Archive of Our Own ^beta

The move to New York is a good thing. It’s the specific kind of “daring” that Clarke has found works best for her: calculated, and only a little impulsive. But it still feels exciting, telling all of her friends that she’s moving to New York after graduation. She sort of feels like she’s trying on a new personality for size, but she thinks it could work for her.

When Lincoln mentions he has a friend who is also heading to New York after graduation and that they should carpool, Clarke is mostly grateful for it. The eighteen hours was feeling a bit ambitious to attempt on her own, but she also doesn’t know this Bellamy Blake at all. Lincoln is a good judge of character, and he’s quiet and polite and funny in a sort of sardonic way, so she anticipates Bellamy Blake being similar.

Instead, she pulls up in front of his dorm less than twenty-four hours after graduation, and sees his lips attached to a pretty dark-haired girl’s. His hand is lodged in her hair, and the girl is moaning, as if it isn’t eleven o’clock in the morning and they are in broad daylight.

Clarke coughs a few times, trying to get their attention, which fails. So she lays her palm on the horn, letting the sound drone on for a few moments even after the couple startles apart.

“Sorry,” she says, faux-sweetly, and Bellamy Blake raises an eyebrow at her.

He gives his (girlfriend? makeout buddy?) one more chaste kiss before turning his smirk to Clarke. It makes her gut clench in a not-unfamiliar way, but she just pastes on her most serene smile as he throws his bag in the trunk.

“So you’re Clarke, huh?” he asks once he’s made himself comfortable in her passenger seat.

“The one and only.”

He waves to the brunette girl once, and Clarke offers her a nod of her head, before they hit the highway. They’re silent for a few moments, Bellamy fiddling with the radio until he lands on an alt-rock station he seems to enjoy, and Clarke forces herself to make conversation. “Why aren’t you making this trip with…?”

“Roma,” he supplies. “She’s not my girlfriend. It was just a fun, senior year thing. So she’s all yours, if you’re interested.” Humor tinges his tone, and Clarke can’t resist the urge to roll her eyes.

“I am decidedly not.”

Bellamy laughs, like she’d made a joke, and it makes her stomach clench again. He has a nice laugh. And smile. And face.

She keeps her hands firmly planted at ten-and-two on the wheel, refusing to turn her head to look at him. “We can split this down into six shifts of three hours each,” she informs him. “After our first stop, we’ll refill the tank and grab snacks, so you can drive then. And then after that, we’ll stop for a late lunch, and I can take over. If that works for you.”

“You have our road trip on a schedule?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asks honestly, and he laughs again. It doesn’t feel quite like he’s laughing at her, but it’s close.

“You’re funny, Clarke Griffin.”

“Apparently.”

“So how do you know Lincoln?”

“Same major,” she responds. “I was a bio major freshman year, and once I decided not to go to med school, made the switch to art history. Lincoln was in a bunch of my classes and helped make sure I wasn’t overwhelmed, since I had a lot of catching up to do on the coursework.” She lets her eyes slant to Bellamy, studying the messy curls on his head, the way his lips seem set in that crooked grin. With the sun streaming through the window, his dark eyes are glinting amber, his freckles more prominent.

She doesn’t blame him, really, for his laissez faire attitude around dating. If she looked like him, she might feel similarly.

Clearing her throat, she tips the question back towards him. “What about you? How do you know Lincoln?”

At this, she can hear Bellamy shift in his seat, as if he’s uncomfortable. “He’s dating my little sister.”

“Wait, Octavia is your sister?” She looks over at him again, shock evident in her voice, and his own brow is furrowed.

“Yeah? Why, do you know her?”

“She was one of the freshmen in the class I TA’d last year, I helped introduce her to Lincoln. She said she had a brother but that he was like five years older than her.”

“I am. I started college the normal time, but had to take a break. Our mom died when I was twenty and O was fifteen, and since I was already halfway through school, they were pretty cool about taking me back to finish out. I did an online class per semester, so I wasn’t too behind when I started back, but – yeah.” He cuts himself off at the end, as if he’s realized how much he’s revealed about himself, and it makes Clarke bite her lip to contain her smile.

“So how old are you?” she asks, trying for a teasing note, and it seems to work, because she can hear his huff of laughter.

“Twenty-four.”

Clarke nods, considering all of this new information, squaring the person beside her with the version of Octavia Blake’s brother she had only heard about in passing. Octavia always referred to him as Bell or my big brother, so she hadn’t even considered the implications when Lincoln mentioned Bellamy to her; whenever the two of them discussed Octavia’s brother, it was always with a sort of amusement about his protectiveness. He’s an asshole, Octavia had told her once, brightly, but like, a nice one.

That makes sense to her, with what she’s learning. They’re only an hour into this drive, though. There’s still so much to unpack.

Which is why she’s only a little surprised when, at hour twelve, he says, “I don’t believe men and women can be friends.”

She’s still sipping her Diet Coke from the diner where they stopped for dinner, and Clarke nearly chokes at the words. “What?”

“Men and women can’t be friends. The sex thing always gets in the way.”

Clarke crosses her arms across her chest, frowning at him even though he’s paying attention to the road. He only has one hand on the wheel, the other propping up his head by the window, and she kind of hates that he is just – like this. Relaxed. Composed. It’s something she has to try really, really hard at being, and that effort always seems to bleed through.

“I’m bisexual,” she responds, voice flat, “so are you saying that I just can’t be friends with anyone?”

She expects some kind of degradation of her sexuality, because that would really track with this current conversation, but instead he just seems to consider the question. Finally, he shakes his head. “No, women can always be friends with women. Men, less so,” he concedes. “I don’t know what it is. Don’t blame me. Maybe women are just better at talking about their feelings and checking that everyone feels normal than men are.”

