Work Text:
I.
Clarke finds herself sinking into the heaps of snow, allowing the snowflakes that fall from the sky to coat her jacket, hat and hair and every square inch of her body. She leans against the burke of the tree, ignoring how numb her bottom is going to feel in a couple of minutes – the leggings she’s wearing are less than protective in this winter weather. She can’t find it in herself to care, though. The freezing temperature of the outdoors is better than the iciness she receives from her mother, who she really doesn’t think has noticed she’s gone.
It’s been a while since she’s been here. The only difference with the clearing buried in the heart of Arkadia’s only forest is the immense levels of snow that drape over the forestry like a blank white sheet. She’s only ever really come here in the summers, when her father would take her out for walks. They didn’t get the chance to this summer, and normally, the trail is closed up just after the fall season starts – not that Clarke minds a little trespassing.
In fact, Clarke embraces the quiet serenity of the forest even more in the winter than she does in the summer. The shift of the trees is accompanied by the flicker of snowflakes, and the chirp of birds has been replaced by the stillness of the frozen over pond just a couple of feet away. Quiet is something Clarke could get used to, in the right circumstances. It’s always quiet back home, especially nowadays.
As Clarke closes her eyes, leaning her head against the tree and basking in the tranquility of winter, she sighs deeply. She tries to zone out of reality, for once, tries to forget the day that it is today – before the snap of a twig jolts her upwards. Eyes wide and alert, Clarke stands to her feet, staring out at the clearing of the natural trail as a figure emerges from the bushes.
“Sorry,” the familiarity of his voice makes Clarke colder than she already is. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Bellamy Blake?” Clarke’s eyebrows furrow together as the man comes into view.
Sure enough, it is Bellamy Blake, in all of his glory, standing before her. The grey overcast of the sky does little to dull his features, the prominence of his jaw, tan of his skin and tip of his smirk standing out amongst the pale white of the forest surrounding them. She swallows thickly as Bellamy’s feet sink into the snow, footprints cementing him in place as he glances over her.
“Princess,” Bellamy muses. “You sit behind me in English Lit.”
Clarke grits her teeth together. “It’s Clarke. You’d think after a semester, you’d learn my name.”
“You’d think,” Bellamy mimics. “Princess just suits you so well. Well, that and teacher’s pet.”
“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Bellamy.”
“Everything’s a good look on me, actually. Now, what are youdoing out here all alone on Christmas morning?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Bellamy holds up a plastic bag, stretching downwards because of its contents. “Mom ran out of eggs. So, I went to grab breakfast for my sister and I.”
Clarke tries not to feel ways about his generosity. It’s the bare minimum, to run to whatever fast food place is open on Christmas Day for breakfast. She can’t help but notice the way his face brightens when he mentions his sister, one she wasn’t even aware that he had. Granted, Clarke doesn’t know much about Bellamy Blake, other than that he’s Bellamy Blake. They’re both sophomores at Arkadia High, in the same AP English Literature class, and he makes snide comments whenever she eagerly answers a question.
Therefore, the only thing she really knows about Bellamy Blake is that he’s a pompous asshole. That, and the fact that he’s standing here, in the middle of this forest, on Christmas morning with a takeout bag in his hand. And that stupid smirk on his face, taunting her without having to say anything at all. Almost as if they’re still sitting in their AP English Literature class.
“Doesn’t explain why you’re in the middle of a forest,” Clarke bites out.
“It’s a shortcut back home. Have I explained myself enough?” Bellamy raises an eyebrow. Clarke crosses her arms over her chest, gnawing down on her lip as he straightens. “Your turn.”
A million half-assed lies run rampant in her mind. She also considers just telling him its none of his damn business why she’s here, but then again, she basically just interrogated him. The thought of having to say anything at all overwhelms the hell out of her, and paired with her original reasonings, combine together in a catastrophic mess of emotions. She’s not sure how she was able to combat it this far, but of course, with Bellamy Blake standing in front of her, she just can’t reel it in.
“It’s nothing,” Clarke tries. The look of disbelief sprawled across Bellamy’s face makes her sigh, and she tucks into herself shielding herself the harsh winds and his stare. “Christmas is a lot. Especially with my mother.”
Bellamy doesn’t say anything, but there’s no lack of emotion either; his eyes are trained intently on her, lips formed into a sympathetic smile. He waits for her to elaborate, as if there isn’t a bag of food in his hand and the wind isn’t swooping down on them in harsh waves. He waits like it isn’t Christmas Day, like there’s all the time in the world to discuss her obvious mommy issues. She pauses, analyzing this for herself, how someone who’s basically tormented her the whole semester could be so willing to listen.
Clarke’s not even sure she’s willing to share. She rarely ever is. Her friends know the bare minimum, and really, it’s because she doesn’t want them to worry. It’s not their cross to bear, not when everyone’s got their own problems. And she’s sure Bellamy has his own waiting for him at home, too. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t urge her to continue. He waits, ever so patient, eyes on her, silently telling her he’s listening.
“My mother and I aren’t close,” Clarke admits. “And that becomes even more apparent over the holidays.” She chews on her bottom lip, dipping her gaze from him, dragging her feet in the snow. “You ever just want to be alone?”
The tip of Clarke’s boot drags a line in the snow. She drags over it with her foot repeatedly, letting the words hang in the air, a little scared to catch a glimpse of the expression on Bellamy’s face. She doesn’t even know the guy, and here she is, on Christmas, telling him how she rather be alone on the holiday than spend more time than necessary with her mother. It’s pathetic, and it certainly sounds very pretentious of her.
“Families are hard,” Bellamy’s voice jolts her stare upward, meeting his eyes. “I know how that is. It’s just me, my mom and my sister.”
“It’s just my mom and I,” Clarke offers a small smile.
Bellamy tightens his lips, “It’s hard. The holidays just make everything more difficult. But I wouldbe alone if I didn’t have them.”
