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Life is good. It's not great, but it's good. Definitely better than Bellamy ever hoped for, though, so at least he has that.
It's been a little more than two years since the hundred were sent to earth and in the time since the landing he's gone from being a ruined janitor to the leader of a people group. He feels more like the dad of a really big family sometimes than just a leader. He owes it all to Clarke really.
At the start he would have denied that she had anything to do with it but he's become so resigned to owing her that he'd admit it without even a passing thought. More than that now, he's come to rely on her as more than a co leader. He's her co-everything.
Bellamy tries not to think about it too much. He's usually too busy to dwell on what it means but things have been going really well lately and there's less for him to spend his time fretting about than usual. The cabins they started on their first spring have all been finished and they're holding up well even in the snow, they have food stored up to last all season, and his people are generally content. It's a good feeling, but Bellamy can't bring himself to enjoy it the way he knows he should.
He’s grumpy and he knows it’s irrational but that doesn’t stop him from stomping across camp towards the cabin he shares with Wells, Raven, and Clarke. There’s mistletoe everywhere. It’s something that Fox and Harper read about in a salvaged book from one of the bunkers they’d raided this year, and Bellamy hates it. He thinks the whole idea of Christmas is generally stupid (you should give people things because you want to, not because the calendar says so), but mistletoe has to be the worst part about it.
For the past month he’s been very cautious of doorways and he makes sure to look up before he picks a spot to linger in. Not everyone takes that approach to the god damned weed as he does though. It shouldn’t bother him- really, it shouldn’t- but Clarke loves mistletoe. She’s probably kissed half the camp by now. It’s usually just a peck on the cheek before she’ll ruffle one of the delinquent’s hair or something, but for some reason (it most definitely is not jealousy) it rubs him the wrong way.
He tries to put it out of his mind, go over the list of things he has to do today, but the list is shorter than usual and it’s a hell of a lot harder not to think about something when you’re specifically trying not to think about it. The morning offers him a brief distraction when one of the younger kids can’t figure out the proper way to start a fire, but there’s only so much time he can spend teaching an eleven year old where to place kindling. He makes small talk with Finn about the weather. The sky is a particularly dull gray today, yes, more snow probably is in the forecast, no he doesn’t think they should worry. It’s nothing riveting, but by early afternoon he’s mostly forgotten that he was upset.
That is, until he walks into the mess hall and sees Clarke plant a kiss very squarely on Miller’s mouth. He lets out a quick huff and turns on his heel. He has some dried venison in the cabin, he didn’t really need lunch anyways. He tries to talk himself down as he’s marching determinedly away from Clarke, he know he looks crazy muttering to himself and staring pointedly at his feet. He can’t help himself though.
Clarke is so sparing with physical affection that it’s driving him mad to see her handing out kisses like it’s normal for her. All he gets is a hug maybe every two months or so when one of them leaves on a recon mission or stays out hunting too long. It can’t be too much for her if she’s distributing touches like they’re candy, so there must be something wrong with him that she can’t even offer a reassuring hand here and there.
Bellamy knows it’s flawed logic, but he thought for so long that maybe they were actually building something together, and now it seems like whatever it was was insignificant, it had to have been. He’s walked all the way to his cabin before he realizes he’s been followed by some angry footsteps that he knows without even having to turn around.
“What the hell, Bellamy?” she practically spits.
He whirls around and tries to keep his face neutral.
“What, Clarke?” It comes out sharper than he intended.
Clarke crosses her arms in response and gives him a look that he knows means she’s going to wait for an explanation for as long as it takes. Unfortunately for her, Bellamy is feeling particularly stubborn today.
“I didn’t do anything,” He huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets.
It started snowing a few moments before and there are flakes stuck in her hair. They’ve been on earth long enough to have seen their fair share of the stuff, but looking at Clarke he knows that he’ll never stop being in awe of how beautiful she it is.
“You’ve been avoiding me for weeks,” she replies and the hurt in her voice almost breaks him.
“No,” he rushes, “No, Clarke, of course I’m not avoiding you, I would never,” He couldn’t even if he tried. She’s magnetic.
Bellamy watches as some of the tension leaves her shoulders and the hurt on her face morphs into confusion. He’s not sure he’s ready to explain, though. He knows it won’t permanently damage their partnership if he tells her how much he wants to kiss her; he knows it would be better just to confess. He’s just scared to hear her say out loud that she’s not interested.
She’s not giving him an out, though.
“It’s the mistletoe,” he confesses. It doesn’t alleviate the curious crease that’s formed on her forehead. “I’m not avoiding you, I’m avoiding the mistletoe,” he clarifies.
“It’s just a stupid plant, Bellamy. A kiss isn’t going to kill you.”
“No, what’s going to kill me is seeing you kiss the entire camp,” his mouth betrays him.
He sees something register on her face as she processes and he waits all of three seconds just to give her a chance to slap him, or laugh at him, or walk away—to do anything really, but she just stands there and he knows he at least owes her an explanation.
“I know I have absolutely no right to be upset, so I’m sorry, but I just can’t stand watching it. I don’t have
any claim on you or anything so it’s unacceptable for me to even be thinking that, but God, Clarke, I probably love you and I want it to be me that you’re kissing, and not because a damn plant is telling you to.”
He starts counting up the days, months, years it will take for them to recover from this moment as he stares resolutely at the ground. Her silence is answer enough for him. He knows it’s one sided, he’s resigned to it.
Clarke’s hand lands gently on his arm and he’s forced to meet her gaze. It floors him
“I think I probably love you, too,” she whispers and then her lips are on his and all he knows is that even if he didn’t owe Clarke everything, he’d give it to her anyways.
He startles himself out of it for a moment and pulls back, tilting his head back to check the air above them. Clarke just slides a hand into his hair and pulls him back down to her.
“There’s no mistletoe, I already checked,” She grins.
He grins back, and they’re more pressing their smiles together than actually kissing, but it’s the best kiss he’s ever had, even if the mistletoe did have a little to do with it.