king of roma


Many years before, a man was made deputy of Western Rome on behalf of the Emperor. When the man first arrived to his newly appointed office a woman cried out “This is the man who will restore the temples of the Gods!”

The man was in shock, for he was not a Galilean as his uncle Constantine the Apostate or his mother Basilina. For this man was Julian, a Hellene. A pagan. For now he was in the closet, but even though he did not know it yet, he would one day animate the woman’s word.

Now just over half a decade later, Julian received the news he wanted to hear. He swiftly begun to draft a letter to his friend Maximus of Ephesus who introduced him to the very Gods that his family abandoned decades ago.

“I worship the Gods openly and the whole mass of the troops who are returning with me worship the Gods.” penned the new Augustus, “I sacrifice oxen in public. I have offered many great public sacrifices to the Gods as thanks offerings. The Gods command me to restore Their worship in the utmost purity and I obey Them, yes and with a good will.”

Julian sat down his writing utensil, his hands trembling in excitement. He looked to the heavens and the Gods gave him a warm smile. Like a lighthouse guiding a ship in a storm, they led Julian on the right path and landed him on the purple. The civil war that erupted across the Empire had ended just as fast as it had begun, a bloodless conflict. Julian’s cousin, the now-deceased Emperor Constantius II who had ruled arbitrarily, the very man who years ago murdered Julian’s own father and brother, was dead, having received Thanatos’ cold embrace in a fever far away from any battlefield. Julian, the Caesar of the West, was now recognized as ruler of the East. Julian was now the sole ruler of Rome.

No longer did he have to shave. No, now he was newly bearded, with all the grace of youth. No longer did he attend a mass to listen to the sermons of a bishop. No, now he publicly embraced the message of Heracles, the begotten son of the sun. No longer did he scribe for someone else’s church. No, now he wrote for his Gods, his philosophy and his temples. In his heartfelt gratitude to the Gods who he felt love for like the family he never had, Julian legalized temples to be built again and public sacrifice to be performed once again. Hellenism was to be made the state religion of Rome again, and with the utmost piety.

Julian entered the capital city of where he was born on December 11, 361 through its Golden Gate as sole Augustus of the Roman Empire. The atmosphere was dreamy and energetic. He could hear the cries of joy coming from his people, who appeared en masse to cheer their new Emperor on.

Temples were constructed and great rituals were performed. He reformed the faith and devoutly organized it. He wrote great literature and sang hymns of praise to the Gods. He both refurbished the Oracle of Delphi and even begun helping the Jews rebuild the Temple of Jerusalem. For this is the man who was going to restore the temples of the Gods.

But his time was cut short. After a failed campaign against an aggressive Persia at his country’s borders, he was mortally wounded and laid semi-conscious in bed for three days. He was to die too young to fix the world before it would stop making sense. The light in the darkness was to fade.

An Oracle came before the semi-conscious Emperor who laid in bed. “A fiery chariot whirled among storm-clouds shall carry you to Olympus; loosed from the wretched suffering of men” spoke the wise priest, “You shall attain your Father’s halls of heavenly light, whence you have fallen and come into the body of a mortal man.”

It was June 28th that he was too greeted by a now-somber Thanatos. Serapis came before the dying Emperor and freed Julian from his corporeal bonds. The gentle God lifted Julian’s soul towards the Islands of the Blest; Elysium-bound, through a divine ray of light towards henosis. Helios, the King of All, hugged Julian with warm embrace.

“Whom the Gods love die young.”


Eurovision 2017 semi-final
  • Serbia: I feel like Sugababes sold "About you now" to Avicii + topless dancer in background
  • Austria: Is it Ed Sheeran's song to next Bridget Jones movie? And what about disco-moon?
  • Macedonia: It was like Beyonce singing some sad disco
  • Malta: Lone singer in white dress singing ballad on empty stage... AGAIN
  • Romania: Yodeling rap with rainbow and karaoke in the background AND FREAKING CANNON
  • The Netherlands: Dutch Destiny's Child with unpronouncable name
  • Hungary: Roma king playing on vase. And he is rapping too! AND VIOLIN! Even cannon wouldn't make it more awesome
  • Denmark: At least dress isn't white. Oh and golden rain was nice
  • Ireland: Next Frodo-alike cute guy in balloon who... OH GOD THIS VOICE. NICE IRISH FRODO, NICE...
  • San Marino: Fitness team singing "spirit of the night" gym song
  • Croatia: Sam from GoT in leather jacket/suit has multiple personality on stage. And rainbow...
  • Norway: Glitchy semi-folk guy and his electronic, masked assistants.
  • Switzerland: Yellow-pink team and really long dress paired up to create... ballad.
  • Belarus: Forest fairy and her guitar player on flying boat. And yodeling. I'M IN
  • Bulgaria: Dane DeHaan is it you?
  • Lithuania: They can't decide whether it's jazz or pop or ballad
  • Estonia: Phantom of the Opera 21st century version
  • Israel: Israeli Sergey Lazarev and his fully clothed dancers training krav maga in electronic beat