Clarke inhales, exhaling shakily. She understands how her situation may appear to someone on the outside. Especially while she’s here, complaining on Christmas, while she has a mother and a house full of food and presents.
“I know. It’s pathetic of me, I know.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” Bellamy steps forward, eyes locking with hers. “Nobody gets it more than me.” His chest rises, and falls. “You have a responsibility to your family that you shouldn’t. And being alone…it absolves you of that.”
A responsibility, a role, a façade to pretend that her relationship with her mother isn’t fractured. Clarke’s not certain what dysfunctional element is wedged into her family, but she knows it’s something. Something that makes her prefer to be alone on Christmas morning. But looking at Bellamy, she sees a familiar glimmer in his eye; one she recognizes in herself. And she wonders what it could be for him.
It’s a side of Bellamy that Clarke’s never seen before, and doubts she’ll ever see again after today. But for now, he keeps his arm around her, eyes on her and attention only on her. She finds the courage to meet his eyes, the darkness of his seeping into hers without protest. Her throat goes cry, and not from the crying, and she finds herself admiring the litter of freckles that pattern his face, standing out ever so prominently amongst the snow.
The flutter in her chest is the something that’s new. Usually, when it comes to Bellamy Blake, all she can feel is irritation and rage. Now, looking at him and all his generosity – all Clarke wants to do is question it. Bellamy Blake has no reason but pity to strike up a conversation with her, offer to be a person of support for her and her daddy issues. And the last thing Clarke ever wants is pity, especially from Bellamy Blake.
But looking at him, the tips of his lip have formed a smile. The smirk has disappeared, replaced by something warm and meaningful and Clarke almost feels like a bigger fool for wrapping herself up in it. His hand moves to her hip, giving her a comforting squeeze before it drops back to his side. Bellamy tucks his hand into his pocket, the other wrapped around the handle of the plastic bag and waits for her cue. There’s no mittens covering his fingers, so she’s certain standing out her for here is just as much physical pain for him as it is emotional for her.
When they return for Christmas break, Clarke’s pretty sure this conversation will appear like it never happened. And that’s fine, her friends will all be back from their holidays and she can find comfort in them. She doesn’t need Bellamy Blake for anything, doesn’t even really need him in this moment. But – not that she’d admit it – it’s nice to have someone look at her without pity in their eyes and frowns on their faces.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks, Bellamy.” Clarke coughs out. “I’ll let you get back to your family.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Bellamy suggests before she can even take a step back.
Clarke furrows her eyebrows. “You don’t know where I live. I could live on the other side of town, you’d walk all the way over there?”
“We live in Arkadia. The other side of town is a fifteen minute walk.”
“Well, I don’t live on the other side of town, so it’s only going to be a five minute walk.”
Bellamy laughs, and this time, it lacks snark or snide. His laugh is warm, inviting, rids of the cold penetrating her body and tickles her skin. He rests his gaze on her with a smile that is just as warm as his laugh, an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes. Maybe this is the Bellamy Blake charm Clarke is so used to hearing around school. God, she hates that it worked this easily on her.
The walk is quiet, for the most part. They make it out of the clearing without a hassle; Bellamy seems to know the trail just as well as her. He extends his hand to her when they get to a hefty log, and while Clarke doesn’t take it, she admires the thought. He walks beside her the whole time, shoulder brushing against hers. Every once in a while, he’ll glance at her and she’ll pretend she doesn’t notice, staring straight ahead at the snow-littered street before them. When he looks away, she catches glimpses of him out of her peripheral.
“I’m sorry I’m interrupting your Christmas,” Clarke winces as they turn the corner onto her street. “I know you much rather be with your family.”
“You’re not as annoying as you are when we’re in class,” Bellamy explains, casual and swift. He looks to her, with a playful smirk. “I could get used to spending the holidays with you, princess.”
Clarke laughs, bitter and dry. “I’d rather spend Christmas in class than with you.”
“That must just sound like a vacation to you.”
He walks her all the way up to her doorstep, even as she quickens her pace ahead of him. Even waits as Clarke peers through the window, trying to decipher if her mother is awake. Turning back to him, she can see the amusement in his smile as he leans against the railing of her porch, eyes just grazing over her.
“What?” Clarke quips.
“You’re funny,” Bellamy shrugs.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“It’s your mannerisms. You’re always on high alert, jittery and fast. Your mind runs a mile a minute.”
“Well, aren’t you observant?”
“Only when it comes to you, princess.”
Clarke rolls her eyes – Bellamy Blake, the pompous ass has returned. But she can’t help but offer him the smallest of smiles, because he’s still standing there, watching her.
She realizes it then. he’s waiting for her to actually physically enter the house. She turns back towards the wooden frame, slowly unlocking the door and creaking it open ever so slightly, as to not disrupt her mother. Carefully, she places one boot onto the mat, not making even the tiniest of sounds when she fully steps inside. Glancing around the foyer, she breathes out a sigh of relief to find it empty before turning back to Bellamy.
Bellamy hasn’t even taken one step off of the porch. It’s only when she looks at him that he takes the cue to draw back. His back turns to her as he etches down the porch, mimicking Clarke’s quiet steps. She’s not sure if he’s making fun of her or just trying to respect the fact that she snuck out on Christmas morning and is trying to avoid the consequences – but it brings a smile to her face, nonetheless.
His feet sink back into the cushion of the snow before he turns back to her. Clarke shifts, gnawing at her lip, an awkward silence seeping over the two of them. They only stare for a moment, light eyes meeting his dark ones – a silence agreeance. He tightens his lips into a smile, bowing his head to her before turning towards the street.
“Bellamy!” Clarke calls out to him. He glances over his shoulder, meeting her eyes once more. “Thanks. For walking me home.”
“Not a problem,” Bellamy insists. “But don’t go asking for more favors from me.”
Clarke feigns innocence. “From Bellamy Blake? Oh, I would never dream of it.”
Bellamy chuckles, a light filling the darkness of his eyes that brings a flutter to Clarke’s stomach. He pauses, as if a sentence forms in his brain, but dies on his tongue. His face falls into a comfortable stare, content and amused as he stares back at Clarke.