“Well, I don’t think that was ever in doubt.”

“But you don’t agree? That men and women can’t be friends?”

“Of course I don’t! I’m friends with plenty of men. Lincoln, for one,” she adds, and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“He’s taken. People in other relationships don’t count.”

“It really feels like you’re just inventing the rules to this as you go.”

“That’s how I get through life, Princess.”

She frowns at the use of the nickname, but doesn’t correct him. When they’d been in the diner, and she’d ordered her food how she likes it, he’d laughed and said she ate like a princess. She’d bristled at it in the moment, but it’s – nice, actually. Like her New York self is starting to make an appearance, with the help of Bellamy Blake.

“So, because you’re not dating Roma, you’re saying that you and I can’t ever be friends,” she says, slowly, so she understands.

“Afraid not.”

“What if I were dating someone?”

“Are you?”

“No, but – hypothetically. If the woman is dating, does that – ”

“Nope. Still doesn’t solve the problem.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to expand any further?”

Bellamy shrugs, and it’s a fluid, practiced motion. Clarke turns her face away from him, staring at the billboards illuminated faintly in the darkness. “Well, that’s a shame,” she says finally, forcing the disappointment out of her tone. “You were the only person I knew in New York."

She sleeps through the rest of his shift and an hour into her own, but he didn’t wake her, so they trade off with only two hours to spare. His sleep is short and fitful, and he fully gives up as the sun is rising. When they drive across the bridge into the city, bleeding gold and orange, she and Bellamy fall into a companionable silence, each reveling in the feeling of possibility. It makes Clarke feel lighter than she has in years. This is going to be a good thing. A fresh start.

A new her.

She pulls in front of the address he’d given her, watching him almost nervously. He grabs his bag out of the trunk – the only thing he brought, she realizes with a start – and stands by her window, ruffling his hair in a way that could be construed as nervous.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says finally, and Clarke has to smile.

“You drove more than half of the way.”

“Well, still.” He clears his throat, a curious expression on his face.

For a brief second, she wishes she could get to know him well enough to parse what it means. But then she remembers his vow from earlier, and clears her throat.

“Have a nice life,” she tells him, and his smile is softer than she’s seen it.

“You too, Clarke.”

As she drives away, she doesn’t let herself glance at him in her rearview window. She’s in New York. Bellamy Blake will fade out of her mind in a second, she’s certain.

Five Years Later

The airport is an overcrowded mess, as always, and Bellamy huffs a sigh of frustration at the couple full on making out by the ticketing booth. Nothing could possibly be that serious that they have to say goodbye in such a way; the man is in a suit, for fuck’s sake, he’s not shipping off to war.

Recognition hits him suddenly, as he’s glaring, and he stops short to turn back to the couple. He keeps staring at them a moment longer than is probably appropriate, until the woman starts to pull back. Bellamy glances at her, barely, and sees she’s a pretty blonde with a distinguishable mole on her upper lip; she looks familiar, but that’s not why he stopped. Because that’s –

“Collins? Finn Collins?” he asks, and the man in question breaks into a grin.

“Hey, Blake. How are you?”

“Pretty good. Off to Octavia’s wedding.” The blonde is watching him with something like indignation on her face, which seems a little unwarranted; he knows he interrupted their make-out, but they’re in an airport. Seriously. “What about you?” he adds to Finn.

“Good! Just started the new job last week, so things have been hectic. I’m here dropping off Clarke.” He smiles down at the woman in front of him in an almost sickly-sweet way, and Bellamy feels suspicion settle over him.

“How’s Reyes doing?” he asks pointedly, and Finn pales slightly.

“We broke up.”

Bellamy very seriously doubts that, because he talked to Raven last week, and he knows she would’ve said something. Finn used to work with Bellamy at Arkadia Publishing, until he took some hotshot consulting gig that lets him work remotely, so that’s how Bellamy met Raven in the first place; she and Miller are at the same tech company now, doing work that is way above Bellamy’s head, so they’ve been consistently getting drinks after work. Finn hasn’t joined them, but Bellamy is sure they didn’t break up.

Or at least, if they did, Raven doesn’t know about it.

But maybe it was recent. Dropping off at the airport is like… level one love. It must be a new relationship, especially with the way they were attached to each other’s mouths, and it’s not like Bellamy is that close with Raven.

Anyway, this is not the time or place; he doesn’t know the blonde in front of him, who is still looking at him with a vaguely affronted expression, nor does he really know Finn well enough to cause a scene in this airport. So, he just says, “Well, it was good to see you,” and bustles through security and the terminal without really giving it further consideration.

That is, until the blonde – Clarke, his brain reminds him – sits two rows away from him at the gate, and a memory slots into place as clear as day.

“Clarke Griffin?” he blurts, and she lifts her head rapidly. Her eyes are narrowed at Bellamy, suspicion clouding her gaze, but he can see the tension start to leak out of her at his recognition. He’s such an asshole.

“Hi, Bellamy,” she sighs, and he feels like he’s been transported into that car on the way to New York, some shitty band blaring in his ears, her sarcastic smile pointed towards him. She’d been cute back then, a little uptight, but the years have been kind to her; her hair is in a loose braid and she’s dressed casually, in jeans and an oversized button-down, but there’s something settled about her. Like she found her place.

He moves over to sit beside her, his grin wide and unabashed. He regretted it a little bit, telling her they couldn’t be friends. He’d moved in with Miller, since he had just finished up at NYU and found a job as a programmer, so he hadn’t been alone for the move, the way he’d known Clarke was. And she had been cool, even if she was a bit high-strung, but he thought they could’ve made something work. But of course, he was twenty-four and a dick, and the thought had faded from his mind. He’s sure she’d forgotten about him, too.

“Are you still in New York? Or just visiting?”

