aaaaaaaaand onto part two! Yes, you will cry more. Yes, you will laugh more, and yes - you will LOVE it even more. This chapter will tie up any loose ends, all while bringing a twinkle to your eye (and perhaps a couple more tears as well, but I don't judge).

Also. Sorry for the delay in posting - I would go into more detail, but it would probably bore you. And my job here is not to bore.

So I hope you like it. The conclusion of Say You Won't Let Go. Get ready for a (wild) ride.

i wanna live with you, even when we're ghosts

xi. new year's eve 2007

He leaves in the morning, telling her they'll talk about it.

Things had changed, he said, and he wanted time to think.

He presses a kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering, and she knows that his hesitance isn't brought on by his feelings towards her, but because he's always been a cautious man. He was a man with calculations, and strategies - one who acts when he's made all of the possible outcomes in his head.

He wants this, she feels that he wants it, but only if she does.

And she did. She does. But maybe she needed time to think, too.

He lived in Boston, and she was in high school, repeating senior year and yet unaware of what she wanted to do or who she wanted to be.

Her father tried to help her. He told her to go to art school, but her mother said it was a silly dream with no stable income.

"Who cares about money," her father says on the last night of January. It was a Wednesday, and they were watching the stars on the back porch. "The world needs less money, and even fewer people who think it can make them happy."

"It can, though," she says. "Can't it?"

"You tell me. What's the most important thing to you?"

"Family." She thinks of Bellamy. "Friends."

"There's your answer. As long as you have those things, you don't need anything else."

"That's stupid. How the hell do I pay for a house? For a car?"

He shakes his head. "Haven't I ever told you to take a risk, Stardust?"

"More than once."

"Okay." He nods and looks at the sky. "Then stop worrying and take a risk."

She does, and applies to UCLA for their fall 2007 semester. Her mother doesn't say anything, but her father tells her he's proud.

"See what happens when you follow your heart?"

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Yeah," she says, and she presses her lips together. Her heart aches with another question. "Hey, Dad?"

He turns to her. Her chest feels fuzzy.

"Say that you wanted to follow your heart for something else, like a guy or whatever. But it would mean risking your friendship. Would that be okay, too?"

He smiles; the one that eases her.

"Yeah. I think that would be okay."

Three days later, he's killed on a cold night in February.

The roads were icy, and a drunk driver swerved into his lane.

It took seconds. A brief calculation of time that left Clarke without a father, her mother without a husband - his corpse found snapped against the leather seat of his pickup truck.

"I need you to remember something for me," Octavia tells her after Clarke's tears had dried on her pillowcase. "If you ever get sad, just look at the stars. If your dad is anywhere, he's with the stars."

Bellamy comes home that night, entering her room mere moments after she hears his car in the driveway.

"Hey." He looks at Octavia, then Clarke. His eyes are red with unshed tears. "What do you need me to do?"

Clarke raises her hand, palm open towards him, and he climbs onto the bed. She shifts and rests her head on his chest, Octavia tracing soothing circles on her back.

"I'm sorry," he says, and she knows it's for something different, something more.

But her father was dead, and she didn't have time to think of anything else.

Things became hard, getting even harder, but Bellamy was there the entire time. Holding her close and whispering her words of comfort.

The next week, instead of wearing black to her father's funeral she wears gold, hair pinned back with a headband covered in beaded stars.

Bellamy smiles at her in the pews.

"Stardust," he whispers. He takes her hand in his. "He would've cackled at that."

Her mother says a prayer, makes some jokes about the kind of man he was, and they get lunch at a rundown Swiss Chalet off the highway.

They do what they can, and that night, Bellamy leaves again.

It's so much harder this time.

"Call me, text me, fucking make an amber alert. I don't care how you do it, but if you need me then tell me. I'll be there."

"I know."

He nods, pulling her into a hug.

"Bell," she whispers.

"Yeah?"

She rests her chin on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

His arms tighten around her. He knows what she's referring to.

They were friends, tried to be more, and it didn't work out. It couldn't. She was lost, and he lived in Boston.

"Don't be." He pulls back and touches a loose strand on her forehead. "You worry about you. Not me. Deal?"

She forces a smile and watches him as he leaves.

And again, things were different.

She thought of her father every day, and the sadness clawed at her, made her impossible to be around. She missed him in a way that would destroy her; destructive, painful grief, and she didn't know how to make it stop.

In the summer, she gets rejected from the art program at UCLA, and she tries not to fall apart.

"Fuck that school," Octavia says. She was 17 and swore more than her brother. "We'll burn it down."

"No."

"Why not? I'm sure it would be easy since they obviously only allow stupid people."

Clarke sighs. "It's fine, O."

"It's not. I hate them." She walks to her closet and picks out a sweater. "Whatever, let's go out. Throw some eggs at cars."

And they do, but it doesn't help; it actually might have made it worse. UCLA was her dream, her dad's dream for her, and she didn't know what to do.

She was confused, a floater; and she sits on the back porch during the last hours of 2007, wishing the entire earth would open beneath her and swallow her up.

Bellamy finds her there before midnight.

He's home for the holidays, hair longer since she last saw him in the summer, and she hates that he knew where she'd be.

He looks at her, expression unreadable. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I haven't seen you in a while." He sits beside her on the porch deck. "How you been?"

Clarke shrugs. "I'm okay. How was your internship?"

"Better than I thought it would be."

"That's good."

"Yeah." He sighs and rubs his hand on the back of his neck. "Octavia told me you had plans with her tonight."

She nods. "I did."