“Merry Christmas, Clarke.” Bellamy settles on.
Before she can even open her mouth to say it back, Bellamy swivels around on his heel and patters through the snow, back in the direction of the forest. Clarke debates calling out a similar celebratory phrase to him, but she already risked her mother hearing her when she called his name. So, she closes the door, and watches Bellamy out of the window and waits until his figure meshes with the blur of the falling snow, before he eventually disappears around the corner.
II.
Clarke wouldn’t exactly call herself friends with Bellamy Blake, but they’re above the acquaintance level. His mocking lowers to a minimum – although never ceases completely – and he says hi to her in the halls, starts conversations if they happen to be in the same place at the same time, invites her to parties at his house sometimes. It’s never anything above that, but ever since their stint in the forest the year prior, there’s a basic level of respect that Clarke can get behind.
It’s why she’s so surprised to see him at her doorstep on Christmas Eve. The knock at the door was a great way to excuse herself from an awkward Christmas dinner with her mom and her new boyfriend, so she scurries to the door, expecting to see some carolers. Instead, Bellamy Blake stands at her door, hands tucked into his pockets and a sheepish smile sprawled across his face.
“Hi,” Bellamy greets her.
Clarke glances behind her into the foyer, straining her ear to hear her mother and Marcus chatting leisurely in the dining room. She slips on her boots and steps out into the cold, confusion overriding her sense of logic.
“Hi,” Clarke responds hesitantly. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d keep up the tradition,” Bellamy tries, a forced smile on his face.
Clarke tilts her head, sighing deeply. “Bellamy.”
Bellamy’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Okay, okay. My sister’s spending tonight with her friend’s family. My mom’s working. And I just…”
Didn’t want to be alone. Normally, Clarke sinks into her desire for solitude, especially around the holidays. Nobody’s words can be as useful to her as the thoughts in her head, and while it might not be the healthiest of coping mechanisms, it’s certainly one that she commonly resorts to. She understands why people aren’t like that, though. It’s a lonely way to go through life. And looking at Bellamy, his face distorted into a plea she’s never quite seen from him, she figures it’s time to repay the favor from the year prior.
“Well, get your ass inside,” Clarke urges him. “I can’t be caught out here with Bellamy Blake.”
A smirk crawls across Bellamy’s face, but before a snarky remark can tag along, Clarke hooks her arm under his and ushers him inside. He’s barely stumbled in when the smirk falls from his face, the amusement in his expression subsiding into a reserved stance. Clarke furrows her eyebrows, glancing behind her to see her mother and Marcus standing at the end of the foyer.
“Clarke,” Abby’s voice sends chills down Clarke’s spine. “Who’s your friend?”
Clarke keeps her grip on Bellamy’s arm, smiling confidentially. “This is my friend, Bellamy. His family is out for Christmas, so I figured he could spend Christmas with us.”
Abby arches her brow, unimpressed. “Will he be sleeping over?”
“No, ma’am.” Bellamy hurries to reply. “I’m picking up my sister from her friend’s house in a couple hours.”
“Your sister spends the night at a friend’s house on Christmas Eve?”
“Just like I’m spending it with mine,” Clarke ensures the plasticity of her smile shines.
Silence falls over the four, the only sound being the cursing winds of the winter night slamming wrapping against the windows. Marcus, her mother’s boyfriend, looks lost, switching his gaze between his girlfriend and her daughter. The combination of irritation and disappointment etched into her features would typically amuse Clarke, but not when they’re directed towards Bellamy. He tenses against her, but Clarke squeezes his arm right back. He had her back just the year before; and she intends to have his today.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bellamy,” Marcus soars in, extending his hand. Bellamy shakes his hand firmly, a tight smile across his lips. “And Merry Christmas. Are you hungry?”
“No, no, I ate a while ago.” Bellamy insists.
Before Abby can open her mouth to interrogate him any further, Clarke nudges Bellamy’s foot, a silent signal for him to take off his boots. He, somehow, gets it, and just as the boot hits the ground, Clarke’s already ushering him far away from her mother and boyfriend. “Great, thanks, we’ll be in the living room.”
Bellamy hesitates to settle into Clarke’s living room, hovering over the couch when they enter. It’s a good ways away from the foyer, and Clarke doubts her mother and Marcus will make much of an appearance. But Bellamy gnaws on his bottom lip, hesitantly sinking into the couch, keeping his gaze on his hands. It’s a side of him Clarke’s witnessed more than once now, and granted, they’re not close – but after all, this is their second Christmas together. Last year may have been purely accidental, but this year, he came here for her.
Clarke starts up the fireplace, noting how Bellamy shivers. She’s thankful it’s electric, sends warmth into the room immediately, and out of her peripheral, she can see Bellamy’s shoulders relax. She stands to her feet, glancing from him to the fireplace. She excuses herself, ignoring the pit in her stomach for leaving him alone, even its just for a couple of minutes.
Abby and Marcus are in the kitchen when she enters, chatting amongst themselves. Their eyes lift when Clarke enters, not that she says anything in greeting. She rummages through the pantries, finding the package of hot cocoa and ripping it open with her teeth. She can vaguely hear their murmurs subsiding, and she prays they don’t say anything. Marcus, smart man he is, resigns himself to cleaning the dishes. Her mother approaches, just as Clarke is stirring the cocoa.
“I can’t believe you brought your boyfriend here on Christmas,” Abby hisses in her ear.
“Why not? You did.” Clarke bites out. Abby quiets, her daughter’s gaze never lifting from the cocoa she pours into two mugs. “Bellamy’s not my boyfriend. He’s a…”
Friend? Can she even call him that? Clarke’s not sure. But then again, she’s also not sure what to call someone who’s not her boyfriend, and not a friend, that ends up on her couch on Christmas Eve. Nothing she says will justify any of it to her mother, so she may as well put the scolding on pause until the morning and get back to Bellamy.
