Clarke sat on the sidewalk, leaning against the cold brick wall of the bar for what felt like an eternity.
She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she was crying, because every few minutes, she'd reach up to wipe her cheeks, but it wasn't something she was really aware of. All she was cognizant of was the fact that the man she loved had walked away from her and he probably wasn't coming back.
She chuckled bitterly at the irony; she'd only recently figured out that she was in love with him…and she'd already lost him. This time was so, so much worse than the last time they'd separated, because this time, she knew exactly what she was losing.
Maybe some people had it right: you should separate friendship and romantic relationships…make sure your lover and your best friend were two different people…because this? Losing your best friend and the love of your life in one fell swoop? It was agonizing.
Clarke couldn't even blame him; he'd done nothing wrong. She knew exactly how he would feel about her drug use, and she'd done it anyway.
You couldn't grow up the way he did, have the baggage that he did, and be okay with someone you care about getting involved in the same toxic mess. Honestly, it was a miracle that Octavia still wanted anything to do with her.
Clarke pulled her knees tighter to her chest, staring down at the small rip on the knee of her jeans, wondering how she could have risked everything for something so stupid.
She became dimly aware of her surroundings, even registering a few pairs of feet walking past her line of vision, but she didn't bother looking up for any of them. At some point, she ended up clenching her eyes shut.
After what seemed like another eternity, she heard someone walk down the street, eventually stopping in front of her. She opened her eyes, prepared to tell whoever it was to go away, only to see a pair of very familiar boots in front of her.
Her breath caught in her throat, her gaze quickly travelling up a pair of lean legs, a broad torso, and finally coming to rest on a freckled face that she could've drawn in her sleep.
Either he'd come back or her mind was playing one hell of a trick on her.
Almost afraid to speak, lest he disappear, she just stared up at him, waiting.
He looked a little like she felt: sad, angry, shell shocked.
He stared down at her, chewing on his lower lip as if he was trying to make up his mind. Finally, he closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh.
The next minute, he was turning and walking back into the bar, disappearing with a few seconds of loud music and raucous laughter that floated out the open door.
Clarke was unsure what was happening, so she sat there, mostly holding her breath as she wondered, for the tiniest second, if maybe she hadn't ruined everything.
Luckily, he was back within a minute or two.
He immediately sank down beside her, then draped her coat over her shoulders.
Clarke glanced at him, noticing he was now wearing his coat too. He must have gotten them from inside the bar.
Bellamy leaned back against the wall beside her, his shoulder a few inches from hers. "I thought you'd go back inside," he said quietly.
She shook her head, even though he wasn't looking at her. "Couldn't," she muttered, voice thick with tears.
"How many times are you going to try to get hypothermia this month, Clarke?"
She made some sort of unintentional noise that was somewhere between a snort and a hiccup, and she was aware it sounded awful, but she didn't even care because if Bellamy was simultaneously taking care of her and being sarcastic, maybe she had a shot after all. Another tiny glimmer of optimism took hold, even though she tried to tell herself not to get her hopes up.
Bellamy tilted his head back against the wall, glancing up at the night sky, although Clarke was pretty sure he wasn't even seeing it.
"Do you know how many times I walked in on my mom passed out?" he asked, voice resigned.
Clarke's breath caught. "No," she said quietly.
He nodded. "Me neither. I lost count. A few times on the bathroom floor…" he gestured toward her with his hand, as if to say 'just like you.' "Sometimes on the couch or in bed. Once, I even found her slumped over the wheel of her car in the parking lot. It was a miracle she didn't end up killing somebody that day."
Clarke listened, discreetly wiping her cheeks again as she watched him relive the anguish he must have felt as a child.
He continued, "Sometimes, I'd shake her and she'd wake up and be fine. Other times, she'd get up, throw up everywhere, and then stumble her way into bed and sleep for days. I'd stick my hand under her nose every few hours to make sure she was still breathing…after I cleaned up after her, of course."
Clarke must have made an involuntary noise, because Bellamy glanced at her for the first time before again looking away.
He shrugged. "Octavia was a toddler, walking around and getting into everything. I couldn't let her…" he trailed off.
Clarke's nose flared as she tried to hold in her sobs. If Octavia was still a toddler, Bellamy couldn't have been more than eight or nine when this was happening.
"I used to take Octavia to the park after school…one day we came home and found her passed out in the kitchen. I tried shaking her, screaming at her…everything…but she wouldn't wake up. I had to call 911."
Clarke waited, but he didn't continue. "Was she okay?" she asked hesitantly.
"Yeah. She was fine. They revived her and took her to the hospital for a few days."
Clarke knew the story wasn't over, and she was almost afraid to hear the next part, but she knew she needed to. "Bellamy…"
He took a deep breath. "The paramedics weren't allowed to leave us home alone, so they called CPS. Octavia ended up in a foster home and I ended up in a group home."
Oh, God.
"For how long?" she managed to ask.
"Two weeks. That's how long it took for Mom to get released from the hospital and then petition the court to get us back." His jaw clenched, the memory obviously still painful even decades later. "When we finally got back together…O didn't even care about Mom. She wanted me. Wrapped herself around me like a monkey and cried for hours. Made me promise never to leave her again."
"How old were you?" Clarke whispered, even though she was terrified of the answer.
Bellamy was staring across the street, his hands gripping each other painfully, if the marks on his skin were any indication. "I was ten. O was four."
