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Clarke hadn’t met Bellamy in the flesh, but they felt intimate.
Her epistolary introduction to him occurred after Octavia moved in.
“You’ve got actual mail,” Clarke said curiously, placing the handwritten envelope on the kitchen counter. “Is that still a thing?”
“It’s my brother,” Octavia said from the stove. “He’s special forces.” She turned to Clarke with a childlike spark. “Read it to me while I cook?”
“Of course!” Clarke cried.
She’d grown impossibly fond of her housemate.
At first it was odd reading Bellamy’s words aloud, but she got comfortable. His tone was coolly conversational and she found herself wondering how his voice would sound.
“Bell read to me all the time,” Octavia said at the end; kissing Clarke’s forehead and making sure she was fed.
Somehow, it became a ritual.
Clarke read the letters aloud, often on the couch or in the car - even while Octavia had a bath.
They always started with “Hey O, what do you know?” Clarke couldn’t contain her smile.
One night, Octavia wrote a reply while she sketched, interjecting now and then.
“Don’t forget to tell him about Lincoln,” she winked and Octavia sighed, taking a peek at her portrait.
“Can I send that to Bell?” she asked with admiration.
“Sure,” Clarke shrugged.
The next letter was addressed slightly different.
“Dear Octavia and Clarke,” she read.
A blush crept to her head.
Some months later she tore through the door with a fistful of letters and a flustered smile on her face.
“Can I open the mail, O?” Clarke wriggled her jacket off in a rush. “Pleeease, let me read…”
A heady scent hit her and she looked up to see Bellamy standing by Octavia’s side.
“Allow me,” he crooned, with a smile in his eyes.
Yes… they felt intimate.