Clarke lifts her gaze to her mother, handing a mug in one hand and another in the other. “A friend. Bellamy’s a friend. And he’ll be gone before Santa can fill my stocking with coal.”
She doesn’t wait for another snarky comment from her mother, marching back out of the kitchen. Bellamy’s waiting for her on the couch, appearing more timid than Clarke’s ever seen someone. She holds out one of the mug’s to him.
“You like hot chocolate?” Clarke asks.
The ends of Bellamy’s lip tip up into a small smile. “I do. Thank you.”
Bellamy accepts the mug from her, taking a ginger sip from the freshly made beverage. Clarke holds onto her own mug, glancing between the couch opposite to Bellamy and the one he’s sitting on. The last thing she would ever want to do is make him uncomfortable, but then his eyes meet hers. There’s no flicker of amusement or fire, but a longing, a sense of something that Clarke felt not too long ago herself.
She sinks into the cushion beside him, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “Not that I don’t love your company, but, what’s going on?”
Bellamy takes another sip of his hot chocolate, tongue running along the seams of his lips in contemplation. Clarke watches, eyes as intent on his as he is hers. She can sense the tension coursing through his body, notes how his Adam’s apple bobs nervously as he stares at her. Clarke softens, reaching out and gently placing her hand on his knee. His eyes dart down to her hand on him, and he breathes out, low and shaky.
“My mom needs to pay rent, I understand why she took the shift today.” Bellamy starts. “But my sister insisted that Christmas with Hope and her mother would be better than one without hers.”
Clarke deflates, “Oh, Bellamy. I’m so sorry.”
“Octavia’s just a kid. She doesn’t mean it. I just – I didn’t want to be alone.”
Maybe Clarke’s contradicting herself, because normally, isolation is her friend. No pity or sad excuses for conversation. There’s just her, and her thoughts, and that’s okay. But with Bellamy, there’s an understanding, a basic one that goes unsaid. Perhaps it’s only prominent during the holiday season, but when she stares into Bellamy’s eyes during the magic of Christmas, there’s a beat to her heart that she thought had ceased long ago.
Bellamy’s eyes lock with hers, the smallest of smiles on his face. “I chose you cause you were the only one available.”
Clarke rolls her eyes, tearing her gaze from him, trying to ignore the way her chest tightens. “I’m flattered.”
He leans forward, resting his mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table before he moves his hand to rest a top of hers, the chuckle that escapes his lips bringing more warmth to Clarke than the fire ever has. She glances back at him, soaks in the warmth of his smile, the warmth of him, as he stares at her with dark, thankful eyes. Clarke resists the urge to smile back, not wanting to give into his charms; although, there’s a aura that generously radiates off of him. One that makes Clarke want to trust him, be his friend, despite their back and forth for the better part of high school.
Clarke will deny it when Christmas is over. Her and Bellamy are nothing more than acquaintances, who sometimes have heated debates in the middle of their English Literature class. Sometimes, she and her friends go to his parties, and once in a while, they’ll say hello in the halls. She doesn’t know what type of friend she could be to Bellamy Blake. Clarke worries they’ll be teetering on the scale of friendship and something else entirely.
“I’m just kidding,” Bellamy assures her.
“Oh yeah?” Clarke challenges. “Then why did you come here? Not to any of your friend’s or your array of women?”
“Array of women? What year are we in?”
“You know what I mean.”
Bellamy’s hand never leaves hers, even as he leans back into the sofa. His fingers subtly wrap around hers, his thumb grazing against the softness of her skin. Clarke tries to keep her eyes on him, steady and level, but she suddenly feels unbalanced. It’s not a feeling she particularly likes, but it’s one that Bellamy locks in, magically and without much of a warning.
“I don’t know,” Bellamy confesses, a small smile on his lips. “I just…started walking. And I ended up here.”
His gaze drops to their hands, intertwined with one another. Clarke’s stare never leaves his face, finds herself counting the freckles on his face. They’re much more prominent in the firelight than against the grey overcast of winter; she loses count twice, and when she goes for a third attempt, Bellamy looks up at her.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Clarke finds herself saying. She catches herself, knows how it sounds coming from her lips, especially as Bellamy’s eyes widen in response. She coughs, “Imagine how the school is going to react when they find out Bellamy Blake is in my house.”
Bellamy bursts out into a laugh; boisterous and loud and warming the room. Clarke watches, waiting for his gaze to settle back on her. The amusement in his smile is a million times better than the previous hesitation, or worry. He melts her into her, in a way, a trust that’s somehow been formed against all forces of the Universe. Clarke’s pretty sure if she ever did tell anyone that Bellamy Blake was at her house, much less on Christmas Eve, that nobody would believe her.
His hand squeezes hers, staring back at her. “Thank you, princess. For all your servitude.”
Clarke rolls her eyes, playfully this time. Looking at him, their eyes locking once more, she feels an overwhelming sensation in her chest. Her throat goes dry, and she forces herself to tear her gaze away from him. She stares at the electric fireplace, the digital flames of fire growing and diminishing so planned, so forced. Soaking back in the feeling of Bellamy’s hand on hers, it feels natural. It may be the only thing in this house that feels that way.
She feels the cushion dip before she hears Bellamy scooting closer. His hand unwraps from hers, but before she can miss it, his touch is back. He’s not hesitant this time, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. It stays there, for a moment, both of them still. Unsure of what this means; their lack of friendship and burst of feelings are a shaky combination. They’ve only really spoken on Christmas; and that’s got to say something – something like, hey, this isn’t real. This is two people who happen to have shitty Christmases two years in a row, and use each other to feel better.
It’s not a friendship. Clarke’s not sure what it is. But she sets her mug of hot chocolate down on the coffee table beside Bellamy’s, and sinks into him anyways, allowing her back to press against his torso. She scoots closer to him, and he wraps her into his embrace. She doesn’t look at him; a little scared of what’ll happen if she does. Instead, she feels the warmth that radiates off him so generously seep in her, sharing the wealth of one another as they stare at the fireplace, wordlessly and in each other’s embrace.
