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When Raven stalked into his room late at night, Bellamy barely gave her a passing glance, keeping his eyes gluedto the plans laid out in front of him.
“I need to talk to you,” she announced, coming right up the edge of his desk.
“So talk,” he replied dryly, still not looking up. Kane needed his thoughts on the proposed updates to the camp’s defenses before their Council meeting tomorrow morning, and between his shift training the new recruits and the weekly meeting with the Grounder contingent and the time he spent helping build the newest set of cabins, Bellamy hadn’t been able to look them over until now, even as his body screamed for rest.
Raven smacked her hand down on the plans, forcing him to look up at her in exasperation. “What?” He barked, because it was late and he needed to look at those goddamn plans and maybe even get a little sleep for once.
With a warning glance that clearly read don’t take that tone with me dipshit, Raven bluntly asked, “What is up with you and Clarke?”
Taken aback, because Bellamy had expected her urgent business to be about Wick hogging her supplies, or how Monty was working himself too hard, he just stared at the mechanic, lost for words. Finally, he mustered up enough clarity to reply, “Nothing. There’s nothing up with me and Clarke.”
“Funny,” Raven said, giving him a calculating look. “Because here I thought it would be a competition between Octavia and I as far as who would avoid her the longest when she came back from her little hiatus. You’re screwing up the curve, Blake. So, I’m asking, why are you avoiding her?”
Baffled, Bellamy protested, “I’m not avoiding her. I talk to her almost every day.”
“You talk, but it’s damn uncomfortable for everybody around you. The tension is practically tangible. At least Octavia and I are making an effort to get over our shit with her, so don’t make me ask again,” she advised, tapping her finger twice against the plans to emphasize her point.
Sighing, Bellamy scrubbed a hand through his hair, wishing he had an answer for Raven. Or, rather, an answer that didn’t make him want to take his own hiatus from the camp, because he knew damn well why things were so awkward.
He was in love with Clarke Griffin. Probably had been for a while, but knowing it, feeling it, dealing with it, well, that was new.
All those months she had been gone, nothing had been there, other than a little sadness and anger and helplessness. The minute she had walked back through the gate, though, the deluge hit, and suddenly he was drowning in the deep end. Typical for him, really, that all it took was a glimpse of her blonde hair and the feel of her arms hugging him and her voice asking is it okay for me to come home? to have him tumbling head over heels for her.
Getting swept away like that, it was terrifying, and he could barely speak around her, worried that his secret would come tumbling out of his mouth every time she smiled hesitantly at him. It was awkward, he was awkward, and it unsettled both of them that their previously fluid camaraderie had disappeared. He knew he made her feel as if he was angry at her, or didn’t need her anymore. If only that were true, he thought ruefully. The thought of losing her again, and not just because he wanted her, but because leading alone was never something he had wanted, was inconceivable, and he wasn’t about to scare her off by admitting what he felt. She was still settling back into life at camp, finding her way with their people again. Bellamy felt he had no right to throw something at her like that, not this soon.
Still, it was damn hard to keep his mouth shut, or his eyes off of her, or his hands to himself. When the wind stirred up her hair, he wanted to push it back behind her ears, feel the way the curls would twine around his fingers. Every time she laughed, he couldn’t help but stare, loving the light that was back in her eyes after being absent for far too long. The way she tried to engage him, asking him simple questions that he knew she knew the answers to, just to try and get their connection back, made him want let her know just how important she was to him.
“You poor bastard,” Raven whispered, interrupting his chaotic thoughts.
“What?” he grunted, not liking the clarity in her gaze.
With a sharp laugh, she took a step back from the desk, assessing him carefully. Bellamy folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, staring stubbornly right back at her as he tried to slow the panic building in his chest.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her. She and I aren’t at that stage of friendship yet,” Raven teased, throwing him a shit-eating grin.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, standing up to fold the plans, hoping she would take the hint and leave. As he went through the motions of clearing his room for the night, he ignored her continued presence. Only when he was finally ready for bed did he acknowledge her.
“Unless you’re dying to see me naked again, Reyes, I suggest you get out,” he said thinly, giving her an annoyed glance.
Raven laughed again, backing up towards the door. “I don’t think Wick is that understanding of a guy, so keep your pants on for two more seconds, okay? I’ve got something to say.”
“Get on with it,” Bellamy urged, feeling his physical exhaustion and the tiredness at fighting his feelings weakening his resolve to avoid this conversation.
“Clarke is still healing, but you know how strong she is. You’re not going to break her,” Raven said softly.
“It’s too soon,” he muttered, cupping the back of his neck anxiously.
“Maybe,” she admitted. “But too soon is better than too late.”
With a kind smile, Raven shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the dimly lit bedroom. Sighing heavily, Bellamy flopped down onto his bed, wishing, maybe for the first time since landing on the ground, that Raven Reyes was just a little less smart.