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Clarke’s apartment is smaller—smaller than his—but cozy. They never stay at his apartment, but he doesn’t mind. At his apartment, there’s a living room separate from his bedroom, but her studio is just the one room that they never have to leave. Sometimes, they lie on her couch and watch TV, but most of the time, they’re tangled in the sheets of her bed.
Summer is ending, but it’s still hot and hazy in the city, so her comforter is rumpled somewhere—half under her bed, half creating a tripping hazard on the way to the window that sticks in the heat. It doesn’t bother Bellamy, though, his skin is still gleaming with sweat from their last round of “loud, disturbing lovemaking,” (at least, according to his neighbors).
Her cheek is against his chest—which is still heaving while he tries to catch his breath—and her hair falls over her shoulder and his arm that’s holding her against him. Bellamy’s fingers are tracing mindless designs on her arm that’s resting over his stomach. And they’re happy in their silence.
In all the time that Bellamy has known Clarke, he’s never been uncomfortable in their shared silences. When they’d only just met through Octavia and mutual friends, they were forced together time and time again and when they were left to themselves, they didn’t need to say much—if anything. Eventually, they became friends—obviously. And one drunken night, they fell into bed together which was followed by the morning after—a tense silence, but not uncomfortable.
The more time they spent together, the more words they shared. They could talk for hours about nothing in particular. They could also analyze and dissect any topic until they were blue in the face. Their silences were fewer and far between, but they reveled in them. They could share so much without the use of words. Like, he knew that her kiss on his chest meant that she had finally caught her breath.
When his arms unwound from her body, she stood up and he studied her bare backside as she stepped—carefully—to the window to push it open. “We keep this up and I’m never going to get any work done,” she tells him and he smiles.
Her naked walk through the living room and into her kitchen makes his heart race and his smile spread. He could spend every Saturday—hell, every day—of his life watching her, being with her. When she crawls back into bed, she hands him a bottle of water and he thanks her with a kiss.
“I’ll get out of your hair first thing tomorrow,” he promises and she just shakes her head before crawling on top of him.
“Don’t you dare,” she warns and he smiles again. He can’t remember a time or a person that ever made him smile more—maybe Octavia, but in a very different way. “I work better with you around.”
“Yeah, when we’re clothed,” he reminds her and she laughs into the crook of his neck. After he caps the water bottle and lets it get lost in the sheets, he rolls them over to her side of the bed so he’s above her. “Which is so rare these days.”
“I can’t say I mind,” she admits and he kisses her mouth, her cheek, her neck.
“I love you,” he whispers in her ear and her whole body tenses. He starts to pull back, to see her face, but her legs wrap around his and her arms pull his top half against hers again.
“I love you so much,” she tells him and he swears he’s never felt happier in his life.
“Thank god,” he laughs and her fingers slip into his hair so she can pull his head out of her hair and kiss him square on the lips.
“You really doubted?” She asks between quick, wet pecks.
“I just,” he tries to start, but decides to roll onto his side and pull her with him first so he can actually look at her without worrying he’s crushing her under his weight. “I just never thought we’d get to this place,” he says and her brow furrows. His thumb runs over the crease between her eyebrows and she smiles softly, willing him to explain. “I’ve always just thought that relationships that start the way ours did were doomed to fail.”
“Yeah, well, we’re defying the odds,” she tells him with a smile. “Who cares how we started? All that matters is that we did and we’re here and that you love me.”
“Okay,” he laughs, rolling onto his back. He knows she’s teasing, but it works and he can feel his face start to flush. “You love me, too.”
“Damn right I do, Blake,” she promises as she comes back to rest against his chest again. “Always have, always will.”
“Always have?” He asks with a nervous laugh and she props her elbow on his chest so she can look down at him. “Really?”
“Are you kidding me? Yes.”
He smiles and nods because it’s the same for him. Even when they were arguing over stupid things when they first met, even when they were new friends learning new things about each other, even when they were just sleeping together for months, even when she said yes when he asked her to try for real, but especially now.
“Always will,” he tells her and her smile is so wide, her blue eyes seem brighter and her blonde hair seems blonder.
When she settles back against his chest, he pulls the sheet over them and they listen to the sounds on the street below them—to the cars driving past, to the people talking as they walk home from dinner or drinks, to the last of the crickets before summer ends—but inside, they don’t need any more words. All they need is each other and they already have that.