Depressione post-concerto

Queste sono le parole che mi rappresentano di più. Non ci posso credere, non riesco a rendermene conto che devo aspettare 3 anni per vederlo di nuovo. Appena mi vengono in mente i ricordi dei concerti, inizio a piangere….e le lacrime non le posso fermare. No…non ce la faccio. Ho bisogno di lui. 

2 settimane fa mi preparavo per la vacanza. Stavo per volare a Roma. Ma adesso…mi sto sedendo davanti al PC e mi sento talmente vuota. Durante la vacanza ero felicissima, piena di energia, avevo un sorriso stampato sulla faccia. Non vedevo l’ora di partecipare ai suoi concerti. A dire la verità il 28 era un giorno duro e faticoso. Quello era il mio terzo concerto sul prato, con la tessera. Stare in fila quasi 12 ore, sotto il sole…boh! Ma ne vale la pena! Rifarei mille volte tutto quello che ho fatto. Vederlo da vicino è una cosa inenarrabilmente bellissima! Mentre cantava lui, io urlavo, piangevo, sorridevo..e sentivo le emozioni infinite che mi regala dall’inizio, da quando lo avevo sentito e visto per la prima volta alla tv. Ho già detto ‘grazie’  a Dio diverse volte per avermi data la fortuna di conoscerlo. Non posso dire nient’altro. Quel giorno ha specificato il mio destino, per sempre. Finché c'è lui, tutto mi sembra facile e semplice.

Grazie Tiziano. Grazie di tutto. C'ero, ci sono e ci sarò. Con te. E per te. Per sempre. Ovunque andrai. E qualunque cosa farai.

Ti amo e ti amerò per sempre!


Infine penso. Penso a chi ha semplicemente un’anima bellissima, stupenda, di quelle che sono pura luce, di quelle che solo incontrarle ti rende felice, felice veramente. E siete in tanti, davvero.

Bellarke one-shot: Everything led to her OR The three times Clarke made Bellamy smile and didn’t see it (and the one time she did)

Bellarke au where Bellamy is an extremely emotionally stunted man and Clarke has dropped so many hints, it’s a wonder she hasn’t tripped on them. 

A/N: This fic contains the following tropes: Best friend’s brother, fake dating, sharing a bed, and comforting s/o. (In case you’re wondering just how much cheese this piece of writing contains)

Length: 5k words 

Let’s make one thing abundantly clear first. Bellamy Blake did not smile. He scowled and there was the occasional low chuckle. He smirked a lot. But Bellamy Blake did not smile.

It may seem like an awfully emotionally stunted thing and it was. He just didn’t like to admit it. It was definitely strange but you wouldn’t notice it, unless he explicitly told you about it (he never does, it’s slightly embarrassing). Then you’d have to think back to every single one your interactions with and go; huh, yeah he’s never smiled before. He didn’t know exactly why. It was a natural phenomenon. Almost an instinct. Never smile, you’re giving them too much power. It’s strange and without reason but it was one of those intrinsically Bellamy things like how he drank his coffee black and hated the Beatles and would give away his kidneys to see the library of Alexandria. It was just a part of him he had no intention of changing.

But, if anyone ever asked (hypothetically, of course), he’d just say that you’d have to earn it (and so far, the only one to have ever earned it was Octavia and she didn’t have to do anything but exist). Either way, it was very dick thing to say, he’d agree. The thing is, it’d worked like a charm in warding off potential close emotional bonds. He had no time for them and he had a fuck-ton of abandonment issues. Being a closed-off asshole worked well for him. It was good for a one time lay too. No girl ever wanted more than a good fuck. And that’s exactly what he was; a good fuck. Some people might have called his lifestyle lonely, he called it efficient. It was order and he liked order.

Until Clarke, of course.