“Still here,” she confirms, stowing her phone in her pocket so she won’t be disrespectful, her hands placed delicately in her lap, and – yeah, in some ways, she’s exactly the same. Sadness seems to cling to some of her features, but there’s a determined glint to her eyes, like she’s trying to fight the emotions off. “I finished my master’s at Columbia, a few years ago, and now I’m working at MoMA. Working on some of their K-12 outreach, managing curriculum, that kind of thing.”

“That’s so fucking cool,” he says, earnest, and she raises her eyebrows at him, but there’s a pleased smile playing around her lips.

“It is pretty fucking cool.” She clears her throat before asking, “And what about you?”

“Oh, I’m in publishing now. Arkadia? That’s where I met Finn.”

At her boyfriend’s name, she visibly softens, and it twinges something in Bellamy. He remembers those early days of a relationship, and while he doesn’t miss them per se, it’s definitely different, after three years together. The butterflies are gone, now, which he’s pretty sure is a good thing. Comfort beats anxiety any day of the week.

“And you’re on your way to – Octavia’s? – wedding, right?”

“Yeah. She and Lincoln have really made it through the long haul,” he says with a note of chagrin, and Clarke’s smile intensifies.

“That’s awesome. I thought they were good together.”

“I guess you didn’t keep in touch?”

She shrugs, but there’s a practiced casualness to it, like she’s straining to come off as more relaxed than she is. That feels true to the version of her he knew five years ago, too. “Moving was an adjustment. She and Lincoln stayed in Chicago, obviously, and – moving across the country and starting a new life makes it hard to maintain friendships. I’m not… I’m not very good at friendship to begin with,” she admits, as if it pains her.

“Well, hey, we could be friends.” He knocks their shoulders together, aims for teasing rather than pitying, but she just cocks her head.

“You’re the one who said men and women couldn’t be friends,” she reminds him.

“When the hell did I say that?”

“On the car ride from Chicago.”

“There’s no way I said that.”

“Bellamy,” she deadpans, “I am pretty sure I would remember. It was one of the most insane statements I’ve ever heard. You said that men and women can’t be friends because the sex always gets in the way.”

“Wow, I knew I was a dick in college, but that really just rams it home. And you didn’t kick me out of the car?”

She huffs a laugh, and it makes him smile again. She doesn’t seem like the type who laughs very often; it feels like he’s won something, to make it happen.

“I didn’t really… date in college,” he admits, running his hand over the back of his neck nervously. “It wasn’t top of mind, most of the time, and I couldn’t – commit to it, really. Between helping take care of O and working all of my jobs, sleeping around was way easier. That doesn’t excuse my dumbass comments,” he adds, even though she’s watching him strangely, like she’s never seen him before.

There’s a pause, and Clarke doesn’t say anything, just – looks at him. He feels laid bare, and it unsettles him.

“Anyway,” he continues with a more upbeat tone, “Now that we’ve confirmed I was an idiot in college, I’m pretty sure we can pretend that didn’t happen. Plus, I’m engaged now, so there’s no chance I want to have sex with you.”

“According to you, that – wait, you’re engaged?”

He nods, something warm unfurling in his chest. It feels surreal, that he gets to have this version of his life: the great job and the great fiancée and the white picket fence, everything he used to dream about as a child but never really thought would be possible. “Since May. Her name is Gina Martin, she’s actually one of our writers. We hit it off during a meeting and the rest is history. We get married in October,” he adds as an aside, and that makes Clarke smile faintly again.

“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. So I guess – friends is still out of the question, huh?”

“I’m just following your rules, Bellamy.”

That makes him laugh, and she bites her lip to contain her smile. She has a nice smile, he thinks. It makes her face light up, enhances the mole above her lip. Finn is annoying and boring and a little bit too much of an elitist for Bellamy’s taste, but he’s a good boyfriend, he’s pretty sure; even though there’s still that niggling thought in the back of his brain about how he and Raven ended, Bellamy hopes things work out for him and Clarke. It seems like she needs something nice, right now.

Not that he knows her at all.

He asks about her trip to Chicago, and she tells him that her mother is getting remarried; he recognizes the name Marcus Kane, one of their city councilors turned senators. She doesn’t explain what happened with her father, so he doesn’t pry. Instead, he asks about the things she’s planning for the MoMA, and she asks about the books he’s currently working on and the kinds of things Gina writes, and she takes some titles to add to her list, and it’s – nice. Congenial. The exact kind of interaction he would hope to have with a random girl he drove eighteen hours with when he was twenty-four.

They sit together on the plane, and it’s a quick ride, but he really does think he and Clarke could be friends. She’s funny and interesting and has great taste in books and movies. She needs friends, he thinks, and he has a pretty good group of them, if he says so himself.

So, as they’re deplaning and walking towards baggage claim, he broaches it again. “Listen, we were barely adults the last time we saw each other. I think – I think friends could work.”

Clarke smiles at him, and it’s so sad, this little half-turn of her lips. “We’ll see.”

She gives him a wave as she exits the airport, and he watches her go, something strange swirling in his stomach. He realizes, too late, he never got her phone number.

Five Years Later

“I’m fine,” she says for what feels like the millionth time in this single conversation, but Monty is still chewing his lip as he watches her. “Seriously. It’s – it sucks. I thought we were going to be it. But she found a new job in LA, and that’s – I can’t be mad about that.”

“You can be mad that she didn’t even tell you about it until after she accepted,” Harper points out, which, fair.

“I know. And I am. But I’m also…” Clarke runs a hand over her face to collect her thoughts. She really is fine, even if her friends will never believe her. Lexa breaking up with her was awful, in the moment, and she felt like she was watching her entire future crumble in front of her eyes. But she does, logically, understand that if Lexa was the kind of person to apply for and accept a job across the country without consulting Clarke, that she was also not the kind of partner she needed or wanted for the long-term.

