Chapter Text
Golden sun lights the day. The air smells like freshly cut grass. A breeze carries laughter from down the street. And Bellamy is standing on Clarke’s doorstep, hopeless and broken, with a letter clutched in his hand.
Bumps rise on Clarke’s arms. She feels cold despite the late summer heat.
The enlistment notice flutters to the ground when Clarke pulls Bellamy inside. The door shuts behind him with a click and for a moment they just stand there. Speechless.
(What do you say in a situation like this? No one ever taught Clarke the right words for when her heart is breaking.)
There’s nothing to say so Clarke kisses Bellamy instead. His hands find her waist and he pulls her in, kissing her back like she’s the ocean and he wants to drown.
Bellamy’s hand slides into her hair. He walks Clarke back until she’s pressed against the wall. His tongue traces the inside of her mouth. She sighs against his lips.
When Bellamy pulls away, they’re both breathing heavy. Clarke curls her fingers into his belt loops. A lump rises in her throat when she sees the glass in his eyes. He's looking at her like she’s his last wish in this world.
“When do you leave?” she asks quietly.
Bellamy’s jaw clenches.
“Tomorrow.”
Clarke’s breath catches. One day. That’s all she gets, one day before Bellamy gets shipped off to war.
She had known this might happen. The evidence of the war was everywhere. You couldn’t hide from it. It was there in the rationing of fuel. In the trembling hands of men and boys when they received their letters. Already, Clarke knows of too many mothers with pins instead of sons. Condolences instead of the boys they’d raised.
So, yes, Clarke had known this might happen, but she’d still hoped and wished and prayed that somehow it wouldn’t.
She’s only known Bellamy for three months. The thought makes her heart ache. Three months is not enough time.
Clarke met Bellamy the day her car broke down. She’d shown up at the garage where he worked and Bellamy had laughed when he saw her. Hair in a blonde tangle of knots sticking to her neck. Grease stains on her hands and her dress.
A month later, it was Bellamy’s hands leaving grease stains on Clarke’s chin when he kissed her for the first time beneath the docks by the pier. He’d smelled like motor oil and tasted like saltwater.
The tears on Bellamy’s lips remind Clarke of that day. Bellamy kisses her again, messy and desperate. The heat of his hand burns through her sundress. Clarke’s breath hitches and she catches Bellamy’s bottom lip with her teeth. His groan is muffled in the space between their mouths.
If one night is all Clarke gets, she’s going to make the most of it. They part with a sigh and Clarke threads her fingers with Bellamy’s.
She takes a step towards the stairs and tugs Bellamy’s hand to pull him with her. Bellamy frowns. Clarke tilts her head and nods at the stairs. She smiles, weak, but sincere. Bellamy’s face melts into surprise when it clicks.
“Clarke…” he starts.
She stares at their hands and shifts her feet.
“You’re leaving tomorrow,” Clarke whispers. Her words break her own heart. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but,” she pauses. Bellamy waits as she struggles for words, “But it’s your last night and I want to spend it with you.”
When Clarke looks up, Bellamy’s expression is raw and open and her heart aches in response. Bellamy steps forward and kisses her slow and steady.
It’s forever and not nearly long enough when Bellamy's mouth releases her. He rests his forehead against her temple and swallows hard, his eyes falling shut.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes,” she breathes, “Are you?”
Bellamy smiles, soft and sad, and kisses the freckle on Clarke’s upper lip.
“I’m always sure about you.”
They spend that night entwined in Clarke’s bed. Hot skin and trailing touches beneath pink sheets.
Night saps heat from the air, but Bellamy is all warmth.
Clarke doesn’t sleep, unwilling to sacrifice a second she has left with Bellamy and he seems to feel the same way. They spend the night exchanging words and kisses in the place of dreams.
“Promise you’ll write,” she whispers into his bare chest.
His breath warms her ear.
“I promise.”
“Promise you won’t do anything stupid.”
“I promise.”
“Promise you’ll come back,” her voice breaks.
Clarke knows that’s not something Bellamy can guarantee. But when Bellamy kisses her instead of answering, it still feels like a promise.
He turns them over and Clarke’s hair spills across the pillow as Bellamy’s settles between her legs.
He drags his lips across her jaw and kisses his way down her neck. He pauses to press his lips against her heart and Clarke lets the words she’s been holding back crest on her tongue. (If she doesn’t say them now, she never will.)
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Bellamy freezes, mouth against her skin. Slowly, he pulls back and meets Clarke’s eyes. He looks at her like she’s his wish come true and Clarke hates that this moment is colored by fear. She hates that Bellamy is the first person she’s ever been in love with and that in the morning he’s leaving to fight another man’s war.
Her voice shakes, “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified I might lose you.”
Bellamy’s heart is in his eyes. Messy and tangled and perfect.
“I can’t lose you,” she whispers.
“You won’t,” he says, firm. Sure.
“You don’t know that—”
Bellamy kisses her. A promise and a prayer.
“You won’t lose me, Clarke,” he says when they break, breathless, “I love you.”
The next morning, Bellamy curls a hand around the back of Clarke’s neck on the porch and kisses her one last time.
“I love you,” he whispers, forehead heavy against her own.
“I love you,” she replies, sadness heavy in her throat.
Clarke watches as Bellamy climbs into his truck and turns on the engine. She watches him drive off down her street and stays on the porch until morning fades into day and the sun bakes the ground. Clarke stands on her porch and hopes against hope that this isn’t the last time she gets to tell Bellamy those words.