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chasholidays · 7 years ago

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Hi! I cant believe it's holiday fic season already what happened. My prompt is for the 100, whatever pairing you'd like. The pairing has been neighbors forever, and regularly go visit via the others bedroom window. They dont keep it a secret on purpose, but dont realize its weird until one of them goes into the others room without realizing someone is already in there. :)

i. ten

Bellamy hates his mom’s new boyfriend.

She’s had boyfriends before, but he’s never actually hated any of them, not while she was dating them. But Bart wants to be a father to Bellamy in just the bad ways, wants to be the one who punishes him for screwing up and ignores all the good marks on his report card to focus on the two areas where he needs improvement.

That’s his excuse for sending Bellamy to bed without dinner, telling Mom that it’s the only way he’ll learn.

“Boys need discipline,” he says. “If you don’t teach him what’s right now, he’ll never learn. You have to take a firm hand.”

Mom doesn’t argue, and he hates them, both of them, with a passion. It was a good report card. One of his needs improvement scores was on penmanship. He doesn’t have to have good handwriting. Plenty of people don’t. Doctors don’t. He’s seen Clarke’s mom write notes; he knows that’s not just a joke in TV shows.

Mom comes to check on him an hour later, when he’s reading.

“I know you think it’s unfair, but Bart is just trying to help.”

“Trying to help who?”

“I know it’s hard for you, not having a father figure in your life.”

“I’d rather not have anyone than have him.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do so.”

She sighs again. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Not if I don’t have anything to eat,” he mutters.

His mother doesn’t have a response to that, just leans over, kisses his hair, and turns off the light on her way out.

He makes himself read two more chapters of his book, and then he carefully opens up the window and climbs out onto the roof.

It’s not a bad path from Bellamy’s window to the ground, and it goes over the garage, so even if he’s loud (which he isn’t, he and Clarke checked), Mom doesn’t usually hear him. Once he’s gotten to the end of the garage, all he has to do is climb down onto the fence, and then from the fence to the ground. He could fall, but he never has before. He’s good at this.

Clarke’s house is behind his, and there’s a fence between their yards, but that’s never been a problem. There’s a gap in the fence behind the shed that his mom doesn’t know about, and he can still fit through it.

Getting to Clarke’s window is a little harder. He has to climb up a tree, and the branches are just a little too high. But he’s a good climber, and he wants to see Clarke. If he knocked on the door this late, her parents would worry, and they’d tell his mom, and he’d get in even more trouble.

So he has to improvise.

Her light is out, but he does their special knock, and after just a few minutes, she comes over and opens the window.

“Bellamy?” she whispers, looking worried.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I hate Bart.”

She moves out of the way so he can come in. “I know. What happened?”

“He said my report card wasn’t good enough and sent me to bed without dinner. And Mom let him.”

“You didn’t have dinner?” she asks, sounding horrified.

“No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Just annoyed.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiles. “Do you actually have any food up here?”

“Not much,” she says. “But I have a candy bar.”

“You have a candy bar and you didn’t eat it yet?”

“I was saving it!” She goes over to her dresser and pulls out a Kit-Kat. It’s fun-size, not a real candy bar, but it’s still good.

“Thanks. Do you want half?”

“It’s okay. I had dinner.” She worries her lip. “Sorry about Bart. I hate him.”

“I hate him too. Thanks for the candy.”

“You’re welcome. Are you going to go home?” she asks. “You could stay.”

“Mom might feel guilty,” he says. “I should go home. If she notices I’m not there, it’ll be bad.”

“I guess. Sorry,” she says again.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry that it’s happening. I hope she breaks up with him soon.”

“She always breaks up with them.” He sighs. “Okay, I should go.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. I think I’m grounded too, so–I’ll see you when I can.”

“Okay. If you come over tomorrow night, I’ll have some food for you. Just in case.”

He has to smile; Bart might suck, but at least his best friend is great. “Thanks, Clarke. Goodnight.”

“Night, Bellamy.”

ii. fifteen

Nine times out of ten, Bellamy knows better than to fall asleep at Clarke’s, which means that, when he does do it, circumstances must be dire.

Dr. Griffin seems to agree, because she shakes him awake with a weary, “Time to get up, Bellamy.”

Clarke is still asleep, curled into herself on the other side of the bed, and since Dr. Griffin doesn’t try to wake her, he doesn’t either. He slides out of bed carefully, glad he didn’t even take off his jeans, and Dr. Griffin jerks her head to the door.

He follows her into the hall, she closes the door, and they stand for a second in awkward silence.

“Coffee?” she finally offers.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Bellamy has always assumed Dr. Griffin doesn’t understand his friendship with Clarke, in part because he doesn’t understand it himself. It was a mistake of geography, the two of them becoming friends, something that never would have happened if her house wasn’t behind his. They don’t go to the same school, they don’t run in the same social circles.

They’re still best friends.

“You snuck in?” Dr. Griffin asks.

He doesn’t see much point in denying it. “I was worried. I didn’t want her to be alone.”

She nods. “Ordinarily, I’d be telling you sleepovers have to go through me. But—I’m glad you were there for her.”

“Understood.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “How are you doing?”

Her mouth tugs up in a wry half smile. She looks exhausted and wrung out; he assumes she fell asleep crying, the same as Clarke did. “I’m doing the best I can. Thank you for asking.”

He already offered his condolences yesterday, and they felt as hollow then as they do now. He lost his father before he ever knew him, and the pain of that is different from Jake’s death now, today.

“Why don’t you go back up to Clarke’s room?” she asks, to his surprise. “I’ll give your mother a call, let her know you’re here. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

If he made the call, he’d get a talking to, death or no death, but Dr. Griffin should be able to handle it.

Still, her husband just died.