And Clarke is pinning every ounce of her composure to that logic.

“I’m disappointed,” she admits after a minute. “I’m thirty-two, I thought I was – I thought I was done. But also, I’m thirty-two, and I don’t want to settle for someone who doesn’t want – ” Me, her brain thinks, but she silences that. “Who doesn’t want what I want,” she settles on instead, which feels at least mostly true.

“Just – we’re worried about you, that’s all. Between Finn and now this – ”

“Monty, I’m not swearing off of love forever. But maybe – just for a little while.”

He nods, but he doesn’t quite look like he understands. His eyes catch on something over her shoulder, and a sly grin sweeps onto his face. “What about hooking up?”

She groans. “What are you – ”

“There’s a super hot guy by the bar checking you out. Or, well, he’s staring at you, so that might be his version of checking you out.”

Clarke turns her head slightly, eyes scanning the crowd to figure out who he might be referring to, when her gaze snags on a face she really shouldn’t be surprised to see. “Oh, fucking hell,” she mutters.

“What?” Harper is peering over her own shoulder, too, and now they are officially the most obvious table in the world.

“That’s Bellamy Blake. I was sort of friends with his sister, in college? We drove together from Chicago to New York the day after graduation. He’s married,” she adds to Monty. “We keep just – running into each other like this. Saw him about five years ago, on the way to my mom’s wedding.”

“He isn’t wearing a ring,” Monty points out, but it’s more curious than prodding. His expression shifts from ponderous to startled in less than a second, though, when he whispers, “Oh, shit, he’s walking over here.”

Before Clarke even has the chance to respond, Bellamy Blake is right next to her table.

He’s always been attractive. Clarke knew she’d been attracted to him on that road trip, had been considering the implications of a potential friendship before he’d doused those hopes as quickly as they’d arrived; but he just keeps getting better, and it’s mildly annoying to her. He’d been more clean-cut in the airport, hair slicked back with day-old stubble, but today he’s let his hair run wild and his beard is trim and tidy. He also has wire-rimmed glasses that are really, really working for him, if she has to be honest.

But his eyes are so fucking sad, and that’s a marked difference from the times she’s seen him this past decade. He’d been an asshole and he’d been endearing but he’d never been sad.

“Clarke?” he asks, as if it could be anyone else, and she smiles at him in greeting.

“Hey, Bellamy.” She rises to give him a hug, and it’s a little bit awkward; for all he feels like a fixture of her last ten years, he’s also functionally a stranger. But he leans into her touch, like he’s starving for it, and Clarke pats his back tentatively before letting go. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, likewise,” he says, and it sounds like he means it. His gaze drifts to the other two at the table, and Clarke remembers herself.

“This is Monty, he works in IT at MoMA with me. And then this is Harper, she’s a sixth grade teacher here. Her class comes by a good bit.”

He offers them a few pleasantries, not inquiring about why they don’t need his introduction. “So you’re still doing the museum thing, huh?”

She nods, ducking her head on a smile. She had taken the job on kind of a whim, a few years back, but she really does love it. And now that she’s been there so long, Clarke has been able to make some real, tangible changes, feels like her opinion matters. It’s nice, to be valued like that. “And you? Still with Arkadia?”

Something flashes across his face that she can’t read, but he just swallows and shakes his head. “No, left the job about six months ago. I’m actually working on my teaching certificate,” he adds, looking at Harper, and her friend beams.

Clarke glances at the table, sees the way Monty is giving her very deliberate go talk to the hot, sad boy eyes, and she turns back to Bellamy. “You want to get some air?”

He nods eagerly, and she guides him out the front door and into the crisp September air. It had been brutally hot this summer, so the early breaths of fall are welcome. She can still hear the murmurings of the bar, but they’re dulled out here, and she leans back against the brick wall as Bellamy joins her.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but she still feels the need to break it. And she wants to know, anyway. “How’s your wife? Gina, right?”

Bellamy doesn’t meet her eyes, staring out into the city street like it holds the answers for him. “We got divorced. About six months ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes, instinctively, and then her brain catches up. “Wait, is that why – ”

“Yeah.” He laughs but it’s humorless. “It’s been pretty amicable, all things considered, but she thought it was best we didn’t work together anymore. Not that I don’t agree,” he adds, “it’s just… weird. That was one of my favorite places to work, but it became so tied up in her and our marriage that it – it wouldn’t have been right, to stay.”

“Octavia used to say you wanted to be a teacher,” she probes, trying to help in some kind of intangible way, and he flashes her a grateful smile.

“Yeah. So I’m not complaining. I’m excited to get into the classroom.”

“Can I – do you want to talk about it? What happened?”

Bellamy shrugs, but it’s not as casual as he thinks it is. “There’s not much to tell, really. We were fine. But that’s – fine is the worst word in the English language. It means nothing, conveys nothing.” He’s speaking like he’s said this hundreds of times, and maybe he really has. Marriages don’t break down overnight, anyway. Clarke thinks back to her own party line of being fine with her breakup, and she thinks she agrees with him.

“We had talked about having kids before we got married, but not super seriously. And when I asked if she was ready to start trying, she shot me down. She said – ” He makes  a gruff sound, almost a laugh, but not quite. “She said that I was just going through the motions. That we got married because we should, that we were going to have kids because we should. Because those are the things you do, at those points in a relationship. And I… I was so mad at her, in the moment, because I didn’t think it was true. But looking back, maybe it was. I thought we were comfortable because we were good, but maybe we needed to challenge each other a little bit more.”

He finally meets her eyes, twisting his mouth into something close to a smirk. “Sorry, I know you didn’t mean for me to trauma dump about my divorce on you.”

