Clarke walked slowly down the hallway toward Bellamy's apartment, Bellamy beside her, their hands twined together.
They'd spent the last couple of hours at the funeral home, and it had been one of the most heartbreaking experiences of Clarke's life.
The funeral director had spoken to them in his office first, then taken them to the 'showroom,' which contained probably a dozen different coffins.
He'd walked around, pointing out different features like the type of wood, the detailing, the interior, and the price, and Clarke had the very odd thought that it felt a lot like going to buy a new car, except it involved a lot more emotion and was a hell of a lot more morbid.
The funeral director had been ahead of them, showing them different models and talking about satin lining, and Clarke had felt the back of Bellamy's hand brush against hers. She'd looked up to find him looking a little terrified and very overwhelmed.
Their hands had moved at the same time, fingers linking together.
They'd stayed that way most of the time since, including after they'd gotten out of Clarke's car just a few minutes ago. They'd met near her trunk, ready to walk into his building together, and they'd reached for each other automatically, as if they'd been doing it for years instead of just starting a couple hours earlier.
Clarke used her key to open his door, leading him inside and then pulling the door closed behind her.
When she turned around, Bellamy was just standing there, free hand in his pocket as he stared a little blankly into his kitchen, his mind obviously somewhere else.
Clarke tugged on his hand, pulling him closer, while her free hand cupped the side of his face. She went up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips firmly against his.
She kissed him a little desperately, her lips clinging to his, and if a kiss could talk, this one would be repeating 'I love you, I love you, I love you'.
His arms slowly crept under her coat, wrapping around her waist, and it was as if Clarke could feel him come back to her, retreating from the darkness he kept trying to get lost in.
She ended the kiss, but her hands, which were around the back of his neck, pulled him down a little, so she could rest her forehead against his. "I'm sorry you have to go through this," she whispered.
"I can't believe I'm dragging you through it with me," he said, sounding unhappy about the thought.
Clarke sighed exasperatedly. "When are you going to get it through your thick skull?" she asked, nudging his nose with hers. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
Bellamy studied her for a moment, his eyes searching hers, before he leaned forward, and then he was the one kissing her a little desperately.
Clarke's arms locked behind his neck, and Bellamy bent her backward a little, so they could reach each other easier, his hands under her coat, roaming over her back and sides while he pressed her against his chest, and Clarke got a little lost in it...in him, as their lips moved together effortlessly.
The next thing she knew, he was ending the kiss and stepping back, his eyes concerned and his breathing ragged.
"Sorry," he said, wincing. "I got a little..."
Carried away?
Well, she'd been about 30 seconds from wrapping her legs around his waist, so she couldn't exactly fault him for it. "It's fine," she said, coughing a little in an attempt to make her voice sound somewhat normal again. "I was right there with you," she finished, looking at the collar on his coat and trying not to blush.
When she finally forced her eyes to meet his, he was already staring at her, probably trying to determine the authenticity of her statement.
Eventually, he nodded once, then turned around to take off his coat, effectively ending the moment.
Clarke blinked, finally forcing air into her lungs and wondering what they were going to do for the rest of the night.
They typically spent hours alone together in his apartment, but they also typically weren't kissing each other any time they felt like it. Clarke was a little worried that with all the emotion surrounding them, and considering their newfound 'closeness,' they'd end up doing something they couldn't come back from.
She quickly dismissed most of the places they could go, knowing Bellamy wouldn't be up for going to the bar or any other kind of socialization, really.
It only took her a minute to think of a possibility, and really, she was a little ashamed she hadn't thought of it earlier. Ever since she'd known him, Bellamy had dealt with anger and sadness and virtually every other negative emotion in one way...
"Do you want to go for a walk?" she asked, before the idea had even fully formed in her head.
He turned around from where he'd been placing his shoes on the mat, raising an eyebrow. "A walk? It's winter...and it's dark," he commented, glancing out the window.
