Work Text:
When the door finally closes, Clarke can feel the tension leave Bellamy with his sigh. The last of his family members have finally left the apartment after almost a full week of Thanksgiving-related celebrations. To say it’s been draining wouldn’t be enough to quite cover the exhaustion both Clarke and Bellamy feel.
He takes the few steps forward and locks the apartment door behind the last of his cousins. His hand lingers at the door and he stares at it for a moment before facing her with sort of an incredulous grin on his face.
“I hate thanksgiving,” Bellamy says, as if he’s just discovering it.
Clarke grins back at him, a little in awe. He seems far too happy to find out that he’s been having a dreadful holiday. She isn’t really sure what she’s supposed to say to him, so she just stays quiet.
“I hate thanksgiving,” he says again, now dropping his hand from the door and taking a few steps closer to her.
“I think you said that already,” is all Clarke can come up with to say.
“I know, but I just really, really hate thanksgiving,” he’s still moving towards her.
“Than why are you smiling?” She asks, but it sounds more like a laugh. He looks like a kid on Christmas.
“Because it’s finally over,” he says as he wraps his arms around her and lets out a breathy laugh.
“Thank goodness for that,” Clarke says, but it comes out muffled where she’s pressed up against his shoulder. She wraps her arms around him in turn.
She feels him let out a big sigh and knows that it’s more than just the fact that the exhausting holiday is over that has him relieved. Holidays are hard when there’s one less place setting than there’s supposed to be.
Jake Griffin and Aurora Blake died around the same time and Clarke knows that if Bellamy feels anything close to the pain she goes through every holiday, that he’s hurting more than should be possible. She tightens her arms around him accordingly and lets out her own sigh when he reciprocates.
“Thank you,” he rasps, his voice low enough so she knows he means to thank her for more than just putting up with his family for the past week and a half.
“Anything for you,” she whispers, her lips brushing against his neck.
They stand there just breathing each other in before Bellamy lifts his head a little.
“Fuck,” he lets out sharply. “Our apartment is a wreck.”
He still hasn’t let go of her so she has to crane her head to look, but when she does she wishes she hadn’t. There are air mattresses in the floor and dishes still out on the table. She doesn’t even want to think about the pile of plates in the sink.
“I have a really great idea,” Bellamy looks down at her while he talks, and Clarke knows she’s going to agree to whatever it is he says. She meant it when she said she’d do anything for him.
“What is it?” She humors.
“Let’s ignore the absolute mess that my awful family left in their wake and go get really drunk, and with people that we actually like,” He’s grinning again and it seems a little forced to Clarke.
“I thought you’d never ask,” She replies and forces herself to let go of him.
They’ll go to a bar, get drunk off their asses, and try not to think about the people that they miss, but she knows they’ll be okay. They’ll take a cab home together and sometimes it’s just enough comfort for her to know that she has someone that’s been hurt the same way.
She shrugs on her coat and when she meets his eyes, the pain of loss isn’t gone, but it feels like she can bear it; like they can bear it.
Together.