She was Octavia’s best friend. The first time he saw her, she was sixteen and gawky and sweet. (She denies vehemently ever having a crush on him, but he know she’s lying.) They’d argue all the time because they were both stubborn bastards and he got a kick out of seeing her mad. Time passed, he didn’t offer her anything more than arrogant smirks and the ruffling of her hair and she didn’t offer anything more than exasperated eye-rolls and the flipping of her middle finger.

Then all of a sudden, she was nineteen years old and wearing a tight tank top and he wasn’t ruffling her hair anymore. When did she get so hot?Was she always this hot and it was just that he didn’t notice? Clarke had noticed his lingering gaze and instead of blushing, like she once would have, she raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?” She demanded. He actually wanted to tell her that she looked great but he reconsidered. He was not taking that route with Clarke-fucking-Griffin.

“Nothing. I just never noticed you had boobs.” He smirked at the end for added obnoxiousness. But Clarke didn’t miss one beat. She crossed her arms across her chest, further pronouncing what he was already painfully aware of.

“Well, that’s because I got the implants yesterday.”

Bellamy almost smiled at that one. But he had more self-control at that. He bit his bottom lip and chuckled low before simply walking away.

He couldn’t ignore the dull ache he felt at a chest. Regret. If he said what he was actually thinking, things might have gone slightly differently. Then he was relieved, for the same reason. He was a hot piping mess.

But none of it matter anyway. Clarke Griffin was Octavia’s best friend and he cared about her and he didn’t want to break her heart. Or maybe he didn’t want her to break his heart. Besides, Octavia seemed just a little too excited at the prospect of them dating. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint Octavia when he inevitably fucked up.

It wasn’t going to work.

Then, the first of the four things happened, and Bellamy is fucked.

The first time he smiled, she turned away too quick with an angry huff and blonde hair tossed over her shoulder.

Apparently the infuriating smirking and vague answering of questions was consistent with a healthy potential relationship to Roma. She stayed the night which Bellamy did not mind. He wasn’t a big enough dick to make girls wander off alone in the dead of night, just because he couldn’t stomach cuddling.

But Roma stayed for breakfast, then for lunch and she asked him, really casually, out for dinner. Now, he could read people well. So when she asked him really casually, he knew that she really wanted him to say yes. And if there was one thing Bellamy Blake couldn’t do, it was say no to a girl. Oh god, he’d have to marry her wouldn’t he?

But then he had an idea. A means to escape. After all, Bellamy Blake could give fucking Houdini a run for his money when it comes to escaping. (Clarke’s words not his.)

He goes over to Raven’s apartment where he knows Octavia and Clarke are house-sitting. Raven was on holiday with her boyfriend and apparently she’d decided that Octavia could be trusted with an actual apartment to herself. So, Clarke had went over saying that it’d be a fun sleep-over. But, in his heart of hearts, he knew that she was there to make sure Octavia didn’t set anything on fire. And he appreciated her for it. Truthfully, he’d appreciate anyone who cared so ardently for her sister.

He knocked at the door more than slightly desperately. Clarke was the one to open it, a slight crease forming between her eyebrows once she had taken in Bellamy’s disheveled appearance and the helplessness in his eyes. Façade of coolness be damned to hell.

“Clarke, you’re perfect,” he declared. Her eyes widened slightly but she was a mask of calm almost immediately.

“That might be a slight overkill but I agree for the most part,” Clarke deadpanned.

“And hello to you too, big brother.” Bellamy turned around to see Octavia leaned against the door frame, an all too knowing smirk on her face. Like brother like sister.

“I mean I need your help with something and you’re perfect for that…,” he trailed off not knowing how to finish the statement. Clarke raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Could you just help me?” Bellamy begged. Clarke softened a little.

“I’m going to need a little more details.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.” Clarke rolled her eyes so far back in her head, it should have hurt but she didn’t refute the claim. If he were a braver man, he would’ve smiled right then.


They were at a burger king and Roma sat across the table, seemingly happy to be here. She wasn’t. When Bellamy had asked her if she had wanted go to burger king for dinner and her face had soured for a second before she pasted a big, fake smile on her face.

That’s another reason he was doing this. If he started dating someone, he wanted to date someone he didn’t have to impress. Someone who he wouldn’t have to lie to. He wasn’t that guy for Roma, or for any girl for that matter. He thought back to what Clarke said when she agreed. I’ll do it but only because you’re a dick and I feel bad for the girl, she said, looking at him with a Clarke griffin exclusive combination of exasperation and disdain. Princess, he thought. You have no idea.