Clarke shrugged. "You usually hike up a mountain when you're dealing with stuff, right? ...or you make me hike up a mountain," she grumbled, reminding him of the time he'd dragged her with him when Octavia had started dating Lincoln, who happened to be a decade older than his baby sister (and a few years older than Bellamy, which Clarke had always thought was the real sticking point for him.)
Bellamy shrugged. "I guess."
"Well, we're not particularly close to a mountain and it's almost dark, but we can still bundle up and go walk down by the river."
Bellamy looked a little skeptical.
Clarke tried to sell her idea. "Come on. We could both use the exercise. It'll help us sleep."
That's how they ended up leaving his apartment 20 minutes later, Clarke wearing two pairs of leggings, a cami, one of Bellamy's t-shirts, and one of his giant Miller Contracting sweatshirts, her thick scarf wrapped multiple times around her neck and a pair of knit gloves on her hands. She'd also put on two pairs of socks before putting on her tennis shoes, but who was counting?
Bellamy, natural furnace that he was, only had on a pair of sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie.
They walked the few blocks to the river, then got on the path that joggers often used, although they kept their pace at a brisk walk, not really talking, just staring out at the frigid water and letting the cold air burn their lungs.
To be honest, Clarke welcomed the cold. It was a welcome reminder of life and vitality after the stifling afternoon they'd spent in the funeral home.
They walked for what was probably a couple miles, staying on the path, eventually ending up near where Monroe usually parked her food truck, although there were few people around, since it was freezing and dark outside already, which tended to keep potential foot traffic away.
Clarke, who was a little winded, led the way over to the concrete stadium style seating that loomed over the amphitheater, sitting down on one of the steps and then laying back, her hands on her stomach as she caught her breath.
Bellamy climbed up after her, sitting down beside her.
"Whose bright idea was this?" Clarke asked.
Bellamy chuckled. "Yours, I believe."
"You've gotta stop listening to me."
He just smiled, looking out over the water.
Clarke tried to see his face, but didn't have a clear view from her position on the ground beside him. "Did it help?"
"Yeah, probably. A mountain would've been better, but this was good on short notice," he said, looking down at her, and his face did seem a little more relaxed, as if he was more like himself.
Clarke nodded, tilting her head back to look up at the stars as she made a mental note to make sure they planned a group camping trip the next semi-warm weekend.
They stayed there for a few minutes, until Clarke started becoming more and more aware of the cold, a shiver working its way through her. "I swear to God, it's been winter for 17 months," she complained.
Bellamy laughed. "Nah. You just insist on getting hypothermia every couple weeks. Makes it seem longer," he teased, eyes twinkling as he grinned down at her.
She swatted uselessly at his arm.
"You are laying on cold concrete, you know."
Clarke grumbled, then accepted Bellamy's hand when he reached to help pull her up.
He kept pulling, his other arm sliding around her and pulling her onto his lap.
Clarke squealed a little, surprised as she landed against him, but quickly got with the program, burying her nose in-between his neck and his shirt.
"What would you do without me to use as a human furnace?" he teased.
"Become a popsicle," she answered.
He chuckled, and she pulled back to look at him.
For the first time in a couple days, he didn't look sad, or tortured, or any of the other things that had made Clarke desperate to comfort him in any way she could. He looked like Bellamy, eyes twinkling at her, one side of his mouth turned up in that trademark smirk she loved so much...and he was staring at her lips.
Clarke forgot that she was only supposed to be comforting him. She forgot that she'd tried to convince him, and herself, that this newfound closeness didn't have to change anything.
The only thing she could think about was the fact that she was sitting on his lap and he was looking at her like he loved kissing her as much as she loved kissing him.
So, she leaned forward, deliberately pressing her lips to his.
He responded immediately, his hands pulling her closer.
Where their earlier kisses had been about grief, or comfort, or something of the sort, this one felt like...a kiss for the sake of a kiss.
Clarke nudged her nose playfully against his and felt him smile a little against her mouth, which made her pull him closer, her hand sliding into his hair.