III.
By Clarke’s senior year of high school, she friends with Bellamy Blake. Not even just friends, best friends. Her friends think she’s lost her mind, and the rest of the school thinks they’re hooking up, but Clarke knows the truth. The solace she finds in Bellamy is everything she can’t find in the solitude of herself. He’s more than a light at the end of the tunnel; Bellamy is a ray that shines amongst the darkness.
There’s barely a day that goes by where they don’t see each other. Which is why the minute that Abby announces that her and Marcus are going on a cruise for the holidays, that Clarke calls Bellamy to come over. She doesn’t expect for him to have her come to his house to meet his mother and sister.
Clarke knocks on the door, a bag full of gifts in her hand, heart pounding a mile a minute. She’s met her friend’s families before, but never a friend like Bellamy Blake. She’s not sure what she’s expecting – after all, Bellamy talks so highly of his mother and sister, especially for two individuals with a tendency to rely so heavily on him. They’re expecting her, they know she’s a friend without any family this year, she’s got nothing to worry about.
And then, his sister opens the door. Octavia’s thirteen, with nothing but a scowl on her face. “Are you Clarke?”
Clarke forces a smile, “I am. You must be Octavia?”
“What’s it to you?”
“O,” the familiarity of Bellamy’s voice brings Clarke’s heart rate back to a normal level. He appears behind his sister, clapping his hands down on her shoulders. “Be nice. Clarke brought gifts.”
That brightens Octavia’s spirit like no other. She basically throws Clarke inside, and minutes later, they three of them are sprawled across Bellamy’s living room. Clarke hands Octavia her gift, wrapped neatly in reindeer Christmas wrap, that’s destroyed within seconds. Bellamy shares a sheepish look with Clarke, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment, but she just flashes him a smile. Clarke hasn’t seen someone this excited for Christmas in a long time.
Octavia holds up a necklace, lined with shiny pearls. She marvels at it between her fingers, running her thumbs in between one of the pearls. “Wow. This is gorgeous. Bellamy would never have the taste to get me something this pretty.”
“Alright, diva,” Bellamy scoffs. “Go try it on, will you?”
“I can try it on here.”
“I think it’ll look much better in your room.”
Octavia narrows her eyes, ready to challenge him. But the sharp look on Bellamy’s face is enough to have her scrambling to her feet and stomping off to her room. Clarke laughs, glancing at Bellamy as his stern expression subsides into an amused smile. He waits until he hears the door close before he crawls over to the couch, taking out a rectangular shaped gift.
“Wait, I have something for your mom,” Clarke glances around, trying to spot the infamous Blake parent she’s heard so much about.
“She picked up a shift,” Bellamy shrugs. “It’s just you, me and O.”
Clarke’s gaze settles back on Bellamy. “What? On Christmas? Didn’t she pick up a shift yesterday?”
“She was offered another one today. Couldn’t say no,” Before Clarke can even express how disappointing that is, Bellamy shoves the gift in her lap. It’s evident he doesn’t want to talk about it, and today, Clarke can let that slide. After all, it’s Christmas. “Now, open your gift.”
Eyeing him skeptically, Clarke sets the rest of her gift bags aside. She reaches down, running her fingers over the neatly wrapped present. Bellamy sits across from her, legs crossed, like a child eagerly awaiting to open his own Christmas gift. It brings a goofy smile to her face, one she has trouble controlling whenever she’s with him. Especially now, as he stares at her with his big, dark eyes and tries to suppress his own grin.
Clarke carefully tears open the wrapping, revealing a hefty copy of a book of plays, staring back at her. She instantly flips the book over to its back, her eyes scanning down the list at the array of plays featured. Every one that her eyes glaze over are one’s she’s read and yearns to read a million times more or ones that she’s talked none stop about wanting to read. Her mouth gapes open, and when she looks at Bellamy, she can feel the familiar prick of tears in her eyes.
“Bellamy,” Clarke breathes. “How did you find this thing?”
“I had to order it,” Bellamy scoots closer, leg brushing against hers. “It even has The Glass Menagerie, I know you’ve been wanting to read that since you whined about it in English Lit.”
Clarke’s hand runs over the woven fabric of the book, its weight forming a crease in her leg, one that is much worth it. She opens it, flipping through the pages and allowing the words to blur before her very eyes as she reaches the last page. Clarke’s never been at a loss for gifts on Christmas, but she can say with the utter most confidence, that no present has ever been more thoughtful than the one she has in her lap.
“God, Bellamy,” Clarke lifts her gaze from the book to gaze at him. “You amaze me. You know that?”
The words just tumble from her lips, without rhyme or reason. Clarke should probably be embarrassed, reel in her obvious affections for her friend who simply got her a thoughtful gift. But instead of his cheeks turning red or him looking away, Bellamy’s eyes lock with hers, and a small, soft smile creeps up on his lips.
“You amaze me every day, princess,” Bellamy’s voice is barely above a whisper. He swallows thickly. “King Learis in there as well. Princess reading a book about princesses.”
“All those princesses are bitches.”
“Except Cordelia.”
“She dies.”
“Don’t they all?”
Clarke giggles, but finds herself lost in the essence of him. She can’t remember a time when she hated Bellamy Blake, although she knows it wasn’t too long ago. All she can think of now when she looks at him is how he saved her, not only from her mess of Christmases, but from her isolation within herself. She never feels so alone in the world when she’s next to Bellamy. Never wants to be beside anyone else but him.
“You’re not like those princesses, though.” Bellamy teases, a lopsided smile taking up the corners of his lips. He falters, as if he debates whether or not these words should leave his lips. “You keep everything in order. You keep me sane. Centered.”
“Centered,” Clarke repeats, echoing the words that come from his lips. She’s never heard such a perfect word to describe the two of them; she’s had trouble defining anything when it comes to the two of them. “I think you have that backwards.”