Clarke arrived, on cue. Just as he was about to take a sip of his pepsi so that he could do a spit take (he’d always wanted to do one and no amount of eye-rolling on Clarke’s part could stop him).

Roma looked at him, slightly alarmed as he emptied all the contents in his mouth in the fashion of an over-used nineties comedy trope.

“Clarke,” he sputtered as she appeared at the side of their table. He could see her physically abstain from scoffing. Instead, he watched in fascination as she set her features into authentic hurt. He would have been extremely concerned if he didn’t know she was acting. Princess, you keep surprising me.

“You’re cheating on me?” Clarke asked, her voice all watery and hurt. Bellamy watched Roma’s face turn from bewildered to sad to angry in a matter of seconds. He swallowed hard. But, to Bellamy’s and Clarke collective shock, she turned her anger on Clarke, full blast.

“If he liked you, he wouldn’t be here with me, would he?” Roma asked, her voice scarily calm. God, he was never sleeping around again. Clarke shot Bellamy a panicked look that he mirrored.

In retrospect, he could’ve done a number of different things to send Roma away. He could have told her that we was moving to Germany the next day, or that he was infertile, or that he did in fact, love his fake girlfriend. But Bellamy did something stupid. What else was new?

He stood up so fast, his chair toppled over and he leaned in, so close to Clarke, he could feel her warm breath against his cheek. He didn’t care to take in Roma’s face, suspended in shock. He could only stare at Clarke and her slightly parted lips. He grazed her lips with his, waiting for her to tell him to stop. Instead, she leaned in and wrung her hands around his neck and they were kissing. Never in a hundred years would he have guessed that he would have kissed Clarke Griffin in a burger king in front of a girl he had sex with less than 24 hours ago. And yet, there he was. His lips against her lips, her hands in his hair and his on her waist and then face. She tasted like sugar and he was a goner.

They tore apart when they heard a pterodactyl like scream and saw Roma storm out of the joint, telling the employees that their burgers were pure shit. Clarke cleared her throat. His hands were still on her face and they were still inches apart. He could have kissed her again and he wanted to kiss her again. He stared at her, all angelic, lips swollen, face flushed. She was just too good.

He often thought back to the moment once it was over, if he leaned in again, things might have gone differently. But again, he didn’t. He smirked at her, staring pointedly at her lips and then chest.

“My place or yours?” He almost cringed as the words escaped in a rush. He wanted to hit himself when he saw the look of hurt on her face. Immediately, she covered it up expertly with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms.

“Fuck you, Blake.”

“Well, that’s the point.” He hated himself.

She flipped him off as she stalked away, all effortless grace and raised shoulder.

This was Clarke Griffin. Sugary lips and fiery words and middle fingers and rolled eyes and a warrior’s gait.

And this was Bellamy Blake. He was closed off emotions and half-hearted smirks and never-smiles and the collector of broken hearts.

She was too good for him. He smiled and turned away before anyone could see it.

The second time he smiled, it’s too dark and her eyes were too filled with bleary sleep and sleep-deprived promises.

It’d been two years since the incident and Bellamy never thought about it again. Well, maybe a few times. He couldn’t measure his relief when he saw Clarke again the next week and she hadn’t hated him. Well, not more than usual. She rolled her eyes at him and flipped him off but it was done out of reluctant fondness. The kind that couldn’t be helped. They had fallen into a pattern. They bickered and they yelled at each other and the watched bad television together and they never thought about kissing each other. Bellamy allowed himself the exception of before he went to sleep. Letting his mind wander to the ‘what ifs’ and ‘could have beens.’ Clarke seemed to top that list. He should’ve kissed her again. Asked her out later. Bought her a goddamn burger. Anything except make her think that Bellamy didn’t think that she was awesome in every conceivable way. Sometimes, he fell asleep, imagining her lips against his. But that was the extent of which he thought about Clarke. She was better. She deserved good things.

That’s not to say Bellamy wasn’t getting better. He was working on his PhD and he worked and he didn’t sleep around as much. The Roma incident left him a little disturbed. He’d even had a two month relationship with a woman named Echo. Despite her name, she was very capable and career driven and he respected that a lot. But in the end, they’d agreed that they just weren’t compatible. (Bellamy had also felt extremely guilty when he fell asleep, yet again, to Clarke when Echo had her arms around his waist and her head on his chest). But Bellamy still didn’t smile. It was still one of those ‘him’ things he couldn’t get rid of. He came awfully close with Clarke a few times but he had a lot of self-control.