They both tilted their heads, deepening the kiss, and Clarke had the distinct thought that this felt like a first kiss: it was slow, and deliberate, and it gradually increased in its intensity, which is why, after a few minutes, Clarke swiped her tongue across his bottom lip.
Bellamy immediately froze, his entire body tensing.
Clarke hurriedly pulled back, her eyes searching his.
His eyes were a little frantic, a little confused, and a lot worried. She couldn't quite make out the expression on his face, but it was some combination of desire and hesitancy that made her practically fall off his lap in her haste to stand up.
"Sorry!" she said, a little too loudly, backing away from him.
He frowned, reaching for her. "Clarke..."
"No, I am. I shouldn't have... I was just...you were warm and I forgot myself for a second." She turned around, quickly walking back down to the path by the river. She turned around once she got there, trying to sound normal, and not like her heart was beating approximately 1,000 beats per minute in her chest. "Come on, race you back!"
Clarke took off at a half jog, which was the first indication that something was seriously wrong with her.
Bellamy was well aware that she was the sort of person that only ran if there was something scary chasing her, which...technically...what could be scarier than feelings...especially feelings you thought might be unrequited?
They got back to his apartment a while later, having scarcely said a word on the way home.
Clarke immediately toed off her tennis shoes and started unwrapping her scarf.
Bellamy, on the other hand, stood just inside the door, watching her warily. "Clarke...are you okay? Are we okay? I thought..."
Clarke didn't give him a chance to finish, not wanting to hear him remind her that they were just friends and that sticking your tongue in your friend's mouth wasn't exactly considered normal behavior.
Clarke was fairly sure a lot of the parameters of their friendship weren't exactly normal, especially the past couple of days, but who was she to complain?
"We're fine," she insisted, squeezing his arm and giving him what she hoped came off as a smile and not a grimace. "Do you want to shower first or should I?" she asked, striving to get back to some sense of normalcy between them.
He studied her for a second, probably trying to make sure she was okay. "You can," he finally answered.
She nodded, grabbing the weekender bag she'd brought to his house and heading into the bathroom.
She took a minute getting everything ready: pulling out her shampoo and conditioner, her body wash, and a clean pair of underwear and a sports bra. It was around that time that she remembered she hadn't bothered to pack pajamas.
She'd been in her room, packing a suitcase, probably five feet from the dresser that contained her pajamas...and she hadn't bothered to pack any, probably because her subconscious knew she'd rather wear Bellamy's.
Clarke took a breath, rolling her eyes at herself. She couldn't even blame it on her subconscious. She was well aware she'd done it on purpose.
Sighing, she opened the door, wondering if she should go risk another awkward interaction with Bellamy or if she should start digging through his drawers on her own.
She stepped into his bedroom...and stopped short.
Because there, laying folded neatly on his bed, was her favorite pair of his grey sweatpants and a purple Grounders Baseball t-shirt that definitely hadn't been there five minutes ago, when she'd first walked through.
And Clarke could've kicked herself, because even when she was being weird, and overthinking everything, and trying to stick her tongue in his mouth in a deserted amphitheater, Bellamy still knew her better than she knew herself, and he was still taking care of her.
Clarke grabbed the clothes, then retreated back into the bathroom.
By the time she emerged 20 minutes later, she'd mostly talked herself down, reminding herself that Bellamy was going through enough right now and he didn't need her dragging her own baggage and her own feelings into it. She'd been the one that had suggested this new arrangement in the first place, and then she'd been the one that had misread the signals. He'd done nothing wrong, and she needed to stop making him feel like he had.
So, she'd smiled warmly at him when she walked back into the living room, drying her hair with a towel, telling him the bathroom was all his, and by the time he emerged 15 minutes later, she'd convinced herself that everything would be fine if she acted like it was.
She heated up an odd but delicious combination of lasagna with a side of enchiladas, and they ate side-by-side while watching a mini Star Trek marathon.
Bellamy washed their dishes while Clarke threw their sweaty clothes in the washer, and it was...fine. They both seemed a little tense around each other, but they were...fine.
Around 11, they headed into his bedroom, laying down beside each other but keeping some distance between them.
