The one next door

Finale

There are certain things in life that are inexplicably hard. There's maths, chemistry, for some people even cooking a damn egg... And then, for Bellamy, seeing his best friend dating someone else. It hurts. And he doesn't know why, he even tries to hide it and play it cool; an act in which he is, for the moment, succeeding. He is even trying to convince himself that it doesn't, that he isn't jealous, not at all; because that, in his mind, would be not only selfish from him, but also an hypocrisy: he dated Mel, and he has been seeing  plenty of girls for the last couple of years, even if it was just for a night. But him tricking himself works only for a moment. Because when it's 2 am on a Saturday and there isn't much to do other than think, or when he sees Clarke getting ready to go to Finn's house and not his, or sees Finn going to hers, or, even worse, when he realizes they're not spending as time together as they used to, he can't help but think about it. Feel it.
And he can't complain. He can't say a single thing. Because Clarke looks happy, and that's all that matters to him; that's the only thing that has always mattered. So he stays, quiet in his room, staring at the ceiling and thinking for hours... like he is doing now, while he waits for Clarke to come back from her date. She went to see some movies at Finn's house. Bellamy's stomach churns a little at the thought of something else happening; the simple thought of it. "Stop" he tells himself. He can't be like this. So selfish. And for what? They are just friends; best friends, in fact. And that's what they are always going to be. She made that very clear when she kissed him just for the sake of making Finn feel jealous. And it's not the kiss what bothers him, not even the fact that she 'used' him as a favor. But what the kiss awakened: a desperate need of Clarke. To hold her in his arms. To taste her lips. To touch her body. But he ignores it, as always. Too blind to actually see what's happening to him; to blind to realize that maybe, just maybe, it's not just a one time thing. It's not just physical attraction. Maybe it's something more. But he can't allow himself to think about that possibility, not ever; much less now that she is happy... with someone that isn't him. It's not fair for him to do that to himself; to imagine. To idealize. To be jealous.
The sound of a car stopping in front of the Griffins's house takes him out of his thoughts. He sits up, ready to hear everything that Clarke has to share. He shivers at the sound of her laugh; so genuine, not at all forced. She is happy. She is having fun. His body fills with joy knowing what a great time she must've had, "Goodnight" he hears her say, softly.

"Night babe", a deeper voice answers. And then, he can hear the car start and go, right before he hears Clarke closing the door. He didn't even wait for her to close the door, — he thinks — asshole.

He waits until he sees light in her room. He gets up, quicker than he would like to admit, and gets out to his balcony, grabbing a sweater before; Autumn is just starting and the breeze can be a little cold. He leans on the railing, and waits for her to come out.
Clarke takes her shoes off, and puts on a pair of  slippers. He knows how much she hates those shoes, despite Abby insisting on how cute they are, and wonders why the hell she was wearing them.

Finally, she gets out to her balcony. She is wearing what it seems to be a very uncomfortable top, and a skirt. She looks great, of course; she always does. But he can't help but think that that isn't her, that she isn't using that for herself. "Hi" she says, softly, grinning.

"Hey," Bellamy smiles back, "how was your date?" he asks.

Clarke bites her lips, holding a little smile "It was," she pauses, letting out a sigh "really good. I had a really nice time."

"I'm glad." Bellamy nods, repeatedly. He bites his tongue, trying not to ask what he is about to ask, but that doesn't work. "Which movie did you watch?"

Clarke's cheeks turn red as a tomato, and looks away, "We didn't watch any movie."

Curiosity killed the cat — he thinks. He swallows hard, "Oh. I see." he says, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. He knew he shouldn't ask that. He knew what the answer would be. But he asked anyway. He set himself up.