"Why'd you cancel?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I care enough to know."

Bellamy stares at her. It's silent for a moment, and his expression grows weary.

"He'd hate seeing you like this, Clarke," he says, and the words make her shiver.

"Yeah, well." She clears her throat. "He's not here to see it."

"It doesn't matter. I can see it - and your mom, and Octavia." Each name is a bolt of pain to her chest, shaking her with emotion. "All of us can. And it's killing them to watch."

Clarke closes her eyes. "I'm trying, Bell."

"I know."

"You don't. I'm trying, but I'm fucked up."

"Clarke - "

"I am. I know that I am." She wipes the tears that begin to dribble down her cheeks. "I don't even know who I've been this year. And he always used to help me with that stuff, you know? But he's gone. And I have no idea what to fucking do."

Bellamy shakes his head. "You don't have to." She sniffles, panicking with the emotion, and he grabs her face in his hands. "Hey. You don't have to know right now."

"Bell," she whispers, "I'm 19."

"So? You've got time."

"And I didn't get into UCLA."

"Apply again next year."

She stares at him. His fingers are soft against her cheeks.

"You make it sound so easy," she mumbles.

"It's not. It won't be." He moves his hands to her shoulders, palms on her bare skin. "But you're not someone who gives up, so I'm not worried."

She closes her eyes, because - God, she's missed him. She's missed them, what they could have been, and the thought makes her chest heavy with grief.

There's a break in the sky, and fireworks appear, signaling the start of a new year. She searches for Bellamy's hand on the deck.

He grabs it, intertwining their fingers. The comfort makes her smile.

"If you were right, and he did see me, what do you think he'd say?"

He grins, expression soft. "Take a risk," he says, and it's enough to break her.

Clarke whimpers, unafraid of the tears streaming her cheeks as he pulls her into his chest, whispering sweet words and pressing his lips to her forehead.

When he leaves again the next week, she promises she'll be better this year.

She applies to UCLA again in March.

i'm gonna love you till my lungs give out

xii. new year's eve 2008

She gets the letter in July.

And Bellamy is the first person she calls.

"What school is it?" he asks. He's in Boston for the summer, completing yet another internship, and he sounds just as excited as she is. "Is it UCLA?"

She nods. "It's UCLA."

"Open it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I'm nervous." She presses her lips together. "What if I don't get in again?"

"See what it says first before you start worrying."

"Yeah. Okay." Her fingers pry at the envelope, and she lays it on the surface of her kitchen table. "Okay. It's happening."

Clarke peels the letter from the package, hesitant, careful; her hands shaking as she lifts it in front of her.

She realizes it's a letter of acceptance after she reads the first sentence.

"I fucking knew it," Bellamy says when she tells him, and she repeats the words over and over again, holding the envelope to her chest. "You did it, Clarke. I knew you would."

She smiles. She got into UCLA.

Her father would be so fucking proud.

"We can take a plane there in October," Octavia says after she tells her. Her tears have since dried, and she bounces excitedly on her bed. "Check out some urban apartments."

"Yeah. Or should I live in a dorm?"

Octavia shakes her head. "No. An apartment. You have to be classy."

"Dorms can be classy."

"For people with herpes, maybe."

Clarke laughs. She'll miss Octavia. Miss her mother and her friends, but in some way, she needs to leave. Felt like she was always meant to.

"You can always visit in the summer, you know." She hates the idea of not seeing O every day. "Fly down on the weekends."

"Sounds good, Fancy Nancy. And will you be paying for these trips?"

Clarke shrugs. "Lincoln's got money, doesn't he?"

"Not for me." She sighs and lays on her mattress. Clarke snuggles into her side. "Don't worry, Blondie. It'll be tougher than you think to get rid of me."

Clarke smiles. It felt different, laying with her, thinking it would be one of the last times before she goes. Her semester started in January, and she had a few weeks left until she had to leave.

It was strange, scary, but she was excited.

She signs a lease for an apartment near campus, one with a view of the downtown skyline. It's a good neighbourhood, that's what she's told, and even sends pictures to Bellamy for approval.

He gives it to her, though in December, a week before her flight, he tells her that he won't be able to come home for winter break.

He had a new job in the city. And they wouldn't give him his days off.

"No way," she tells him over the phone. The thought of not seeing him before she leaves unsettled her. "You have to find a way here. I leave next week."

"I know."

"Across the country."

"I got that." He sighs. She can hear that he's frustrated. "I'm sorry, Clarke. My boss only gave me New Year's Eve off, and I work the next day."

"So drive down for a night."

He huffs. "Clarke - "

"Or I'll come up."

He's silent for a moment. She presses her lips together.

"Hello?"

Bellamy clears his throat. "Sorry. Yeah." It sounds like he's smiling. "Okay. You sure?"

She nods. "More than sure." Her stomach feels fuzzy at the thought of his expression. "I've spent every New Year's Eve with you since we were kids. I don't intend to break that tradition."

"Okay, good. Then neither do I."

She grins, and three days later she arrives at his apartment, a small duffle bag around her shoulder only mere hours before the strike of midnight.

He opens the door after the second knock, still dressed in his uniform. The smile that he gives her is infectious.

"Hi," he says.

She steps forward, wrapping her arms around him. "Hi."

He gives her a tour of his apartment. It's simple, cozy - what she would expect from him, and she blushes when he shows her his bedroom.

"You can have the bed for the night. I'll take the couch."

She rolls her eyes. "We've shared a bed before, Bell."

"Yeah, when we were kids and I didn't have to wake up every morning with a boner."