Bellamy was now mature enough to admit that he a lot of pent up feelings for Clarke but she didn’t and he wasn’t going to be that guy. He knew he’d hurt her before and he wouldn’t risk doing it again. Besides, Clarke’s got her sights set on an intimidatingly beautiful brunette. Lexa, if he could recall. He was happy for her. Not jealous at all. Nope.

So, it was a surprise when Clarke arrived at Bellamy’s place, looking vaguely pissed off. She had declared that Octavia, with whom she lived with, was having very loud sex with Lincoln and she would “literally rather have shoved a rusty pair of scissors into her eardrums, then listen to it for another second”. Bellamy would have much preferred not knowing about his sister’s sex life but was grateful for the company, nonetheless. He really liked Clarke. He didn’t need to kiss her to enjoy her company. Well, he would’ve liked to but he can’t and he liked her anyway. He liked her opinions and when he didn’t, he liked the way they argued. He liked the feel of her head on his lap when she fell asleep, marathoning ‘keeping up with Kardashians’. He liked her smile and the feel of her soul and her face and her body. He liked her and he was terrified.

“You don’t mind me crashing at your place, do you?” He almost laughed. Bellamy could never mind Clarke. He wanted to ask why she’d want to stay at his place instead of Lexa’s but he decided he didn’t care.

“It would be my honor, princess.” He placed a hand on his chest and bowed.

She rolled her eyes but he caught her smiling anyway.

“The guest room is under renovation,” he said. “I’ll crash on the couch. You can take my room.” Clarke raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t be an idiot, we’re not teenagers anymore,” she points out. “We can both sleep on the same bed.”

Bellamy’s whole body freezes. She’s right. There was nothing wrong with both of them sharing a bed. They were both responsible adults.

And yet, the thought of sleeping next to Clarke was an extremely intimate one. He found himself wondering which side of the bed she slept on. Was it in the middle like him? Did she sleep on her back like he did? Somehow knowing all this seemed like he was in on a huge secret. An insight into the life of Clarke Griffin. He wanted to agree with her but she was gone before he could say anything. Clarke knew when she was right and didn’t wait for anyone to agree with her. He shook his head fondly and followed suit. She was an enigma and he was too afraid to unwrap her.

She slept in the middle of the bed but on her sides. He knew because she was already lying there, as if the bed were hers and he was the visitor.

“I sleep in the middle.” His voice came out more like a squeak when he spotted the area of exposed skin where her shirt had ridden up. He swallowed hard and looked away.

“We can both sleep in the middle.” It was obvious that she was on the edge of falling asleep so he climbed in with her without saying anythingelse. They were very close. Almost touching. Him on his back and her on her side. Almost absent-mindedly, she placed her arm across his chest. He stilled for a moment before leaning in to the touch. They were almost… cuddling. At least, that’s what it seemed like. But if Clarke found it strange, she didn’t show it. And he wasn’t going to move anytime soon. He couldn’t ignore the shiver that ran up his spine when she moved in even closer. This was platonic cuddling. She liked Lexa. She was just…cold. Try as he might, he couldn’t push his non-platonic feelings away. He moved to turn the lights off and she froze as if she thought he would leave. His heart was erratic in his chest. He was making too much of a hopeless situation. She liked Lexa. But, as she buried her head into the crook of her shoulder, he couldn’t help but hope that she liked the boy who couldn’t smile, instead.

“Hey Clarke,” he whispered.

“Hmmm,” she murmured in response. He couldn’t lie. When her lips brushed his neck, he thanked all the gods he knew of.

“Why aren’t you at Lexa’s?” He wanted to smack himself when she shifted against him. Please don’t leave, he silently begged. Instead, she only shifted on her back so that they both were lying side by side, arms touching. He immediately missed her warmth but was glad that they were still touching. And touching her was like touching the edge of the universe. Unendingly scary and limitlessly exciting.

“There’s something about the dark that makes you want to spill out your guts. Like you’re invincible and there are no consequences.” He could practically see the far-off look on her face. The way she got when she had something to say, but didn’t know how to say it. The way she sighed through her nose and clenched her fist. And as if she could hear his thoughts, he felt her fist clench.