"Bellamy," Clarke practically whimpered, any pain she felt before how paling in comparison to the anguish she felt now for the little boy who'd dealt with more trauma and responsibility than most grown men could even imagine.
She knew it was ridiculous, since she would have been five years old at the time, but she longed to go back and hold that little boy, because she couldn't bear the thought of Bellamy being in that much pain, ever.
She started to reach out to him, but he held up a hand.
"It's not even that I'm…angry with you…or disappointed…or any of the other things you're thinking. I mean, maybe I am, but that's not what…" he trailed off, glancing in the opposite direction.
"Just tell me," she said quietly.
"You told me that and I was ten years old again, but instead of my mom breaking my heart, and Octavia's…it was you."
Clarke was crying in earnest now, her hands clutching and twisting uselessly at the sleeves of his borrowed shirt.
"I keep imagining finding you unconscious on the floor…going to visit you once a month in a nursing home and you not even recognizing me most of the time…I keep imagining losing you like…" his voice broke as he turned to look at her, his eyes welling. "Clarke…I can't. I can't lose you too."
It was only after he finished his gut-wrenching explanation that he seemed to realize how hard she was crying.
"Clarke," he said, face dismayed as he reached for her, his hands cupping her face. He used his thumbs to gently wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Don't cry."
The tears kept falling, no matter how hard she tried to blink them away.
"Come on, Princess," he pled, his thumbs still caressing her cheeks. "You know I can't stand to see you cry."
Clarke's hands came up to clutch his wrists. "Ditto," she said, nodding at him, since a tear trail or two was visible on his cheeks as well.
They sat there for a few beats, clutching onto each other for dear life, their faces mere inches apart.
"I thought you were done," she whispered, pausing for a second. "With me," she finished, voice breaking on the last word.
He looked heartbroken at the mere thought. "Clarke," he responded, voice guttural. "Never," he promised.
Before Clarke could even process what was happening or how it happened, their lips were meeting, pressing against each other desperately.
It wasn't sweet or exploratory or any of the other ways first kisses often went. In fact, it wasn't romantic at all. It was the hard press of lips, the taste of salty tears, and the feeling of inevitability…of necessity.
The anguish, the fear, the utter hopelessness Clarke had been experiencing just moments before all faded into the background because all she could feel was this connection to Bellamy, this tangible proof of his lips pressed desperately against hers, telling her that he needed her just as much as she needed him.
It only lasted for the space of a few heartbeats, and then his lips were moving over her cheek, pressing a few kisses there as he moved to hug her.
They ended up curled around each other, faces buried in each other's necks as they waited for the world to right itself.
Clarke was again struck by how much peace they found in each other's arms, even when one of them was the cause of the turmoil to begin with.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against his neck. "I'm so sorry."
She could feel him shaking his head. "Clarke, don't apologize. I just…Are you okay?"
She knew he wasn't talking about right now; he was referring to her hospital visit. "I'm fine." She gripped his shirt tighter. "I promise, I'm fine."
He exhaled shakily against her neck.
"…you left," she said unsteadily.
"I wasn't… I just needed a minute." He took a ragged breath. "You fucking terrified me."
"Never again," she said adamantly.
He was silent against her, and she realized that he'd probably heard that before and it ended up not being true.
She pulled back so he could see her face, her hand resting on the side of his neck. "Do you trust me?" she asked. "Not last year. Now. The person I am now. The person you've gotten so close to the past few months."
He searched her eyes for a moment before replying, "Yes."
"Never again. I promise," she said adamantly. "Bell, If I could go back and undo it all…I would. In a heartbeat. I'd do anything not to hurt you like this."
"Clarke…" he glanced away from her. "If I had left just now…would you still be saying that?"
She knew what he was asking; if he'd left, would she still be swearing off drugs? He couldn't be the only reason she vowed to stay clean, or that would create a toxic codependency that wasn't good for either of them.
"Yes," she said sincerely. "I realize how fucked up it was, Bellamy, and not just because it hurt you. It hurt you, and Octavia, and my mom, and it would hurt everyone else I care about too if they knew. And I was hurting myself. I'm not going back there, even if you decide you can't…be in my life anymore." She paused after her heartfelt declaration, giving him a minute to absorb it before she added, "I may have frozen to death though."
He snorted, pulling her forward so she was leaning against his chest. "Okay," he said quietly, letting out a ragged breath.
She curled into him, the beating of his heart under her ear indescribably comforting.
"I wish you would've called me," he said against the top of her hair.
She shook her head against his chest. "I didn't deserve you."
His grip tightened on her. "Clarke…"
"I didn't deserve Octavia either, but Finn called her before I could stop him." Her hand tightened on his shirt as she thought about the little boy that had become parent, friend, and protector for his little sister. She hated the thought of doing anything that could drive a wedge between them. "Please don't be upset with her. She wanted to call you the minute she saw me, but I begged her not to. It was my secret to tell and I hated the thought of hurting you."
He nodded against her. "Okay."
She breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing further against him.
Suddenly, he let out a harsh noise, almost sounding angry.
"What?" she asked, concerned she wasn't quite as forgiven as she'd believed.
"I just realized I'm going to have to thank Murphy the next time I see him," he uttered, sounding completely horrified by the idea.
Clarke chuckled against him.
They stayed like that for a few more minutes, until Bellamy untangled himself and stood up.
She looked up at him, waiting to see where they went from here.
He held a hand down to her. "Come on, Princess. Let's go home."