Clarke laughs, throwing her duffle bag on the mattress. "Whatever." She turns to him. "So. What you got planned for me tonight?"

He takes her to a frat house across campus; one with sweaty bodies and cheap beer that makes her throat burn with the aftertaste. It turns out to be a total cliche, the parties that she sees in the movies, but she loves it, it's fun.

He guides her through the house, an arm on her shoulder as he introduces her to people. There was Dax, the creepy dude that she should stay away from; a stoner named Monty, and some girl that had planned vengeance on him when he broke up with her last year.

"You had a girlfriend?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Depends on what you mean by the word," he responds, and she laughs, smacking his shoulder at the reference.

She meets his friends, too; Murphy, Miller, and some other dude with a funny name. They were nice, made her laugh even, and she was glad that she had them.

A couple hours later, she grabs onto his arm. It was getting closer to midnight, and they were both tipsy.

"This is amazing," she says. She leans against the wall in the upstairs hallway. It's the only empty room in the house. "Thank you for bringing me."

Bellamy shrugs. "It's not like I had a choice. You're too young for bars."

"Oh, please. You'd be surprised at what you can get away with when you're a girl."

He smiles. His skin feels warm under her palm.

"It probably wouldn't surprise me that much." His voice is low, raspy. It sends shivers down her spine. "How's home been?"

"Same old, I guess."

"You sad about leaving?"

"Yeah." She glances at him. "You sad about me leaving?"

He hovers a hand above his chest. "Absolutely heartbroken."

"I figured." She sighs, rubs her thumb across his wrist. "But your friends seem cool, probably cooler than me. I'm sure they'll be a great replacement."

He raises an eyebrow. "Replacement?"

"Yeah."

"You're crazy."

"Not crazy." Her body trembles despite his close proximity. "Just trying to make some suitable arrangements."

"For what? My new childhood best friend?"

Clarke shrugs. "I just want someone to be there for you when I'm gone, you know? It'll make me feel less . . . whatever it is that I'm feeling."

"Sad?"

"Yeah." She swallows thickly. "Less sad."

He nods, and she thinks he gets it. She thinks he's going to miss her as much as she'll miss him.

And she will. She'll miss him more than anyone.

"I don't know, Stardust. That sounds like a tough position to fill." He steps towards her in the darkness. The scene feels familiar. "There's no one quite like you, Clarke Griffin."

She stares at him. The words are a burst of emotion, strong in her chest.

She tilts her chin towards him. "Bell," she whispers, and he glances at her lips.

It's quick, the way the moment ends. There's a shout, and Murphy runs towards them, unaware of their closeness.

Bellamy steps away from her. It's immediate, how she already misses his touch.

"Blake." Murphy claps a hand on his shoulder. He's tipsier than the last time she saw him. "Shit, man. You've got to get Miller, he's throwing up all over the fucking place."

"What?"

"It's bad. I think he's going through something with Bryan. He's been boozing hard all night."

He sighs. "Where is he?"

"Downstairs. I think."

"You think?"

"I don't know." He points to the stairs. "Somewhere in the lower level."

Bellamy shakes his head. He turns to Clarke. "I'll be right back," he tells her, and she nods, watching him as he disappears from the hallway.

Murphy crosses his arms over his chest. His expression is perceptive when he looks at her.

"I wasn't interrupting something, was I?" he asks, and he sounds apologetic.

"Oh." She shakes her head, stepping away from the wall she's been leaning on. "No, not at all. We were just talking."

"About what?"

"Politics."

He smiles. "Sure. So, you enjoying Boston?"

"Very much. You guys know how to throw a good party."

"Yeah." He nudges her shoulder. "It's cool that you came. I can see why Bellamy likes you."

"We've been friends for years. It's in his DNA to like me."

"Maybe." His eyes are content as he glances at her. "He told me you're moving to LA soon."

She nods. "One week."

"Neat. You nervous?"

"Nah, but I'll miss home. I'm sure Bellamy's told you all about Westwood."

Murphy laughs. "He doesn't mention much about the town, mostly just talks about the people who live there." He points a finger at her. "Your name comes up a lot. You seem to make him happy."

It doesn't surprise her. "We have some good memories together."

"Yeah. I don't think that's all of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing you probably don't already know." He shrugs, tapping his foot against the wall. "I'm just saying it's good seeing you with him. Happiest I've seen him, I think."

Clarke stares at him, eyes puzzling. Bellamy reappears at the top of the stairs.

"Hey. Sorry." He glances at Murphy. "He's downstairs. I can take him home."

"It's cool. I'll do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." He smiles at Clarke. "You've got a guest to entertain." He pats his shoulder, turning. "I'll catch you tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Clarke."

"Right," she whispers. His words have become a dangerous cycle in her head. "You, too."

He winks, letting the darkness swallow him as he leaves. Bellamy glances at her.

"Sorry about that," he says. "Miller's a mess."

She shakes her head. "That's cool. Murphy seems nice."

"Murphy? Yeah, right."

"He does. I'm glad you have friends like him."

She smiles, looking away from him, and he narrows his eyes.

"Hey. You okay?" Realization dawns on him. "He didn't say something stupid, did he? He does that sometimes."

"Oh, come on. I'm fine." She steps away from him, tries not to notice the weariness in his features. "Now, tell me if I'm wrong, but Boston is a big city. Got any other hotspots you'd like to show me?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, his eyes calculating, but a grin returns to his face when he nods.

He wraps an arm around her and leads her from the hallway. The crowd downstairs is celebrating midnight when they leave.

