Six Years | Bellarke

VI. Late for the Love of my Life

A week later, Clarke stood in the hallway outside of Bellamy's apartment. She held a bag of Chinese takeout and a six pack of blue Gatorade in her arms, and they were starting to feel awfully heavy (and she was beginning to wonder if it was normal for two people to eat this much food), but she couldn't seem to knock on the door.

She had texted Bellamy that afternoon, asking if she could come over, and he had just buzzed her through the main entrance, so he knew she was there. He was probably wondering what was taking her so long. She just didn't feel capable of putting her hand into the shape of a fist and tapping her knuckles on the wood in front of her.

Sure, she had seen Bellamy a few times since she returned home, but this was the first time they were hanging out by themselves. It was the first time they were doing anything that carried any sense of familiarity. It felt important. Clarke didn't know what to wear (she settled on a navy blue sweatshirt and jeans because she remembered that Bellamy always kept his apartment at frigid temperatures), she didn't know how to act (she couldn't exactly snuggle with him on the couch like old times), and she was terrified that an activity that had once felt as natural as hanging out at Bellamy's was going to be horribly awkward.

Before Clarke could summon enough courage, the door in front of her opened. Bellamy stood in front of her, wearing worn jeans and a white t-shirt. He looked perfect without even trying, and it gutted her.

His mouth opened in surprise when he saw her. "I was just going to come see if you needed any help with the bags or anything," he explained.

"Sorry, the elevator was busy. I just got here," she lied.

He raised his eyes skeptically, and Clarke was reminded that he'd always been able to see right through her. But he let this one slide, probably out of pity.

"Alright. Well, come on in."

He moved aside so she could enter, and she tried to subtly take in his new place she he showed her to the kitchen. It was a moderate two-bedroom apartment, and it seemed mature and well-kept. He didn't have a lot of personal items, just some pictures of him and Octavia hanging on the walls. She noticed one of the photos was from when they had all gone skiing her senior year. In the picture, Bellamy and Octavia are smiling at the bottom of the hill. It was adorable, but the image was cropped awkwardly. If Clarke remembered correctly, she was on the other side of Bellamy in that moment. She felt a pang in her gut when she realized he must have cut her out of the photo. Trying to ignore her discomfort, she set the food and drinks on the counter.

"Thanks for bringing all this," he said. While his voice was kind, his hands were in his pockets, like he was nervous, and the air in the room felt uneasy.

"Yeah, no problem," she replied. "I appreciate you letting me come over."

"Hey, I promised I'd try, right?" He gave her a small smile. Then, he looked at the Gatorade on the counter, and his grin widened. "You know we're grown-ups now, Clarke? We can buy enough liquor that we don't have to mix it with a sports drink."

"I mixed it myself," Clarke chuckled. "For old time's sake."

Still amused, Bellamy grabbed a bottle and took a sip. His lips puckered. "I forgot how horrible that is," he choked out.

"Well, at least I came through with the food."

"What kind did you get?" He asked, referring to the takeout bag.

"What do you think?" She asked playfully.

"You didn't remember my order, did you?"

"Amazing chicken with a side of duck sauce and a bowl of those weird crispy noodles," Clarke answered.