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When Bellamy looks back on it, he knows he wasn’t really aware of the direction things were heading until the dream. Call him painfully oblivious—and people certainly did—but up to that point he truly didn’t think there was anything like that between them.
Then he had the dream. He was heavily asleep for once, physically spent after a long day of helping in the fields during the harvest, when it came to him near dawn. There was no cohesive thread or plot. It was more like a cloud of feeling, and in the middle was her.
At first he followed her through a forest and then there were words, floating into the ether before he could grasp them. His heart felt like all the emotions in the world collapsed in on one another to form a black hole and when gravity pulled him through he came out the other side made of pure want. Nothing about the dream was as tangible as his craving her with every fiber of his being, and it burned.
When he woke, his heart was tender and pounding as he reached for the surface of consciousness.
Clarke, he whispered in disbelief, her name tumbling out unbidden. It was just a dream, he knew. It wasn’t real. They were already so many things to each other out of necessity that there wasn’t room for him to feel more. It was just a dream.
He got up and dressed for another day, the dream sliding into the back of his mind where he figured it would dissolve eventually. When she crossed his line of vision at breakfast and made eye contact, however, it clutched its way back to the forefront and his breath stumbled.
After that, things were different.