He takes her to a small hotdog stand on campus, and then the city's best 24-hour restaurant downtown. He orders two milkshakes, one vanilla, and one chocolate, and it feels odd - doing things they used to do when everything was so different now.

They return to his apartment around 2:00. The mattress is comfortable when she climbs onto it.

"You need anything?" he asks. His voice is raspy with sleep. "Water?"

"I'm okay."

He nods and changes out of his clothes, stretching onto the bed beside her. She snuggles into the sheets and whispers him goodnight.

She's still awake an hour later, and she blames it on the stupid thoughts that keep circling through her head.

The stupid thoughts that Murphy put there.

Bellamy's happy, that's what he told her - "the happiest he's ever been." And it frustrates her, makes her tired of suppressing her feelings; of pretending that Bellamy doesn't make her happy, too.

She huffs and buries her face in the pillow. Bellamy shifts in the sheets beside her.

"I can hear you thinking," he says, and it sounds like he's been awake, too.

"Sorry. I can't sleep."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. My head won't shut up." She closes her eyes; voice low in the darkness of his room. "I think it's trying to tell me something."

He rolls on the mattress to face her. His gaze is gentle, it makes her crave more of him.

"Like what?" he whispers.

She shrugs. "I'm not sure."

"Clarke."

The look he gives her is knowing, and she breathes deeply, her chest shuttering as she gives in.

"I can't stop thinking about what's going to happen when I leave."

The words are crisp when they leave her tongue, and they feel vulnerable; she feels vulnerable. Bellamy notices, his expression softening, and she doesn't realize how much she's needed him until he shifts closer to her on the bed.

"Are you scared?"

"Very."

"You shouldn't be. You're going to kick ass in LA."

"That's not what I'm scared of."

He looks at her, waiting to continue. She sighs.

"I'm scared of leaving everyone, of having things change. I don't want things to change."

"They might. A lot can happen in one year."

"Yeah, but I don't want them to."

He shakes his head. "Clarke." He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Change can be good, you know. You'll only be in LA for a couple months, then you'll come back in the summer."

"Will you still be here in the summer?"

"I think so."

"I hope you are."

"Yeah," he nods, "me too."

He reaches forward, lays his palm on her cheek; and the current that runs through her elicits her, evokes a sound deep in her throat. She shifts forward, the exposed skin of her thigh brushing against him as she leans into his touch.

His eyes are darker when he glances at her. She touches the fingers on her jaw.

"I wish you could come with me."

Bellamy moves a hand to her waist. "I wish you could stay."

"Not fair. You want me to go."

He's drifting closer. Her heart races with each measure of space between them.

"Only because you want to go, and you deserve way more than what's offered here."

She shrugs. "I like some of the things here."

"Like what?"

Clarke shakes her head; she's been silent for too long, been too stubborn and afraid. She takes his face in her palms, pulling him in, pushing her feelings out - further and further until there's nothing but pure desire and need.

"You, Bell," she whispers, and the emotion in her voice is as raw and deep as the warmth inside her. "Just you. Always you - "

He kisses her, his response undeniable within the sweet pressure of his lips.

She breathes against him. Her father's words become a rhythm against her ribcage.

See what happens when you follow your heart?

Clarke wraps her arms around his neck, drawing him close, her legs twining between his as he rolls on top of her. She's never felt him in this way; there was always a space between them - physically or emotionally - and she feels her body grow vulnerable against him.

Because she recognizes this feeling - he's her entire heart, always has been. He's every God damn broken and beautifully damaged piece of it.

She loves him. She's an idiot but she loves him.

She doesn't know what that means, in the way that she does, but it's present and growing inside her.

"Bell," she whimpers.

He shifts, and he releases a shuddered breath when she curls her fists into his shirt. It's warm against his skin when she peels it off him; hands desperately exploring his bared muscles.

She throws the clothing on the ground as he returns the sentiment, large hands stripping the tank top from her body.

She's not wearing a bra underneath, breasts bare as he undresses her, and she blushes at the intensity in his gaze.

"You're staring," she tells him.

"I know."

"You can touch them."

Bellamy laughs. "I know," he says, and he leans forward, kissing her. His bare chest rubs against hers. "You have very nice breasts. I was just admiring them."

"As flattering as that is, I want you to do more than just admire - "

She gasps. He dips his head down, teasing a nipple between his teeth, and she pinches her eyes shut.

"Damn it, Bell."

He closes his mouth over her breast, and she's almost embarrassed by how good it feels. She's imagined this numerous times, has fantasized about it, and she runs her fingers through his curls, holding onto him.

Bellamy groans when she entwines her legs over his waist. The sound makes her shiver.

She reaches beneath the band of his shorts.

He lowers his head onto her shoulder. "Clarke - "

She hears the strain in his voice, the desperation, and she knows what he's referring to. Her hand is still against him. She knows that if they keep going they won't be able to stop, and it could ruin her, could ruin them.

"I know," she whispers.

He breathes heavily into her skin. She cradles him, lifting his face from her neck.

"Listen to me," she whispers. His eyes are dark and profound. "I know, okay? But I don't care. I don't - "

He kisses her again, fierce, and it destroys her. Feels it destroy him and the remaining hesitancy he had.

"I don't care," he murmurs, repeating her words, and she tugs off his boxers.

It doesn't startle Clarke, how complete she feels when he finally enters her, how intimate his words are as he begins to thrust inside of her. It's almost familiar, the way he feels and sounds, and she holds onto him, tight, because she wants to.

Holds onto him because she can.

"Clarke," he rasps. He's starting to lose control. "Fuck."

