Bellamy had never touched you, never tried, or even suggested you spend a night in his tent like the other girls he’d been with when they had landed. It’s not that he didn’t think you were pretty. You were beautiful, your exterior just as much as your mind, your views that could be slightly naive, but he quickly found himself trying to keep you alive. Safe. Content. Octavia was his main concern, of course she was; That’s his little sister.

But you? You were always on his mind right after, wondering if you were doing well, if he could somehow ease your troubles by being a sarcastic prick to make you scoff a little. All this time and effort he puts into making sure you were living, breathing, laughing, others knew his utter devotion to you before he could even grasp the concept.

Bellamy’s not a fool, though. He recognized his feelings for you when you chose to leave Arkadia after saving everyone from Mount Weather. He’d asked you to come inside with him, practically begged with his eyes, asking you to choose him and not Polis with Lexa. He’d done so much for you, thought you had a deep, mutual, understanding for each other, so why the hell were you leaving?

With you gone, for months after, he found himself in a relationship with Gina, as much as it was nice, it wasn’t fulfilling. Deep down, he knew that, and even that damn AI did. With Allie corrupting Raven’s mind, blatantly pointing out how he was never devoted to Gina as he was to you, it got to him in a way he wouldn’t admit. Because it was true. He liked Gina, yeah, but he loved you. It was pathetic how he fell back in line to help you in any way he could after you come back for one fucking day.

You heard Raven, or Allie, speaking through her, her conversation with Bellamy, and you look down, almost ashamed, because you feel like you’ve taken your bond with Bellamy for granted. You know he’d do anything for you, if you just said the word, he’d do it. No questions asked. And he thought you’d return the favor, but you left, and at the beach, shoes in the sand as you finally talk about it, Bellamy admits just how much your departure had torn him.

“I was so angry at you for leaving,” He says, the way his voice cracks makes your heart twist, your gaze never leaving his as he shakes his head. “I don’t want to feel that way anymore.” His words weigh heavy, and you can’t resist the urge to pull him in, his arm coming behind your neck as it always does, his hand on the back of your neck, hair tangled in his fingers—God, the way he buries his face in the crook of your neck like a wounded man yearning for your presence, your consolation.