No smirk, no snarky remark comes from Bellamy. He just stares at her, eyes melting into hers. She notes when his eyes fall to her lips, his tongue smoothening over his own. And she prays for him to do it. Her breath hitches when his eyes come back up to meet hers, as if asking for permission. She’s frozen in place, wanting nothing more than to have Bellamy in this way, right here. Her eyes are half-lidded, and she’s about to lean closer when –
The pounding of Octavia’s footsteps interrupt their gaze, Bellamy’s eyes tearing from hers to glance at his sister appearing in the living room. She grins at the two of them, completely oblivious as she flaunts the pearls decorating her neck.
“Don’t I look amazing?” Octavia marvels.
“Beautiful,” Clarke echoes, the uneven tone in her voice coming from her being nothing but breathless when Bellamy looks at her that way.
Octavia doesn’t seem to notice. “Right? Thanks, Clarke. This is the best gift I’ve ever got.” She doesn’t even have time to blink before she continues. “Are we ready to eat?”
Clarke realizes Bellamy does pretty much everything, really quickly. She’s already known this from what he’s told her within the past year, but it’s like she’s seeing a parent, chef, nanny and maid work all at once. He cooks dinner for them, orders Octavia to set the table, scolds her for not putting away her phone, cleans up when they’re done. Clarke helps out, seasoning the turkey, helping Octavia with the table set, and washing dishes, but her assistance is nothing to Bellamy. He’s in overdrive, the whole time she’s there.
Not that she can blame him. Clarke thinks back to two Christmases ago, back in that forest. The responsibility he said everyone has to their family. This is more than responsibility, or a role or a façade; this is Bellamy’s life, taken over by caring for his sister on Christmas Day, basically raising her. Clarke keeps her mouth shut, however, soaking in the conversation and laughter that bounces back and forth between Bellamy and his sister. At least they have each other.
After dessert – which Bellamy also prepares and cleans up – Octavia scampers off to her room to call her friend. Clarke sinks into the couch beside Bellamy, who’s clearly exhausted, head leaning against the cushion and exhaling deeply.
“Do you want me to go?” Clarke frowns.
Bellamy straightens instantly. “No, no. Sorry, I’m just tired.”
More like overworked. Clarke gives him a small smile anyways, “I know what’ll make you feel better.”
“A butler?”
“Maybe the next best thing?”
Amusement patters across Bellamy’s face as Clarke leans down, digging into her gift bag. She straightens back up on the couch, holding out her palms and balancing his gift bag. Bellamy smirks at her, but the gratitude that shines in his eyes is what makes Clarke’s heart flutter. He accepts the gift from her, playfully rattling it by his ear.
“It’s a silent criminal,” Clarke taunts him.
“You’re scaring me here,” Bellamy feigns a pout.
“Good.”
Bellamy takes out the tissue, carefully setting it by him. Clarke takes a moment to admire his gentle gift unwrapping abilities, but she’s sure she’s unable to control the smile directed towards him for a million more reasons. When he finally pulls out the stuffed animal, with two paper tickets taped to his hand.
He smiles at the teddy bear, but when he squints at the ticket in his hand, Bellamy breaks out into a feverish grin. “No fucking way. You got me tickets to the Polis Museum?”
“And a teddy from its gift shop,” Clarke tickles her finger against the stuffed animal’s stomach. “I figured when we go for a campus tour during spring break, we could stop by the museum. Got to prepare for those classes.”
Suddenly, Bellamy’s mood morphs. His grin drops into by a placid smile that Clarke can smell the plasticity from. His eyes fall from her, back to the teddy, glazing over into something unreadable. Clarke peers at him, confusion riddling her features and an undeniable tightness in her chest as Bellamy deflates before her.
“About that,” Bellamy starts, clearing his throat. “I don’t need to go on a campus tour to Polis University, because I’m not going.”
“What?” Clarke raises her eyebrows. “All you’ve been talking about is going to Polis U.”
Bellamy sighs deeply, trying to stand from the couch. Clarke wraps her hand around his wrist, pulling him back down, trying to get him to look at her. His gaze remains on his lap for a moment, before he looks back at Clarke.
“It’s better I stay here, for my sister.” Bellamy keeps his voice low. “I’ll get an apartment in the area, so I can have my own place, but still help out around here.”
“You can’t put your life on hold for your mother and sister, Bellamy. What about school? What about your dreams of getting out of this place?”
“That’s just it, Clarke. They’re dreams. I have to be realistic. My sister is my responsibility, I have to be here for her.”
“You’ll only be two hours away! We can come back on weekends–”
Something inside Bellamy snaps, glaring at Clarke as his eyes filling with fire blazing before the shimmer of tears. Clarke leans back, this sudden outburst so unlike Bellamy and so undeniably unfair to him that it makes her own heart crack in her chest. His chest rises, and falls, and she stares back at him, daring to say what he thinks he has to. If that’s going to make him feel better, just for a moment.
“I can’t just abandon my family, like you can.” Bellamy seethes and her heart shatters. “You don’t have anyone you’re responsible for once you get that acceptance letter. I do.”
“You think I want to abandon my family?” Clarke whispers, afraid if her voice gets any higher, it’ll break.
“I think you can. And you have every right to go. I don’t.”
“You’re not doing this for you, Bellamy. You’re doing this for other people–”
“For people who need me.”
Clarke threatens to shout; I need you. Her eyes brim with tears as the sentence forms on her tongue. She stares at him, betrayed and hurt, and Bellamy looks to her with such certainty, it makes her want to crumble right before him. All she wants is for him to realize what she has; they owe nothing to anyone, only themselves. They’ve both done what they can for their families. Isn’t it their turn?
It would be selfish of her, however, to claim that she needs him. Maybe a part of her does, but what good would it do for Bellamy to know that? His mind is made up, and his plan excludes her. But she knows, deep in her heart, that if he would just be selfish for a moment, he would go with her. They’d both run away from Arkadia and never look back.