He pulls her into his chest when it's over - when the room stops spinning and her heart returns to its regular rhythm. But they were stupid to believe it wouldn't change things; because there's a hole in her chest that wasn't there before, one that is with her when she falls asleep against him and stays when she wakes up.

It's her heart breaking, she realizes, and she thinks he might feel it, too.

And when he walks her to her car after breakfast, arms reluctant as he embraces her, words choked as he bids her goodbye, she knows that he does. Knows that he loves her, too. Loves her in ways that she didn't think she was deserving of.

She texts him when she arrives in LA. He tells her he'll see her in the summer.

(They don't see each other for another three years).

for a minute, i forget that I'm older

xiii. new year's eve 2009

She begins her first semester two weeks later, during a winter that is far from the ones spent in Westwood.

It feels different; walking along the sidewalk without the familiar patch of snow and Octavia's arm linked around hers. There's no public urgency for hot chocolate, no spottings of snowmen shaped in front yards.

Yet Clarke enjoys the change, perhaps even prefers it.

LA is a bright city, as are the people who live there. Her friends in her program are just as pleasant as the classes she was taking. They're hopeful, like the city, and filled with dreams; and it comforted Clarke in a way that she didn't know she needed.

Because as magical as LA is, she still missed Westwood. Missed the town and the people she left behind.

She calls Octavia every week. She was 19; beautiful, and planning to attend Boston University in September.

"That's amazing, O," Clarke tells her on a Tuesday. "What program you taking?"

"Criminology. Like the shit they do in CSI."

"Oh, God. I think the main characters get into more trouble than the cases they're solving."

Octavia laughs. "Probably."

"Damn. Don't let your mom find out."

"My mom?" Octavia rolls her eyes. "My mom isn't the problem. It's Bellamy I'd have to worry about - that dude freaks when I go out in a tank top."

Clarke exhales, unsteady - because there it was again. The beat. The uneasiness she felt when she left him the morning after New Year's Eve.

It's the heartbreak, she remembers. The shattering of her core. All because of the simple whisper of his name.

Bellamy Blake - the boy who lived next door. The boy she hasn't spoken to in months.

They don't talk much; as expected. She didn't call every morning like she said she would, he didn't face time during the sunset like he promised - things were different, and they stopped pretending to act like they were the same.

Her roommate, Luna, tells her to forget about him. Clarke says that she's been trying.

"You don't need to try," Luna laughs. She's hanging a new poster of Jodie Smith on her bedroom wall. "You're hot. Moving on will be easy."

Clarke shakes her head. "It's not like that."

"Every breakup is like that."

"We didn't break up."

"Grew apart, stopped talking, whatever." She ruffles Clarke's hair and sits beside her on the bed. "All the same, Boston. But getting some action will help. Trust me."

And she does. Luna was nice, and the closest friend she's made since she moved there.

So Clarke listens to her - she goes on dates, does the hooking up thing, and even updates her profile on Facebook; yet there was still an emptiness inside of her that refused to fade. One that stays with her in the night and overwhelms her with loneliness.

When New Year's Eve approaches, Luna decides to throw a party in their apartment, and Clarke decides to stay in the city. It's her first one away from home.

She texts her mother, Octavia; sends a brief sentiment to Bellamy. It's casual, the sort of thing you would send to a distant friend, and he responds with similar words and a smile.

Her fingers pry, tempted to ask how he is. Luna snatches the phone from her.

"Luna," she whines. "Give it back."

"No way, Boston. You're at a party, stop looking like you're at a funeral."

"I don't look like I'm at a funeral."

Luna raises an eyebrow. She points to the narrow lining of her lips.

"Sad face. Check. Boobs tucked away in that black shirt. Double Check. No sex drive. Check and mate. You might as well give up on 2010 now."

"Fuck off."

Luna laughs and gives her phone back. Clarke pushes herself from the wall.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to fill up. Especially if I have to deal with you for the rest of the night."

She maneuvers through the crowd of people. She knows most of them; they're either from her program of Luna's, and she enters the kitchen pulling her stashed bottle of Vodka from the cupboard.

A voice looms behind her, unfamiliar and filled with curiosity.

"You know, I hear it's bad luck to start a new year in a bad mood."

Clarke turns around, bottle clutched in her hand. A girl leans against the counter beside her.

"Who says I'm in a bad mood?"

"You do," the girl says. She's pretty. "Or at least your face does."

"Fantastic."

"Don't worry, it's a nice face. But I'd bet I'd like your smile more."

She looks at her. The girl's eyes are dark, green depths brimming with interest.

Clarke exhales deeply. "Sorry," she whispers, because the girl seems nice and she's being a horrible party host. "I moved to LA this year. Guess I'm homesick."

"Thought I noticed an accent. Boston?"

"Westwood, yeah." She smiles, thinking of the city. "It's just this guy - I used to spend every new year with him. I think I just miss him."

"Was he your boyfriend?"

She hesitates. "Best friend."

"Damn." The girl sighs. Clarke unscrews the lid from her bottle. "That's a tough person to lose."

"Yeah. It is."

She steps towards her. "Who knows, though," she whispers, and the tone of her voice makes Clarke shiver. "Maybe this year you'll meet someone else. Someone just as important."

Clarke bites on her bottom lip. The girl's smile is a devilish one.

She pulls her into her bedroom an hour later.

It's almost overwhelming, how good her body feels against hers. The impact of her fingers and skin as they force her to scream into her bedsheets. It's powerful, she realizes, the desire she has for her. And it's exactly what she needs.