“No, this is great,” she says. “My friends won’t leave me alone about my breakup, so getting to comfort someone else is definitely a win.”

Bellamy laughs, and it’s not quite the way it had been five years ago, but he sounds more normal. More present. “Well, don’t let me hog the spotlight. Fill me in.”

Clarke readjusts her position on the wall, putting her hands in her pockets. “I’m sure you know about the Finn situation,” she starts, glancing at him, and his jaw tightens. “Yeah. So, we broke up pretty soon after I saw you at the airport – it lasted maybe another two weeks? And then about two years ago I met Lexa. She works for a hedge fund doing something that honestly sounds made up, but she would come to the museum for galas and stuff since she’s loaded, and that’s how we met.”

She clears her throat, trying to attain a detached tone about this. “Things moved… pretty quickly. We were living together by the end of the first year, and then – we’d been talking about it. Marriage. And kids, too. And she seemed – I thought she was on board, for all of it.” Clarke swallows thickly, staring at a stain on the sidewalk to avoid meeting Bellamy’s eyes. “But instead, she took a job offer in LA, and then told me it didn’t make sense for me to go with her. And I didn’t want to do long distance, when I’m happy here, and my friends are here, so we were just – done.”

“That’s shitty,” Bellamy says, deadpan, and it surprises a laugh from Clarke’s throat. “Not – like, it is, but what she did. Just not even talking to you about it.”

“Yes,” she agrees.

They’re silent again, listening to the music pumping from the bar every time someone opens the door, and it takes about five minutes for Bellamy to speak again. “Well, we’re a fucking cheery bunch.”

She laughs again, the sound welcome to her own ears, and there’s a pleased smile on Bellamy’s face, too. “Misery loves company.”

He seems to consider her words for a moment, and he looks at her with a thoughtful expression. “So does that mean we’re friends? For real this time?”

She thinks about her twenty-two year old self, sitting in a car with Bellamy Blake, talking about friendship. They’re so different and so similar to those versions of themselves, and she thinks – yeah. Maybe this version of her can be friends with Bellamy Blake.

“Friends,” she repeats. It feels good.

There’s something disarming about how easy it is, to be friends with Clarke. He’d known they would get along well every time he saw her, but the reality of it is almost staggering to him. He visits her on her lunch breaks to make sure she eats, she quizzes him while he prepares for his teaching exams, they spend their Thursday nights at trivia and their Sundays at the farmer’s market. It’s almost sickeningly wholesome, sometimes, but it’s also made such a marked improvement on his life that Miller notices.

“You’re not dating her?” he clarifies, gaze fixed on the video game they’re playing, but tone earnest.

“I’m not dating her.”

“But you’re – ”

“We’re friends,” he sighs. “Trying to be, at least. She just got out of a rough breakup, my divorce was finalized like three weeks ago, we’re just – we get each other. And it’s nice,” he adds a little self-consciously, “to have someone who gets it.”

“I get it!”

“I know. But it’s – ”

“Different.”

“Yeah.”

When the game ends, Miller takes a swig of his beer, fixing Bellamy with a critical look. “And Raven’s cool with it?”

“Yeah. Honestly.”

That had been Bellamy’s biggest fear, too, when he reconnected with Clarke. He had already told Raven, back then, about his tenuous relationship with her; and Raven wasn’t actually mad at Clarke, who hadn’t known, not the way she was at Finn, who thought “pressing pause” was the same thing as a bona fide breakup after ten years together. He’d formally introduced them over drinks, and they had become fast friends. Not quite as close as – well, as Clarke and Bellamy have become, but good.

And Miller drops it, for the most part, but a skepticism remains around the edges of his questions. Clarke comes by fairly often, since his and Miller’s apartment is one stop away from the museum, and he’ll usually feed her while she finds something mindless on television. On nights she can’t make it, they’ll pick a movie on Netflix and sync it, live-texting each other through the whole thing. It’s a level of intimacy he hasn’t ever experienced before, even with Gina, which is concerning in some ways, but mostly just nice.

Gina used to tell him that his overthinking would give him an aneurysm, so he’s working on that.

But Bellamy isn’t lying when he says they’re just friends. There’s no undercurrent of romance in their interactions, no heat beneath the kisses she presses to his cheek when she greets him. She’s a fairly physically affectionate person, and Bellamy is like a cat, refusing to ask for attention but reveling in it nevertheless, so even that doesn’t strike him as being that weird. You need to learn to do things for yourself, Gina had said once. You need to learn how to let yourself enjoy things.

He's working on that, too.

And this thing with Clarke scratches that itch. He became friends with her because he wanted to. He lets himself spend most of his time with her because he wants to. He’s not sold on romance again, anyway. This is better.

It takes until mid-December for Miller to join them for trivia; while Clarke and Bellamy are the staples, other friends tend to join when they can. Bellamy is the first to arrive, snagging their usual table and a bucket of beers, but Miller isn’t far behind him. He shakes the snow off of his jacket, maneuvering through the growing crowd and gratefully accepting the beer Bellamy hands him. He drains half of it before speaking, resting his head in his hands with a long groan.

“Bad day at the office?”

“The fucking worst. Jaha is going to be the death of me, I swear to god.”

They talk about work to fill the time until Clarke shows up, beaming at him from across the bar; there’s a warmth behind his sternum that he’s used to, seeing her, and he settles into it comfortably. She has her friend Monty in tow, and the two of them have to pick their way through the busy tables to get to theirs. Clarke takes the seat beside Bellamy, so Monty slots in next to Miller.

“Miller, this is Monty. We work together at the museum, he’s in IT. And Monty, this is – ”

“Nate,” he interrupts, offering his hand. Monty shakes it delicately, smile blooming on his face, and Bellamy watches them with unrestrained interest.

“He doesn’t even let me call him Nate,” he stage-whispers to Clarke, who just grins.

