This story is being reposted from 2017 as part of this endeavor. Since it was written in the last few years, it didn’t need any extra editing (yay!), but it fits with my theme for February, so I’m reposting it. Enjoy.
Sleepless nights send Bellamy and Clarke on a crash course to finally fixing their friendship. Post season 3.
2,054 words | [R for language]
I’m not even sure why I’m here. I was on my way back to my quarters but took a wrong turn. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. But now that I’m here, I’m not sure what to do. The hall is dark—the power low to reflect the late hour—and it’s quiet. Everyone went to bed hours ago. I think about turning around. I think about going through with it. I think about running for my life because I’m sure this might be the biggest fucking mistake I could ever make.
All of this runs through my head in the matter of seconds. While my brain is trying to sort it out, my feet get a mind of their own. Next thing I know, I’m standing in front of Clarke’s quarters.
This is okay, isn’t it? We’re friends. After everything we’ve been through, it’s perfectly normal for one friend to call on another. I ignore the fact that it’s three in the morning. She said we needed each other. That had to mean something, right? And right now I need her. I need to talk to her. She always gets me like no one else can, not even Octavia. I need to talk to her. I need to see her face. To assure myself that she’s still here. That she isn’t some cruel prank my brain is playing on me. That she’s real, and she stayed this time.
She needed me.
And now I need her.
I hover in front of her door, rooted by indecision. On one hand, Lexa just died. It’s not like I’m asking her to marry me—I just want to talk. To spend time with her. We’re friends. On the other hand, the world is probably going to end in another month. There aren’t going to be many more somedays. I pull my hand back to knock, but then I hear footsteps.
My heart leaps into my throat as someone rounds the corner, but it’s just one of the guards. Probably heading home from the late shift just like me. He barely gives me a nod as he passes, his heavy steps scuffing the floor. I let out a breath. This is ridiculous. If I’m jumping like a startled school kid caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar then I know this is wrong.
I spin on my heel and force myself to walk away. Without looking back. This never happened. I won’t even think about how close I came to making a fool out of myself. I’ll go home, take a hot shower, pretend I can sleep in my soft bed, and when I get up, she’ll have breakfast with me and our friends. She’s real. She’s here. She wants to be here.
Because she has nowhere else to go. Read more…