Afterward, when they've returned from their heightened bliss, Clarke trails her lips along her tanned skin.

The girl weaves her fingers through her hair. "This is embarrassing, but I don't think I got your name."

Clarke laughs. "Clarke Griffin."

"That's pretty." She presses a quick kiss to her mouth. "I'm Lexa."

In the morning, Clarke tells Luna about her during breakfast.

She reminds her how good of a friend she is for the entire week.

and i'll thank my lucky stars for that night

xiv. new year's eve 2011

It's unexpected, the moment she and Lexa find each other, and it fills the temporary hole that seemed impossible of occupying.

She comes over the night after New Year's Eve, and the night after that, and eventually it becomes a pattern that neither of them wants to stop. Lexa is beautiful, smart; and Clarke becomes determined in knowing her.

She asks about her desires and her dislikes, learns of how her mother abandoned her when she was a child. She learns that she's in school to become a lawyer, has never seen Star Wars, and that she puts salt instead of sugar in her coffee.

Somewhere in between these moments, she falls for her - completely and suddenly - and the emptiness within her feels like a rustling breeze.

In the summer, Clarke decides to make it official, asking her to be her girlfriend in a rundown Denny's in July.

Lexa laughs. The sound is something Clarke can't get enough of.

"You're asking me now?" she says. "Right now?"

Clarke shrugs. "I know it's not romantic - "

"That's not what I'm worried about. I thought we've been official since January."

"You have?'

"Yeah. Sex isn't official enough for you?"

Clarke bites on her bottom lip. "I don't want to be just sex official." She dips her buttered pancakes into Lexa's syrup. "I want to be 'official' official. Like with the labels and stupid Instagram posts - I want all of it."

"Sounds horrible. I'm in."

Clarke laughs. It's a good night.

A good life, she realizes. Because Lexa makes her happy, and she's attending a great school in one of the most magical cities in the world. She's content, blissful; and things are how they should be.

But she was an idiot to believe this cycle of happiness would last, that it would remain guaranteed and untouched in her essence.

She sees him again during the final hours of 2011, three years following their last encounter. Life was busy, they were in different cities - communication had lacked during the past few months.

But Lexa was working late that night, and she decides to grab a drink at her favorite bar.

His tamed curls are the first thing she notices in the crowd.

"Holy shit." She steps off her stool and walks towards him. Her hands are slightly trembling. "Bell?"

He turns to her. The freckles on his cheeks have expanded.

His eyes widen to an overwhelming depth. "Christ. Clarke?"

"Yeah. It's Clarke."

He stares at her, eyes calculating. And she doesn't even realize she's nervous until he smiles, and the tension fades from her body.

He pulls her into a hug. His arms feel familiar around her waist.

"Jesus," she whispers. She leans back to examine the short stubble growing along his jaw. "You look . . . "

He raises an eyebrow. "Different?"

"I was going to say old."

He chuckles. "You'll get there."

She grins. It's stupid how much she's missed him. He looks more mature, perhaps; the suit and jacket fitting tightly on his body. He's as though he has grown up.

Grown up and changed. But damn has she fucking missed him.

"I'm sure I will," she murmurs. Her voice fills with curiosity. "What are you doing in LA?"

"I'm in the city for work."

"That's right. Octavia told me you work with the bank."

"For now." The smirk he gives her is the one that weakens her knees. "I'm trying to get my teaching degree, though. To become a professor."

Clarke nods. "History?"

"History," he confirms.

She smiles, her gaze softening. It's almost uneasy how comfortable she is with him - even despite the years and the distance and the circumstances in which she left.

Clarke bites on her bottom lip. The closure filled within is beginning to crack.

"Well, I always said you'd find a way, right?"

"That's right."

"When does your trip end?"

His grin slightly falls. "I fly to Boston tomorrow."

The Dick Clark countdown declares two hours until midnight on the bar television, and Clarke nods, sighing; peeling her jacket from her shoulders. She sits beside him and beckons the bartender towards her.

"Two whiskeys. On the rocks." She turns to Bellamy. His eyes are filled with mischief. "Unless you still need something to balance out the taste."

He chuckles. She texts Lexa that she'll be home late that night.

They swallow their whiskey, order two more, and she tells him about the things that he's missed. She talks about her program, tells him stories about her crazy roommate, the one with a big heart; and she listens as he fills her in on the changes in Boston.

It's fun, easy like it used to be. She laughs in the measure she's forgotten she was capable of.

An hour later, they're stumbling along a path outside of the city. Her senses have become dull from the liquor.

"You're not bringing me out here so you can kill me, are you?"

"If I was, I would have done it while you were singing Nickleback."

She leads him to a fence, and he follows her as she climbs it. The Hollywood sign is visible above them, the paint a light in the darkness, and he sits beside her on a patch of grass beneath the letters.

Bellamy shakes his head in disbelief. The city is radiant below them.

"Christ, Stardust." He breathes deeply, taking in the view. "You must love it here."

"Yeah. But I do miss Boston sometimes." It's quiet for a moment, crickets beating in the night. She looks at him. "Did you know my mom is dating again?"

"I did. I saw her a couple days ago."

"Was she with anyone?"

He hesitates. "Yeah."

"Okay." She thinks of her father, what he would want. "Did she seem happy?"

He nods. "Yeah," he whispers, a hint of content in his voice. "She did."

Clarke grins. The answer fills her with an automatic relief.

"That's good," she murmurs. Really good. She wants more than anything for her mother to be happy, for all of them to be happy. She nudges her shoulder against his. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you happy, Bellamy Blake?"

He stares at her. "Yeah. I think so."