It’s a good night of trivia. They get third overall, which isn’t their best, and he and Clarke argue over less than five answers, which is a feat in and of itself. At the end of the night, the four of them stand a bit awkwardly outside the bar, hands shoved into pockets as the snow picks up around them. “You should join us more often,” Bellamy tells Monty, and the latter ducks his head.

“I told you you’d be great,” Clarke chides, pride coloring her voice, and Monty actually laughs.

“Wow, thanks. I feel like my parents are telling me I did well in the school play or something.”

“Even in this fictional world, you’re not like, playing a sport or something?”

“Clarke. Look at me. This face was not meant to have balls thrown anywhere near it.” He pauses, as if considering. “Okay, well, not certain types of balls, at least.”

That startles a laugh out of Miller, who is watching Monty with an expression of awe and intrigue. When Monty’s Uber pulls up, he gives them all a wave, eyes settling on Miller’s face for a moment. “Nate, you live near my side of town, right?”

“He literally lives with me,” Bellamy grumbles, but Clarke smacks his arm.

“Do you want to split the Uber?” Monty continues as if he wasn’t interrupted, and Bellamy has never seen Nate smile so widely.

“Yeah. I do.”

They stumble into the car together, and Bellamy just stares after the retreating vehicle, jaw slightly unhinged. “Did he just turn trivia into a date?”

“If it’s just sex, does it count as a date?”

“Clarke.”

She laughs, throwing her head back. “What! It’s an honest question. Or maybe they’re considering trivia the date, so this is just – dessert.”

“Clarke, oh my god,” he scoffs, but he’s laughing now, too, and when she grabs his arm to steady herself, smile still tugging at her lips, he is suddenly so aware of her. The snow catching in her hair, cheeks flushed from the cold, humor and joy lighting in her eyes. Clarke Griffin has always been attractive, but for one startling second, he can’t breathe when he looks at her.

But that’s normal, he thinks. She’s beautiful, he’s had a few beers, it’s a perfect New York winter night.

And that’s what he tells himself when they’re at Raven’s New Year’s party, and the countdown is nearing zero, and she’s just right there, as always, so close and warm and smiling at him in a way that he doesn’t think he deserves. It’s another perfect night; their friends are happy, Monty with Miller and Raven with Luna, and he finishes his teaching certification in this year, and he’s had perhaps one too many glasses of champagne, and he loves her. He knows he loves her. It doesn’t need to be – anything.

He leans down to press his mouth against hers, and there aren’t fireworks (except for the ones in the sky), and he doesn’t feel like something cataclysmic has shifted. She pulls back after less than a minute, eyes soft as she whispers, “Happy New Year, Bellamy.”

“Happy New Year, Clarke.”

In February, Bellamy announces that he is ready to date, which is – good. Clarke was a little bit worried that he’d given up on love entirely, even though his divorce hadn’t even been bad. But perhaps there is something even worse, she thinks, about a relationship ending not because something apocalyptic happened, but rather because it just didn’t work anymore. She can understand how that might make someone skeptical of love and relationships.

She didn’t actually think this thing with them would turn into anything besides friendship. She didn’t want it to, especially now that they are in a great routine, now that they’ve merged their friend groups into something substantial. For the first time in her life, Clarke feels like she has people, and it fills her with a deep ache. A good ache.

But in February, Bellamy starts dating, so Clarke figures she should, too. Out of solidarity, if nothing else. It’s more fun to go on shitty dates when your best friend is also going on shitty dates, when you can complain and compare notes afterwards. She sort of expects that both of them starting to date will disrupt the comfortability they’ve developed, but if anything, it brings them closer. Plus, it’s such a great way of gauging if a person is worth their time, because if they act weird about their relationship – it’s a no.

So, that’s how they wind up at Monty and Miller’s housewarming party in the middle of April with significant others.

Bellamy is with Echo, and she’s pretty, in a kind of intense way that makes her appear standoffish. She doesn’t really smile so much as she smirks, looking down on the whole party like it’s beneath her, but – it kind of is. She works for the government in some kind of top-secret job she can’t really disclose, and she’s funny in a sharp way, unafraid of making conversation. She seems secure with her place in Bellamy’s life, and it’s – good.

That’s what she’s telling Monty, at least, as she helps him re-fill wine glasses and add more prosciutto to the charcuterie board. “You sound really convincing,” he teases.

“That’s because I’m convinced,” she responds, prim, and he snorts.

“Sure. Whatever you say. Niylah is great, too,” he adds, a pointed if not unwelcome topic change, and that makes Clarke smile genuinely.

“Yeah, she is. I don’t think it’s anything serious, but it’s nice to try out being in a relationship again. I wasn’t sure I was capable of it.”

She’s trying to make a joke, but there is a hint of truth in her words, and Monty catches it. He leans against the counter, arms crossed in front of his chest, and fixes her with a look that is far too knowing. His voice is gentle, but it still strikes a chord deep within her when he says, “Clarke, you know that not – not every relationship is meant to just collapse like it did with Finn and Lexa. They were…” He takes a breath, considering his words. “They were complicated people, who made bad choices, and they hurt you. But not everyone is like that.”

There is something else he isn’t saying, an addendum that he wants to add, but she can see him holding back. She isn’t sure she wants to know.

It takes her three tries to make her voice work. “Yeah,” she agrees half-heartedly. “I know.”

He’s right, of course. When things end with Niylah, they’re completely mutual; neither of them had been that serious about it, but Niylah is looking for something serious, and Clarke isn’t sure if she’s ready for that. She thinks maybe, with the right person, but – this isn’t right.