But now, as the snow falls outside and Christmas comes to an end, reality sinks in. The charade of miracles and hopes of Christmas come to a halt when the holiday ends, and they’re thrust back into a world that owes them nothing.
IV.
Clarke should not be standing at Bellamy Blake’s door right now. In their last semester of high school, their relationship dwindled to absolutely nothing by graduation. They didn’t talk all summer, and once she started attending Polis University, they ignored each other’s existence completely. There should be no reason for her to be standing inside his apartment building, outside his door. There’s even less of a reason for her to be knocking on it.
But, when she hears shuffling from the other side of the door, Clarke’s frozen in place. She waits, even when the shuffling comes to a stop. Staring into the peephole, knowing that he’s looking at her, probably just as surprised as she is. He has every right not to let her in. She almost thinks he’s going to let her stand out there, retreat back inside his apartment, when the sound of unlocking rings through her ears.
Bellamy’s barely opened the door before she’s launched herself into his arms. He doesn’t even hesitate to wrap his arms around her, take her into his embrace as she sobs into his chest. He holds her, on Christmas Eve, like nothing has changed. Like they aren’t living in two different worlds, for two different reasons. As if they’re solace still lies in one another. Clarke knows hers just might be.
“I’m so sorry,” Clarke sobs into his chest. “The snowstorm delayed my train, but I thought it was going to be until tomorrow, but it was only a couple hours, and my phone is dead and I lost my key to my house and my mom and Marcus are asleep and I didn’t know where else to go–”
“Hey, hey,” Bellamy’s soothing voice is melodic to her ears. His fingers run through her hair, reassuring her without having to say anything at all. “It’s alright. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Clarke sobs for a little while longer, the frustration of everything accumulating and combusting right before her. Getting away from Arkadia has been nothing but a blessing; she loves Polis University, loves living her own, loves her friends and loves not needing to pretend to be someone she isn’t. In Polis, she can be herself. But there’s always something missing. And Clarke knows life isn’t supposed to be perfect, but she also knows that if she still had Bellamy, her life would be close to it.
“Stay here tonight,” Bellamy whispers. He keeps one arm wrapped around her, extending the other to pull her suitcase inside. “I’ll drive you back to your mom’s house in the morning.”
Clarke feverishly wipes at her tears with the back of her sleeve. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt your Christmas Eve.”
Bellamy offers her a small smile, and fuck, has she missed that. “Octavia’s at her friend’s place, and my mom is working again. I won’t see them until tomorrow.”
Clarke nods, a small smile taking up her own features. She takes her suitcase from him, glancing around his apartment. It’s relatively small, not that she minds, but it’s a space that screams Bellamy. A bookcase full to the brim, the kitchen and living room spotless. Peering down the hallway, she can glance into the bedroom, that is just as immaculately clean.
“Besides,” Bellamy adds, Clarke snapping her gaze back to him. “You’ve never disrupted any of my Christmases.”
Just as Clarke’s heart flutters, Bellamy turns his back to her, leading her to the bedroom. Her suitcase rolls behind her as she follows him, walking past the window in his living room. The storm doesn’t appear to be letting up anytime soon, and while it was irritating a couple hours ago, she’s kind of grateful for it now. Anything to be spending another Christmas with Bellamy.
Clarke places her suitcase beside the door as Bellamy straightens out the duvet cover on the mattress. Her eyes follow him, tracing over his hands working the mattress and then his body. She wasn’t sure what time it was, just knew it was late when she started heading over. But the alarm clock on his nightstand reads 2:44am. She’s disrupting the actual Christmas day, and not the Eve, but before she can feel the guilt plague her, Bellamy stands before her, already dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt for bed.
“You can take the bed,” Bellamy offers. “Goodnight–”
“I’m not taking your bed on Christmas,” Clarke insists. “I’ll take the couch.”
“You’re not taking the couch, Clarke.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. Unless you sleep in this bed with me.”
It’s a far fetch, but the words tumble from her lips before she can restrain them, or at least attempt to format them in a more appropriate way. Bellamy’s eyes widen, surprised by her request. When they were friends, not too long ago, they’d cuddle up together anytime. She straightens, hoping her confidence radiates just that; this is nothing more than what they used to do as friends. Right?
Bellamy swallows thickly, and she worries he’s going to say no, when he coughs, “Um, alright. I’ll let you get dressed.”
Clarke’s never changed into anything so fast. She calls him back when she’s done, decorated in frosty pajama pants and a wooly long sleeve. It’s less sexy than she would have liked, but she didn’t bring home any lingerie for Christmas, so this will have to do. It seems to work just fine, Bellamy’s eyes glazing over her in admiration she’s not sure that she deserves. He doesn’t say anything, just nods to her, before they crawl back into bed.
Backs turned to each other, Clarke finds the exhaustion that plagued her just an hour ago slipping away. She stares at his wall, hyperaware that he’s just a couple inches away from her, in the same bed. She could close her eyes, try her best to sleep and wait until the morning, return back to her home and then eventually to Polis, going back to not speaking to him for another year, or maybe longer. But her heart sinks at the thought, and here Bellamy is, just a couple inches away.
Clarke shifts onto her side, facing Bellamy’s back. “Bellamy.”
Bellamy stills. She knows he’s not asleep, the rise and fall of his chest halting when she said his name. Regardless, he waits a moment before he shifts too, facing her. Now, instead of their backs being inches away from one another, it’s their faces, and that’s all the more intimate. She’s nearly forgotten the placement of his freckles, so intricately patterned across his skin. Clarke’s breath hitches, and she’s not sure she’s going to be able to get the words out.
“What is it?” Bellamy asks.
Clarke swallows. She doesn’t know. Thankfully, the words form themselves, flowing from her lips without much more thinking. “I think about you all the time. I wonder what you’re doing, if you’re happy. Are you happy?”