"You think?"

"Relax," he laughs. "I am. I'm happy." A firework appears above them, signaling the approach of midnight, and he ruffles the blend of his curls. "I'm seeing this girl. Nothing serious, but . . . she's fun."

"You're seeing someone?"

Bellamy glances at her. "Is that bad?"

"No." She presses her lips together. "I'm seeing someone, too."

"Oh."

"Yeah. She's studying to be a lawyer."

He blinks. "She?"

"She. Female. Woman. Whatever you want to call it." She shrugs, exhaling deeply. "To be honest, I didn't expect it either."

He nods. His hand finds hers on the grass.

"As long as she makes you happy, Clarke. All I want is for you to be happy," he tells her, and she hates him.

Hates all of it; hates how after all this time, after the miles of space between them, he still makes her feel that. That emptiness she thought Lexa had filled and suppressed until there was nothing but faded memories.

But then she looks at him; notices his brown, powerful eyes reflecting the depth of her gaze.

And God was she wrong.

"Bell," she whispers, and she doesn't know what to say, or how to say it, but she thinks he might feel it, too.

He stares at her, expression warm despite the night, and she knows that he does.

"Do you ever think about it?" she asks. The words taste strange after years of ignoring them. "What would have happened if I didn't leave?"

Bellamy breathes, deep and profound. "I think about it every day."

Clarke's fingers tighten around his palm. Her heart is an irregular rhythm against her chest.

The sound of fireworks dawn above them. "In 12 hours, you'll be back in Boston."

"And you'll still be here."

"Yeah." She swallows thickly. "I'll still be here."

There's a moment - a brief moment where she hesitates; where she thinks of Lexa and the life she built without him. She was over him, she tells herself, but then he glances at her lips, and her resolve shatters in his gaze.

She leans towards him. His hands cup her jaw.

The sound is faint at first, a mere calling in the distance, but she hears it before their lips can touch - a warning. Clarke turns and looks for the source.

She see's blue, and a dim flashlight; all belonging to a wandering police officer on the hill.

"Oh, fuck."

She pulls away from Bellamy. He stumbles as she rises to her feet.

"We have to go," she tells him, and she clutches his hand as they run towards the fence.

He watches as she climbs, and follows her once she lands on the ground. The officer's voice gains volume behind them, and she rushes him, nearly laughing as he struggles over the wire, his large feet a trouble to the coil.

"Bell," she gasps. Her ribs hurt from giggling. "Come on."

A mere moment and he loosens his footing, joining her on the other side of the fence.

She takes his hand again. The officer's calling fades as they run along the trail.

"If we get caught," he hisses, but he's laughing, too. "I'm blaming it all on you."

They stagger down the path, their voices subdued by the fireworks erupting above them. She glances at her phone - it's midnight, a new year, and her fingers tightens around his wrist in the darkness.

The streets of the city come into view, a bright contrast to the forest they're stumbling in, and she turns to him while they're still covered by the trees.

"Bell - "

His hands cup her jaw, and she recognizes the tenderness in his eyes as he pulls her against him.

She gasps, and he falters; keeping her close as he gazes at her.

"Clarke." The sound of the city is an undesired reality before them. "Tell me if I'm doing something stupid."

She stares at him, Bellamy - and she thinks of Lexa, of the girl he has back home. She thinks of the years she spent trying to forget about him, and how truly, effortlessly stupid it would be if she gave into this, into them; and whatever tether they kept returning to.

She shakes her head, clutching his face between her palms.

"Bell," she sighs. "This is stupid, yeah. Really stupid." She closes her eyes, trembling. "But I don't care. I don't - "

He leans in, his lips rough as he presses them against hers.

And for the first time in a while, perhaps the first time since she last tasted them, she feels complete.

She realizes then, that the hole in her heart wasn't a hole at all - but that it was waiting for someone to fill it. Not by Lexa, but by him; the man who caused it had become the only man who could destroy it.

Clarke breathes and pulls him close. The tether between them tightens.

"Bell," she whispers. She just wants to say his name.

His hands grip ferociously against her cheeks, and it allows her to melt into him. She feels his desperation, tastes it on his lips, and she returns it; kissing him with the passion that she had forgotten was within her.

Another firework erupts above them, and Bellamy draws away. He kisses her jaw, her cheek, peppering his lips along her skin.

Clarke exhales. She knows what's coming; can feel the shift in his arms and the urgency in his touch.

She closes her eyes, clutching the collar of his shirt as he leans his forehead against hers.

"Clarke." His voice is low, the word a broken whisper. "Keep your eyes closed."

She smiles sadly. "I know."

There's a shudder, and she feels the return of her emptiness; because when she opens her eyes, heart thrashing and lips swollen from his kiss, he's gone. Vanished into the city before she could even mourn the absence of his body.

It's powerful, the grief she obtains, and that night she tells Lexa what happened.

There's a lot of screaming, crying - but Clarke doesn't feel anything at all, and once again the hole opens up, swallowing her back in.

so i wrote this song for you, now everybody knows

xv. new year's eve 2012

The year of 2012 is, for the most part, the worst year of her entire life.

It begins in January, when Lexa breaks up with her. Clarke expects it, prefers it even; but then she calls her an 'emotionally unstable bitch' before she leaves and steals half of her shit while she's doing so.

She's not sure whether it's because Lexa thought it was her own shit, or just wanted to get back at Clarke for being a shitty girlfriend, but either way, it fucking pisses her off.