It feels like a revelation, to even know that. She spent so much of her time after her breakups with Finn and Lexa wondering what she could have done differently, wondering if something was wrong with her, to make them treat her that way. Or maybe she was just cursed, destined to fall into bad relationships with people who were unkind to her because she was making up for some kind of forgotten karma. Now, she can admit that it’s a bit silly, to think that way; she is learning to trust her instincts. To lean into what she actually wants and believes.  

Bellamy and Echo don’t last much longer, either, breaking up about a week after Miller proposes. When she probes him about it, he simply shrugs, says that they weren’t that serious. He doesn’t seem broken up about it, so she doesn’t press further; secretly, she’s a little bit grateful, that it can just be the two of them together at the wedding.

The summer flies by as she helps with wedding planning, coordinating guest lists, scheduling vendors. It’s going to be a small affair – just family and closest friends – but they still want it to be beautiful, of course, and Clarke is great at wheedling people to get their prices down, to offer extra add-ons. Bellamy helps when he can, but he’s in the midst of prepping for his first year of teaching, so it’s already chaotic on his end.

She thought wedding planning would be the thing to reawaken something in her; she had wanted this, once, but Lexa hadn’t. Clarke has made her peace with that.

Until she logs into Instagram one evening, and sees Lexa on one knee for another woman.

She’s glad she isn’t holding something, because she would have dropped it. As it is, she just drops the phone, staring at the object like it’s the reason for the hammering in her chest. With shaky fingers, she picks it back up, swiping through the carousel of photos; they’re on a beach, sand on Lexa’s knees when she stands, and she and this other woman are both beaming, faces broken wide by the sheer joy of it. The woman is holding her hand out to the camera, the diamond sparkling in the setting sun, and Clarke fucking aches.

She’d noticed that Lexa had started posting with someone new, but hadn’t given it much thought. Now, she scours the woman’s page – Costia Summer – and sees the other side of this world, this life. They have a dog together. They share an apartment.

It hasn’t even been a year, and they’re getting married.

She is dialing Bellamy’s number before she can think twice about it.

“Hey, what’s up?” he says after the second ring, casual and unbothered, and for some reason his voice is what makes the dam of tears break. She can barely catch her breath, heaving sobs into the phone, and she can hear his concern, his frantic questions, but she just. She can’t.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he murmurs, hanging up before she can even utter a word.

She collapses onto her bed, tugging the comforter around her. She’s still in her clothes from work, hadn’t even been able to change before she had been confronted by – by this – and she muffles her tears into her pillow.

This is ridiculous, she chastises herself. You don’t even miss her anymore.

No, she admits, but I thought she’d miss me.

Although she isn’t watching the clock, she is sure Bellamy arrives just when he said he would. He has a key to her place, so he lets himself in the door, following the sound of her still-choking sobs to the bedroom. When he sits down at the edge of the bed, she clambers over to him, forcing herself into his arms and trying to suck down deep lungfuls of air.

“What happened?” he murmurs into her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple, and Clarke wants to shatter all over again.

“Lexa – is getting married.”

He had been combing her hair with his fingers, and he pauses his ministrations for only a moment, before asking, “And you – do you miss her?”

“No,” she says quickly, “no, but – we broke up because she didn’t – she didn’t think about me. I wanted to get married, and she said she didn’t – but she just… she didn’t want to marry me.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and Bellamy clutches her a little bit tighter.

“Then she’s an idiot,” he responds, and he sounds so vehement it surprises a laugh out of her. “I’m serious. You’re – you’re the fucking best, Clarke. You are so funny and kind and smart and passionate, and anyone who doesn’t see that, doesn’t deserve an ounce of your love or consideration.”

She burrows in closer to him, pressing her lips against his neck, reveling in the closeness. “You know,” she murmurs, before she can stop herself, “my dad died six years ago. About two months before I saw you at JFK.”

“Really?”

Clarke nods, swallowing to make her voice sound more normal. “He and my mom had gotten divorced, like two years earlier, so it wasn’t – it wasn’t that weird that my mom’s wedding was only a few months later. And it had been this whole fucking thing, nothing like what Monty and Miller are doing, so it would’ve been impossible to postpone. But I hadn’t been back to Chicago, since it all happened, and I was – I was dreading it, honestly. That’s why Finn took me to the airport that day.” Her face twists up at the memory, but she draws herself back so she can look into his eyes. “You – you helped me forget. Everyone kept treating me like I was – like I was fragile, or something, but you just…” She shrugs, eyes dropping to his lips involuntarily. “You saw me.”

She can see him swallow. She can see the muscle pulsing in his jaw. She hears the strain as he murmurs her name.

Understanding crashes over her, sudden and sharp, and she knows.

When Clarke kisses him, she isn’t thinking about anything but what she wants.

It was, perhaps, the stupidest thing Bellamy could have done in that moment.

He knows it. As he lays there, Clarke sleeping soundly in his arms, he has never felt like more of an idiot. She was hurting, and he – he took advantage, even if she had been the one to start it, even if he had asked a dozen times if she was sure, even if she’d kissed him and touched him and moaned his name in a way that sounded so fucking real. So honest.

But her tear stains were barely dried. And she was desperate for it, not in the way he – not the way he imagined, really, but still good.

She is going to wake up, and she is going to hate him, and he is going to lose her. He knows it.

So he peels his arm out from underneath her, walking around to gather his clothes, trying to be as quiet as possible. The clock on her nightstand says it’s 6:02 in the morning, which is way earlier than he should be awake, especially since he couldn’t sleep after it all. When he’s clothed, he checks to make sure Clarke is still asleep, allowing himself to brush his fingers along her jaw, to move her mussed hair out of her face. She sighs softly, leaning into his touch, and it makes that pressure in his sternum tighten.

He needs to get out of here. Immediately.

He scribbles her a quick note, tells her to call him later, and is out of her house in under five minutes.