Bellamy stares back at her, eyes dark. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
It’s all that matters to Clarke. Bellamy’s dark eyes shimmer, and her heart threatens to shatter right there. Her cheek pressed into his pillow, she reaches out to run her hand over his exposed cheek. His eyes flutter closed, a low, shaky breath falling from his lips. She tucks herself closer to him, feels his torso brush up against hers, can’t imagine how she’s gone this long without being this close to him.
“If you tell me you’re happy here in Arkadia, I’ll believe you.” Clarke whispers. “I won’t want to, but I will. I’ll let you live this life, Bellamy. Tell me this is what makes you happy.”
Bellamy fights to open his eyes, to stare back at her. “Are you happy, Clarke?”
That’s a question Clarke had to fight within herself many times. She’s pondered, inquired and asked so many times if this is what happiness was when she was in Polis. Sometimes she’s not sure; she has her bad days and her good days. But deep in her heart, she knows the truth.
“When I stepped off that train, my heart sunk,” Clarke admits. “In Polis, there’s no sinking feelings. There’s just existing, going on day by day and wondering what comes next. I’m happy there.”
Bellamy’s chest rises and falls as Clarke’s thumb glides against his cheek. She waits for him, like he’s done for her in the past, anticipating whatever it is he says. She can take it, she has a life back in Polis. And while it may be uncomplete without him, it’s one that she’s able to root herself in. Her solace will always be in him, even if her life is located elsewhere.
“I used your tickets,” Bellamy says. “I went to the Polis Museum with Octavia. We weren’t speaking,” his eyes lock with hers. “And it’s the only place I wanted to be. I could picture myself there, building a life. Octavia even said the museum was made for nerds like me.”
Clarke giggles, the smallest of smiles brought to her face. “Polis was made for you, Bellamy. But you won’t be able to accept it if you think you need to be here.”
“I thought I needed to be here for Octavia,” Bellamy starts. “But she’s almost fifteen. She doesn’t need a babysitter, or someone to cook for her. Soon, she’ll be off to college. And where will I be?”
“Where do you want to be?”
Silence looms over them; Clarke can hear the gust of wind smacking against the window, accompanied by the blizzard of snow. But all that she can focus on is Bellamy, laying before her, and she prays for a Christmas miracle. Not for her, but for him. All she wants for Christmas is for Bellamy to have the chance to be who he is. Without the restraints of unspoken responsibility.
“With you,” Bellamy whispers. “I should have gone to Polis.”
Clarke doesn’t even have time to think of a reply before his lips soar in and capture hers. She rolls on top of him, her mouth crashing against his in a desperate need for him. His lips are soft, inviting, everything she imagined they would be and more. His hands come up to her hips, pulling her closer to him as they lay in this bed, on the earliest hours of Christmas morning.
“Bellamy, I’m in love with you,” Clarke breathes, resting her forehead against his. “And whatever you want, I want. We can do this, together.”
“I love you, too, princess.” Bellamy admits, and her heart opens. His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair behind her hair. “With you, I know who I can be. You bring out the potential in me that I’ve been trying to suppress for years.”
Clarke softens, bringing him in for one last savory kiss. She pulls away once more, “You deserve everything this world can offer you, Bellamy.”
She rests her head against his chest, feels the beat of his heart, the shift of the Christmas season. He cuddles her close to him, warmth finding every part of her body with his touch. As the day begins, and Bellamy holds her into the wee hours of the morning, Christmas starts on a positive note, for once in a long time. Clarke looks up at him, after hours of just being in each other’s embrace, and smiles softly.
“I don’t know what I would have done if I had to spend this Christmas without you,” Clarke admits.
A cheesy grin spreads across Bellamy’s face. “You probably would have got lost in that damn forest again.”
Clarke’s eyes shimmer as Bellamy leans in to peck her lips. The sun shines through the curtains of his bedroom as her lips move against his. The storm is sure to have let up by now, and she should probably be getting back to her family. But all she can think is that she’s home right now, wrapped in Bellamy’s embrace on Christmas Day.
V.
On Bellamy and Clarke’s first anniversary, it is their fifth Christmas together. Bellamy has a firm grip on her wrist as he drags her through the nature trail, Clarke throwing her head back in laughter behind him. The snow falls around them, decorating their coats, and jackets and hair, not that either of them care. They’re together, on Christmas, and that’s all that Bellamy and Clarke need.
Finally reaching the clearing, Bellamy takes Clarke into his arms, planting a kiss on her lips. It’s soft, just like the snow falling above them, brushing against one another in the security of being together. Clarke’s hands wrap around his neck, finding the warmth she seeks in him, flooding throughout her body. She draws back, resting her forehead against his as she bursts out into heaps of giggles.
“How long do we have?” Clarke whispers, her voice only for him to hear.
“About an hour,” Bellamy smirks. “Before Octavia starts blowing up my phone.”
“Oh, she just missed you.”
“Please, she called every day when we were in Polis. She’s all for her brother getting a quality education, as long as he can help her with homework at the end of the day.”
Clarke’s laugh is cut short as Bellamy’s lips meet hers once more. She relishes in the kiss, deepening her mouth against his and pushing him closer to her. Sometimes, she can’t believe it – that just a couple Christmases ago, Bellamy was nothing more than Bellamy Blake to her, just as she was princess to him. And now, she can’t imagine a life without him in it, can’t bear the thought of having to relieve the year prior. Especially now that she’s had him at Polis University with her all semester.
Maybe it’s selfish for Clarke to want him all to herself, but she reminds herself that isn’t what this is. Her and Bellamy come from a long line of living for others; and together, they live for themselves. Not only in the joy of Christmas, but on the other three hundred and sixty four days a year. Together, they’re not only living for one another, but for everything else they can offer the world, on their own accord.
Bellamy smiles into her lips, “I can’t wait to take you back to our apartment in Polis. Christmas starts after we finish up here.” Clarke laughs against his lips, although she knows that he’s a hundred percent serious. “But for now…Merry Christmas, princess.”
Clarke tightens her grip around Bellamy and murmurs against his lips, “Merry Christmas, Bellamy Blake.”