And because it was dark and because he was a little less scared and because he was hoping that maybe there really weren’t any consequences to things we do in the dark, he held her hand. She was so still, he would’ve thought she was asleep were it not for her clenched fist he held onto. He slowly unclenched her fist, one finger at a time and she still hadn’t moved. Then he slipped his fingers through his hoping she wouldn’t pull away. Instead, she held on tightly and they both stared at the ceiling as if they were just two people, lying next to each other. Not two people who lay next to each other, holding hands, hiding secrets in the dark.

“I’m scared,” she finally said, an eternity later. “Scared of my feelings. Scared that I’m wrong. Scared that I’m right.”

There was a pause and Bellamy couldn’t help but think about her face. Her high cheekbones, bottomless eyes, parted lips. That was how she was preserved in his memories. And now, he had this disembodied thick voice to go with it.

“You’re brave, Clarke. Maybe, you’re brave and confused, right now. But the confusion will pass and you’ll go right back to being just plain-fucking-brave.” The words sounded like a promise. He wished he could take back some of those words because his feelings were just written to plainly across them. He heard her nod and felt her wait. Like she was waiting for him to kiss her. But apparently, his bravery in the dark only extended to hand holding.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked right when he thought she was asleep.


A pause. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.” If he was a braver man, he would have prodded. But instead, he let her fall asleep lulled by her presence.

And it was so silent, he wondered if she could hear it driving a real physical wedge between them.

He smiled to himself thinking of all those nights he had fallen asleep to the thought of Clarke and the fact that, now that he had the chance, he just couldn’t do it. What a fucking coward. It could have never been clearer that she deserved much better.

So, they fell asleep, hand in hand.

She fell asleep waiting to be kissed and he fell as asleep waiting to be brave enough to kiss her.

The third time he smiled, her eyes were too blurred by the constant stream of tears the promise of more to come.

She left the next morning before he woke up and he took a shower to wash off the heartbreak and the lingering scent of her.

Of course, he messed up again. It was come to be expected of him. The huge emotional fuck up. She was more distant now. And suddenly, she and Lexa were an official thing.

He was right. She was brave and apparently not confused anymore. He couldn’t help being a little bitter. He almost had her. He mentally berated herself. Clarke was not a thing to be had. She was a sun-like soul wrapped in flesh and bones and he let her go one too many times. Now, she was happy and he was happy if not a little broken. But he was happy.

So, when Clarke showed up at his doorstep again, sobbing, he really couldn’t help his heart breaking again.

“Clarke?” he tested. She tackled him in a hug and he clutched her for dear life. He was immediately taken aback by the scent he had meticulously washed off that day. He leaned into her and let her fall apart against him.

“We broke up,” she choked out against his neck. Another day, another him might have been glad but the person he was now, was devastated for her. Unbelievably sad. Like it was his own heart that had been broken. Maybe it was the same thing. Maybe when you loved someone, you share a heart even if the person doesn’t love you back. Maybe that was when you know it was real love. When you loved enough for the both of you. He loved her, he realized. Loved her with all of his damaged heart and emotionally stunted soul. He smiled against the crown of her head for a second before kissing it.

She released him enough to look up at him. She was beautiful even with tears streaming down her face but a sudden stubbornness had set onto her features that made her absolutely breath-taking. Her blue eyes had become hard and her chest moved in slow and steady breaths. And her lips… fuck. They had parted. He knew what she was going to do before she did it and he let her. She grabbed his face and kissed him. Full and hard and merciless on his mouth and for a second, he couldn’t breathe.

And then he could and he was whole again and he didn’t know how anyone could be healed so easily.

And for a shining, beautiful moment, he kissed her back. Melted into her. For that second he was unmade and remade again.

But then, he pulled away. Of course, he pulled away. She was heart-broken and was using him as a distraction. He knew it in his heart and soul and he didn’t want to believe it but he couldn’t believe anything except for it. It was too easy and she was too good.

So he pulled away and watched as she backed away from him, horrified as if he had set her on fire. She walked away and took his heart with her.

The last time he smiled, he knew it wouldn’t really be the last time and she smiled against his lips because she knew it too.

He needed to talk to her. For one thing, he knew that she was still broken up about Lexa and he still wanted to help. For another, he couldn’t breathe for another second without telling Clarke just how much she meant to him. Consequences be damned, he was in love with her and she needed to know.

So, he knocked at her door, heart in his mouth. She opened it, took one agonizing look at him, and slammed it in his face again.