As he’s walking towards the subway, he pulls out his phone and calls Miller.

“You better be dying,” his friend says in greeting, voice groggy from sleep but certainly not lacking in aggression.

“I slept with Clarke,” Bellamy responds, proud of how even his voice comes out. He hears a thud and a muffled curse from the other line. “Are you good?”

“You gave me a huge piece of news at six in the morning, of course I’m not good.” There’s a pause, and it’s fairly evident Miller is shuffling out of his bedroom. “So? How was it?”

“How was it?”

“Yeah, dude. You’ve been in love with her ever since you met her, I’m not really that worried about the rest of it. So, was it good?”

Considering he’s the one that started this conversation, Bellamy is fairly irritated that he’s the one lagging behind. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Which part?”

“The part where I’m – ” His voice catches, and he scrubs a hand over his face. “The part where I’m in love with Clarke.”

“Oh, I – well, I thought you knew,” Miller says tentatively. “Did you not know?”

Bellamy doesn’t even need to think about it, really. It feels like so many pieces of the past few months are slotting into place, flashing against his lids like a film reel. Clarke, smiling at him across the bar when they get an answer right. Clarke, showing him the new exhibit at the museum. Clarke, yelling at the refs during a football game. Clarke in the morning, in the evening, in his apartment, sleeping on his shoulder.

And every single time, that feeling in his chest, that expansion of his lungs. Clarke, in his bloodstream.

“I have to go,” he mutters to Miller, ignoring the derisive snort his friend makes, turning back the way he came as swiftly as he left. He re-enters the apartment quietly, closing the door with a soft click, but when he looks up, Clarke is in the kitchen. She has a robe on, but it’s slipping off of her shoulder, so he can still see the pale line of her collarbone, the light mark he’d sucked there gleaming red in the morning light.

She has a mug in her hands, and she is watching him with a careful detachment. “Forget something?” she asks, and her tone is so dead to his ears.

There is fury in her gaze, too, but if he digs deeper – it’s mostly just hurt.

His stomach lurches, even as he becomes more confident by the second.

“Yes.” He steps forward, pulling the mug from her fingers and placing it on the counter behind her. Her breath catches, and he can feel it ghost his chin as he cradles her head in both hands. As he leans in, and really kisses her.

For a moment, she’s still in his arms; then, she’s making a sound close to a sob, grabbing the collar of his jacket in her fists as she holds him closer. His tongue swipes into her mouth, and the kiss is hot and serious in seconds. He thinks back to New Year’s, how he thought there hadn’t been fireworks, but now he knows that’s only because there’s something deeper, a burning in his bones, as if she is slowly setting him on fire from the inside.

After a few minutes, Clarke retreats and rests her forehead on his. He peeks at her from beneath his lashes, and the smile she’s wearing could fucking blind him. “You left,” she murmurs, and he swallows.

“I thought – I thought I’d taken advantage. I thought you just…”

She laughs, this beautiful, tinkling thing, and god – how did he never notice how much he adores her? How could he have been so stupid? “No, Bellamy,” she chides, but she can’t keep the smile off of her face. “I love you,” she says softly, rubbing circles on his chest where her hands rest. “I’ve been in love with you for – for probably longer than I even realized. I thought… I thought I didn’t want anything serious, that I wasn’t ready, but – ” She catches her lips in her teeth, gazing up at him in a way that he wishes he could capture on film and replay every single day. Like he is everything good in the world. “I was just waiting for you, I think.”

He grins again, leaning down and pressing another kiss to her lips. She sighs, the sound tickling the back of his throat, and he thinks of Gina’s words, all of those months ago. You need to learn how to let yourself enjoy things.

So he does.

“We first met twelve years ago,” Clarke is explaining to Anya. She’s one of the new directors at the museum, and Clarke likes her well enough, even if she can be a little severe. “We road-tripped to New York together after college graduation.”

“And I told her we couldn’t be friends,” Bellamy says with a smirk. She’s glad they can laugh about this now, because it is a little ridiculous.

“And then we ran into each other five years later, but it was just in passing, at an airport. We talked about being friends then, but I was – anyway, then we reconnected about six years ago.”

“And you’re getting married in September?” Anya asks politely, and even though she knows it’s a courtesy question more than anything, Clarke can’t help the smile that overtakes her face.

“Yeah. Nothing huge, just some friends and family, but we’re excited.”

“Well, that sounds lovely. So do you still feel that way? About women and men becoming friends?” Anya directs the question to Bellamy, who seems to actually consider it.

“No, I definitely think men and women can be friends. I think I just couldn’t be only friends with Clarke.”

“Smooth,” she teases, and he presses a chaste kiss to her hair.

“That’s me.”

Anya is smiling at them like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it; Clarke and Bellamy tend to inspire that in people. “Well, it was great to meet you, Bellamy,” she says, shaking his hand. “Need to continue my mingling, but swing by before you leave so I can say goodbye.”

The couple nods, and once Clarke loses Anya in the crowd of people, she slumps into Bellamy’s side with a sigh. “Rough night, Princess?” he asks, the old nickname sending something warm through her bones.

“I just hate all the schmoozing we have to do to keep up our funding.”

“Well, you’re weirdly good at it.”

“Weirdly?”

“Yeah, we both know you’re more of an antisocial nerd at heart,” he retorts, which makes Clarke laugh.

“That’s fair.” She eyes her watch. “Okay, let’s hang around for fifteen more minutes, then sneak out the back.”

“I don’t think we need to sneak. Anya told you to leave whenever.”

“Still.” She pecks Bellamy on the lips quickly, and he deepens it, making her sigh. “Okay, never mind. Let's just leave now.”

Bellamy just looks at her with that soft, fond expression. “Whatever the hell you want, Princess.”

Clarke smiles. She has him. That’s all she ever wants.