“You don’t have to. I can call her.”

“I think it will sound better coming from me. It’s fine, Bellamy,“ she adds, before he can protest any further. "Go look after Clarke.”

A lump rises in his throat; maybe she doesn’t mind his being friends with Clarke so much after all.

“I will. Let us know if you need anything.”

Clarke’s still asleep when he gets back, so he grabs Graceling off her bookshelf and settles in with his coffee.

She rolls over and curls up against him. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just wanted some coffee.”

“Did my mom see you?”

“Yeah, it was fine.” He slides his hand into her hair, gentle. “How are you doing?”

“Shitty.”

“I figured. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay. Thanks for being here.”

“Obviously,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

iii. twenty

Bellamy gets home for spring break a week before Clarke does, which always seems unfair. It wouldn’t be that hard for their schools to coordinate so they have the whole vacation together. It would just be polite.

Clarke’s getting back late on Friday, and while he’s sure he could just call her and have her let him in, it seems like a lot of work when he could just climb up to her window.

The light is on and the window is unlocked, so she must have had the same thought.

He taps the glass, just so she has warning, and when there’s no response, he opens it up and slides in.

“If you’re not the neighbor I’m calling the cops,” someone says, and he jerks up to see a gorgeous girl with long, dark hair staring at him.

He scrambles for an explanation for her presence. Clarke is single right now, so it can’t be a girlfriend, and she didn’t mention anyone coming back with her, but there were storms in the northeast, so maybe someone’s flight got canceled.

Either way, she’s already in the room and he was breaking in through the window, so he’s definitely in the wrong here.

“Bellamy, yeah,” he says.

“And this is just your thing.”

He frowns. “What is?”

“You climb into Clarke’s window?”

It feels like a trick question. “Just when it’s after like eight.”

The girl stares at him, then shakes her head. “Wow, you don’t think that’s weird. I thought it must just be Clarke. Nope, you guys are somehow just convinced this is a thing that happens.”

“Did you never watch Clarissa Explains It All?” he asks, but there is this prickling awareness up his neck.

It’s not as if he never thought it was weird. One time, when they were fourteen, he knocked on the window and she called back that she was changing, and he’d thought maybe that was the end, that she’d tell him to never come back. That they’d crossed that mysterious threshold of being too old.

But once she was done, she opened the window with a smile, and the moment passed.

“Dude,” says the girl.

“Sorry, but who are you again?”

“Raven. My flight got canceled.”

“Sorry. Nice to meet you, thanks for telling me my life is weird, I guess.”

“Come on, she said her hot neighbor came in through her window but that it wasn’t a euphemism. Of course I didn’t believe her.”

“Raven,” says Clarke, at the door. It’s just as well, because otherwise Bellamy would have asked if Clarke called him hot, or if Raven was editorializing. Which would not have helped any part of his life, honestly.

“I was just saying. You done with the bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, then I’m going to shower. Have fun catching up.”

That’s definitely a euphemism, and Bellamy feels himself flush. “Nice to meet you too.”

Once they’re alone, Clarke bites her lip, smiling a little. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Sorry about her. I told her you’d probably show up and she made a huge deal about it.”

“I guess I could have just come in through the door like a normal person.”

“Fuck that.” She looks him up and down. “Do I get a hug?”

“Oh, yeah, obviously.”

He wraps her up in his arms, and she burrows in, tucking her nose against his neck. She’s freshly showered and smells clean and bright and perfect. They talk, of course, when they’re at school, but he still misses her so much he can’t breathe sometimes.

“This is kind of weird, right?” he murmurs. “She wasn’t wrong.”

"Weird how?”

“I don’t do this with any of my other friends.”

“You don’t live this close to them.”

“I wouldn’t, though. Just you.”

She pulls back, studying him, eyes sharp. He loves her in the easiest way possible, has loved her since before he even knew it. And he thinks he could go on loving her like that for the rest of his life, could love other people too, without feeling guilty about it. It doesn’t have to be anything, but it could be. If it wasn’t, he’d always wonder what it would have been like.

So maybe now is the time to find out.

“Just me?” she asks, and he tucks her hair back behind her ear.

“Sorry, do you have a lot of people climbing in your window?”

She laughs. “No, you’re right. Just you.”

Even though there are probably better things to say, he asks, “Did you tell Raven I’m your hot neighbor?”

“Obviously.”

“Cool,” he says, and kisses her.

It’s just like he hoped it would be.

iv. twenty-five

The window in Clarke’s dressing room is probably too small for him to actually climb through, and even if he could, it would really mess up his tux, but tradition is important, so he does the secret knock and waits for Clarke to call, “It’s bad luck for you to see me, dumbass!”

“There are curtains, I can’t see you.”

“So you’re just hanging outside like a creeper?”

“I wanted to say hi.”

“We’re getting married in an hour. I figured we’d probably get to talk then.”

“This is the last time you’re going to have a window that isn’t mine too, okay?”

They’ve been living together since they finished college, so it’s not as if cohabitation is going to be some new thing for them, but of course, Clarke gets it. Clarke always gets it.

“Okay, yeah. Do you want to come in?”

“Not really, just–for old time’s sake.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll lock yourself out of the apartment and have to knock to get in sooner or later. We’re not losing this.”

“Sorry for trying to do something romantic on our wedding day.”

“You should be.” The curtain moves back, and Clarke opens the door. She’s got a blanket around her shoulders, so he can’t see her dress, just her face. “You’re a dork.”

“I know.” He leans in for a kiss. “That’s all I wanted.”

“Definitely worth the risk of a lifetime of bad luck. Go back to your dressing room. If you don’t make it to our wedding because you were too busy trying to climb in my window, I’m never going to forgive you.”

He gives her one more kiss and pulls back. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t miss it.”

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