It only took a few minutes for Clarke to realize that Bellamy was starting to spiral again, no doubt thinking about what tomorrow morning would bring.
She turned on her side, resting her head on her bent arm. "Tell me something good about her," she said quietly.
Bellamy turned to her, mirroring her position a few inches away from her. "Like what?"
Clarke shrugged. "Do you have any good memories?" she asked, searching his face. "Yesterday...you said something about how she used to look like Octavia, and it was the only time you seemed...happy about remembering."
He stared at a spot on his comforter, obviously losing himself in his memories. "When I was little...I don't remember much. Octavia was born when I was six, which means her asshole sperm donor showed up when I was around five, so it had to be sometime before that. We lived in this tiny apartment over by the middle school, and we didn't have a lot, but once a month, on a Sunday, we'd get on the bus and go over to the park...that little one over in the old part of town?" Bellamy finally looked at her, asking if she knew of it.
Clarke nodded. She didn't think she'd ever visited, but she'd driven past it a time or two. It was a little out of the way, on the edge of town, butting up against the woods on one side and the historic district of town on the other.
Bellamy continued, "It wasn't anything great...just a few gardens, some walking paths, and a little pond with a bridge...but to a four-year-old who lived in a one bedroom apartment...it was like heaven."
Clarke reached out, tentatively putting her hand over his where it rested on the bed between them.
Bellamy didn't pull away, and he kept talking. "Once a month, we'd go down there...stop at that little bakery beside the bus stop and get their day-old bread, then go feed it to the ducks in the pond. I'd run around a little bit...do whatever it is toddlers do when they're allowed to run around like hellions..." he smirked a little at the memory of that. "...then we'd walk down the street to the old theater. They'd show cartoons on Sunday afternoon and kids got in free. I think Mom had to pay like $5 for her ticket, which, honestly, even that was probably a lot for us...but she did it anyway. We'd go watch Pinocchio or Beauty and the Beast or whatever was playing, and then we'd get back on the bus and go home."
Clarke just continued to hold his hand, knowing he wasn't done.
"I know now...it doesn't seem like a lot. And that little theater showed the same movies over and over...I probably saw Aladdin six times...but it seemed like some grand adventure back then, ya know? It was just the two of us, and we got to go all the way to the other side of town, passing all the tall buildings downtown...and then we'd end up at this little piece of heaven that was full of grass and trees and flowers and ducks that would honk at you until you threw them bread. It was something I didn't get to see a lot of," he told her, shrugging a little at how it sounded to him as an adult. "We'd spend all day together..." he trailed off, his face troubled.
Clarke leaned down a little, trying to catch his eye. "She sounds like a totally different person then."
Bellamy nodded. "She was. I usually forget that version of her...it was so long ago...and I have so many more memories of the other version..."
Clarke squeezed his hand, wishing that wasn't the case.
"I think I forget that she was a good person...a good mother...at one point. I forget that she had troubles of her own. I don't..." he paused, frowning as he tried to collect his thoughts. "She still should have done better by us...but maybe some of what happened...maybe it happened to her too."
Clarke made some sort of noise, which made Bellamy look up at her.
It wasn't until he reached a hand up, his thumb gently swiping across her cheek, that she realized she was crying.
"I've said it before, and you never believe me, but it bears repeating...you're the best man I know," she told him, her hand grasping his wrist.
He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before he laid down on his back, much closer to her this time.
She took the hint, curling into his side and laying her head on his chest.
"I know I promised the Reverend I'd give him childhood memories for tomorrow...but I don't want to tell him that one."
Clarke tilted her head so she could see his face.
"He'll just use it so he has something nice to say and I don't..." Bellamy sighed. "I feel like it's all I have left of her."
Clarke nodded, her heart cracking a little more. "We can find a poem or a Bible passage in the morning...something we can give him to read," she offered.
He smiled at her, his hand tangling in her hair. "Thanks," he said gratefully.
Clarke nodded, laying back down on his chest.
After a few minutes, she whispered, "Thanks for telling me."