke up and some comment was made that only someone who had slept with another and intimately knew the other could say. It was awkward and uncomfortable and clearly a slip of the tongue that every wished they could just forget.

Of course, Abby acted like that wasn't the reason she didn't like his mom. She made it seem like it was from their parenting styles. Abby thought Bellamy's mom was too lax with her children and stemmed it from his mom's free-spirited ways in high school (see her free-spirited ways including Jake Griffin).

Bellamy's mom thought Abby was uptight and asked too much of her children instead of giving them room to breathe.

Clarke most likely sided with his mom over hers.

Bellamy tried not to think about just how close he was to being Jake Griffin's kid and not the low life he got saddled with. And tried not to delve into the fact the Blake children and Griffin children somehow still managed to find each other. Not that he had found Clarke, just in general-as friends.

"All I know we have is that card game Murphy left time we had a get together."

Clarke tapped her pointer finger against her lips and Bellamy averted his eyes. Leave it to Clarke to unknowingly bring his attention back to the pieces of her he was adamantly trying to avoid.

"I know exactly what I want to play." She smiled so wide; Bellamy couldn't help but allow the corners to upturn as well.

"I can only imagine."

She clapped her hands, "Go make room in the living room and I will be right back."

She is all but skipping away from him and he knows he doesn't even question the fact he does exactly what she asks.

"So, what is my end game here?" Bellamy asked sitting on the floor, the board game set up on the coffee table, and Clarke on the other side—bright eyed and excited to play the old game.

It was falling apart from years of use; he could see where cards had been ripped and taped. The door in the middle of the board was the handle and instead had a paperclip to open it.

"Okay, so you are going to keep drawing and discarding your cards until you have the hair style, the outfit and the accessory." She is pulling cards and holding up what is supposed to be 'picnic' date, "And then when it comes your turn after you have them, you spin the doorknob—

"Paper clip." He corrects and she levels him with a look Hermione Granger would be proud of—huffy and glaring at him for his interruption.

"Doorknob," She reiterates, "And if you get the boy that matches the outfit, you win."

"And what do I win?" His chin is resting in his open palm and Clarke mouth dries at her instant thought to tell him he can have whatever he wants—even if it is her.

But she bites her lip, gives a shrug and enough time to collect her thoughts before she says, "Not something for you to worry about."

He chuckles, "Oh? Why is that?"

"Cause I'm gonna win," She teases, loving the way they had fallen into an ease with each other this morning that wasn't quite stilted and awkward as it was last night. She didn't feel as suffocated as she did the night before, but she was sure it wouldn't stay this way.

Distant Bellamy was always just one comment away.

But she loved these moments with him. When they were in a quiet comfort with each, subtle and not crass like some of her other friendships. Just a quiet existence with just each other. She loved being just with him. Just beside her each other, just comfort.

When she was just her.

And he was just him.

Bellamy was like a display in a museum, signs in front of him telling her not to touch him with grimy hands. He wasn't hers to touch, he wasn't hers to feel each crevice of marble that made him into the beautiful sculpture in front of her, but the bad angel on her shoulder whispers, "Just do it. No one is even looking."

She lived for the times where he would move behind her, his shirt grazing hers. Or the time she walked out of the bathroom right as he passed, causing them to run into each other. It was moments of shock and awe causing her whole body to be aware of every inch of itself.

"Alright, Princess. Your turn." He smiled at her, pulling from her reverie and she only knows how to smile back.

"You cheated." She tells him when he opens the door to reveal he had won—again.

"Is cheating even possible?" He asks her, trying not to find her absolutely adorable by her crossed arms and pout.

"It must be because you won three times. Are you counting cards?"

His laugh is loud, leaning towards hysterical at her offended look towards the game—like it failed her. Clarke was never good at hiding her emotions, something he always liked about her. She felt everything so fully whether she was frustrated or happy or sad. It was how he knew she didn't feel all those pesky non-platonic feelings. He would have noticed it because she never would have been able to hide it.

"Well, do you want to play something else then?" He looks at his watch, "We aren't even at noon yet."

She gnaws on her lip and he busies himself by looking at his phone. A text from Echo still sat unread from an hour ago. He needed to look at it, he needed to respond to her from earlier. He just hadn't gotten want to do it yet. He hated himself for this. For shoving his girlfriend of three years to the side just at the chance to spend uninterrupted time with Clarke—who was also taken even if she hadn't spoken of Finn the past two days. But he craved her attention, to smile at him, to tease him in a way he never had with Echo.

It is the guilt that pulls him to unlock his phone to see the text from Echo.

I can always come.

He knew that was gonna happen. She was willing to take a chance on getting sick because she hated the idea of him being with anyone but her. They didn't exactly have the most stable relationship. He knew there was really no possibility of him getting sick. He knew that this was just two weeks to do what he was already doing which was staying at home. And there would really be no reason for him to not want Echo here.

"Ooh, let's play bowling on the tv." She decides, already cleaning up the game.

And Bellamy, hating himself, types:

No, I already don't feel great. Don't wanna take any chances.

He was going straight to hell.

The day progresses and Clarke is waiting for Bellamy to close himself off, run right back into his hate filled words and angry glares he always is sending her, but it never comes. Instead they move game to game. Bowling, to cards, to a first-person shooter game she resoundingly sucks at.

They even did a twenty-minute yoga video that ended with Clarke falling on her face enough times, her hands catching herself as she tries the beginner positions that she is probably going to end up with bruises.

It was worth it to see the way Bellamy twisted himself, his shirt drifting upward as he bent over to show the expanse of his tightened stomach. She gulped through her heavy breaths just at the sight of him, averting her attention when he would ask her how she was doing.

The worry she felt the night before and the tension chipped away the longer they were around each other and she wasn't sure if that bothered or not.

After dinner, as he is drying the dishes she washes, she is hit with the startling realization that they are acting like they are living together, and she was enjoying too much the domesticity of Bellamy when he has a girlfriend outside of this house. He had a girlfriend inside this house as well, it wasn't like she wasn't a person just because Clarke could no longer see her.

It made Clarke's stomach tumble around in turmoil, wanting any reason to be away from him.

And then his phone rings.

Somehow that isn't what she meant.

"You should get that." She tells him, knowing he needs to answer that call so Clarke can be reminded he is just doing his duty of getting through these days with her. And this is day two and he is just trying to make the best of it.

"We aren't done." He doesn't even move to answer the phone and it bothers her more.

"You don't have to entertain me, Bellamy. I'm sure your girlfriend misses you." The words held no bite, but her tone sharpened them. She needed to remember just who had Bellamy's heart and affection and how it had never been her.

He is silent for a moment, and she continues to wash the already clean dish, yet somehow she feels his burning eyes on her. She ignores it, ignores him and wishes him away.

"You're right." He snips back, snatching the phone and shuffling out of the kitchen into the adjacent dining room. Once he is gone, Clarke finally releases the breath she didn't realize she was holding.

She can hear them talk, hear his soft words reserved for the girl he loves. Clarke hates the way her heart splinters, her eyes burn and her lip quivers. She is so stupid; this whole day was nothing but necessity and nothing else.

It was best to remember just exactly where she stood in Bellamy's eyes.

"No, no one is here." She hears him say and it beats down her resolve just a little more.

No one. She is no one. Maybe it is time she remembered that.

She doesn't wait for him to say good night. She finishes the last dish, washes her hands, and starts up the stairs refusing to even look his way and shutting the door with a loud shut to remind him he isn't wanted.

Tomorrow she will do better. Tomorrow she will remember.