“Okay, I deserved that.” He rubbed his nose and blinked once. “Clarke please open up,” he begged.

He heard the door knob turn and prayed she wouldn’t slam in it again. She didn’t. She let him and her face was without any shame, without anger. Brave. He gazed back at her trying to remember what he came here to say but nothing came out. He walked around the living room waiting for her to say something but then he realized that he was the one who came over and common sense does dictate that he should be the first one to speak.

“Where’s Octavia?” Really, you came to confess your love to the love of your life and you ask about your sister. He was reaching new levels of pathetic.

“Out with Lincoln.”

He opened his mouth to say something else but no words leave. Clarke spoke first.

“Do you know that night when I wanted to ask you a question but then I didn’t?” she asked tentatively. He swiveled around to face her and was surprised at the amount of emotion on her face. Her eyes were a storm of blue and her mouth was set into a fine line, like she was trying her best not to cry. They never really spoke about those nights. Those nights where something more could’ve happened. Because nothing ever did. But, he nodded anyway.

“I wanted to ask you why you never smiled.”

He mouth opened and shut uselessly. His throat felt like it was on fire. He didn’t think anyone ever noticed. He knew she wanted him to answer and he wanted to but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know what kind of flowery prose would excuse a man for never smiling. What kind of words strung together would explain him. So, he settled on the truth.

“I didn’t want to give too much of myself away, because I’m scared.” He thought that he could elaborate further but that’s all there was so that’s all he said. Her jaw slackened slightly as if she’d expected him to tell her anything but the truth.

“You’re an awfully emotionally stunted man.”

And then he was smiling. It had spread across his face too fast for him to stop it, like it had been the most natural thing in the world. The thing was, he really couldn’t give a fuck.

Clarke’s breath had caught like she had seen something rare and precious, her eyes had lit up like magic. If he had known he’d have seen that look on her face, he would’ve smiled a while ago. He let the smile stay on his face for a while longer. Clarke caressed the edge of his mouth and smiled softly along with him. He leaned in slowly, clutching her waist.

“You don’t want to ask me why I broke up with Lexa?” she asked, their lips only inches apart.

“You want to talk about her now?” He was both amused and incredulous at her. His strange enigma. This time, he would take his time unwrapping her.

“I was in love with you.” Bellamy’s jaw had dropped. She was… what?

“Lexa knew and Octavia knew and everyone knew, except for you.” Now she was smirking and Bellamy felt slightly faint. He dropped both his hands from her waist. “We made out a burger king! We practically cuddled! I attack made out with you last night! How could you think I was not interested in you?”

“That was platonic cuddling.” His mouth refused to cooperate and Clarke burst into laughter. Short and song-like. “But you dated Lexa,” he tried again.

“Yeah, I liked Lexa but I love you.” she looked down at the carpet, sounding guilty for the first time. “I dated her to get over you. Because you didn’t kiss me that night.”

He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t kissed her because he assumed she didn’t like him. She loved him.

“I can’t believe how clueless you are,” she said, laughter in her voice. Now that she said it, the whole emotional turmoil thing was fucking hilarious and he was laughing so hard, his stomach ached. She loves him, he repeated to himself like this was all a dream and he could wake up any moment now.

“Why didn’t you kiss me last night?”

A kiss would have solved everything. It was words when your mouth didn’t work and courage when you had none.

“Because you’re too good for me,” he answered truthfully. She scoffed but not in the sarcastic way he way he was used to.

“I’m not that great, Bellamy. I used Lexa to get back at you. I was too scared to kiss you first. I failed a test last week. I’m just trying my best. And so are you.” She smiled and it was bursting with hope. “You’re Bellamy and I love you and that’s enough for now.”

Clarke barely got the words out when Bellamy’s lips came crashing down against hers. And he was smiling against them because she tasted like sugar and she was beautiful and good, and so was he, and they were going to be just fine. She held his heart in the palm of her and he didn’t even flinch.

And just fine was enough. Clarke deepened the kiss and moaned into his mouth.

(Okay, just fine was perfect.)

He’d often thought back to the sequence of events that had led the epic saga of Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake. It wasn’t that epic when you considered the fact that it just denial till the last second but there was a certain charm in that. If he’d told Clarke that she looked great in that tank top would things have ended up different? Would they have been this much in love or with they have gotten bored with each other? It didn’t matter to Bellamy. She tore down all his walls and he made her better. As far as he was concerned, everything he did and said? Everything led to her.