She steals her clothes, two tubs of vanilla ice cream, and four bottles of wine. It was a tragedy, but it was also the beginning of the year; and Clarke thought that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

Then weeks later, in February, she spends Valentine's Day in a butcher shop near the highway.

In April, Dick Clark dies of a heart attack

And in June, when she graduates from UCLA with a fucking degree in art, she realizes that art is only a hobby and there was no potential for getting a job in it.

In August, she realizes LA had given up on her, and that she was in the middle of a quarter-life crisis.

She was 24 - single and broke; and for a moment she had almost wished for the rumors to be true, that the end of the world would occur in December, and the universe would give up on her, too.

She tells Octavia about it, and she gets on a plane a couple months later.

It's three days before New Year's Eve when she arrives, bursting through her apartment with her duffle bag.

"Clarke Fucking Griffin." She enters her room and pulls the sheets off her bed. Clarke covers her eyes from the sunlight. "Get up you lazy sack of potatoes. It's time to start living again."

"Fuck off. It's morning."

"Fuck you. It's noon."

Clarke opens her eyes. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." She leans forward and tugs on her arm, dragging her from the mattress. "Now come on, I've got a lot of damage to repair over the next week. The first item on the list - take a shower. You smell like a Boston locker room."

"That's extreme."

"You need extreme. Now get your skinny ass to the bathroom."

She groans, but she listens. She hadn't taken a shower in days. The water is warm on her skin, soothing, and an hour later, after she washes her body and conditions her hair, she walks into the living room.

Luna glances at her. "Oh, my God," she says, blinking. "Clarke? Is that you?"

She rolls her eyes, giving her the finger. Octavia holds her side as she laughs.

And for a moment, it doesn't seem like her world is spinning. That maybe she'll find her purpose.

Over the next few days, she fills Octavia in. Explains to her the details on how her life had escalated into a chaotic mess. She starts with the impact of losing her father, then the annoyance of losing Lexa; though leaves out the important loss of Bellamy, and the emptiness he left in his wake.

Octavia listens, and it helps. She wipes away her tears when she cries about her dad, and calls Lexa a psychopath when she vents about their break up.

On New Year's Eve, they get drunk at a bar near Venice Beach.

It's fun; Octavia orders whiskey sours, and then vodka cranberries, and they're wasted when the countdown commences, kissing each other on the cheek as they celebrate.

A couple hours later, they stumble into Clarke's apartment, collapsing on the bed.

Octavia snuggles into a pillow. "Tonight was fun."

"Yeah. I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too, Stardust." She sighs and turns to face her on the mattress. "Me and your mom were starting to worry about you."

Clarke frowns. "My mom was?"

"Yeah. She almost came up with me."

She presses her lips together. It's silent for a moment.

"I'm glad she didn't," she says. "I don't like her worrying."

Octavia nods. It's quiet - a certain word itches on Clarke's lips. One that has the potential to shatter whatever security she felt as though she was building.

She looks at Octavia, finding her strength.

"How's Bell?"

Octavia shrugs, unaware of the weight surrounding her answer. "He's okay. He's getting his teaching degree."

"Good for him."

"Yeah. think he misses you."

Clarke closes her eyes. "I think I miss him, too." She breathes deeply. She can hear the echo of celebration in the city. "Hey, O?"

"Mhm?"

"We kissed, last year. It's why I broke up with Lexa."

There's a beat. Octavia finds her hand in the darkness.

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yeah. He only told me he saw you, but I could tell something happened."

Clarke nods. "Yeah," she whispers. She thinks of his lips, the urgency she felt when she was kissing him. "Something happened."

It's quiet for a moment. Octavia squeezes her fingers.

"Are you in love with him?" she asks, and it sends a burst of revelation through her core.

She breathes deeply. "I think so." She can sense the tears building behind her eyes. "I really don't want to be."

And she doesn't. She doesn't want the emptiness that dwells inside her or the pain of missing him. She doesn't want to think about him every day, what he's doing, who he's with. She wants love, but not with him, not with someone she can't have.

It's not until the morning, after Octavia leaves, that Clarke notices the universe didn't end up caving in on itself. That although it was thought to, the world kept on - and so will she, one confusing day at a time.

just say you won't let go

xvi. new year's eve 2013

In February, she realizes she had begun a dangerous cycle - one that she has no intention of stopping.

Or rather, one that she has no idea how to stop.

The cycle was easy to recognize; a mere explanation behind the disorder surrounding her life. She was jobless, relationshipless - her hours were spent trying vegan recipes from skinny people cookbooks and wasting her dead father's money on rent.

She was lost; a confused graduate with no job prospects and a quarter of the determination she had when she first started university.

So, instead of unhealthily dealing with her boredom through alcohol and drugs, she turns to TV as her scapegoat - more importantly, HBO.

And even more importantly, HBO On Demand.

She binge watches the first two seasons of Game of Thrones under ten hours, even forms a harmful crush on Vincent Chase from Entourage.

Though it isn't until the second week of March that she begins Sex And The City, and she develops a bit of an addiction.

So, naturally, it sort of puts things into perspective.

Because as much as wants to be Carrie, she realizes that she's the Miranda of the group - cynical, experimental with her sexuality, and resentful of every man who dared to question her desire beyond a one-night stand.

Then something happened, or rather, she had something that people like to identify as a "wake-up call."

It was a Tuesday, two bowls deep into a bag of Doritos when Carrie Bradshaw shared her infamous wisdom.

Eventually, all the pieces fall into place . . . until then, laugh at the confusion, live for the moment, and know that everything happens for a reason.

That night, after dusting the cheese dust from her fingers, she applies to ten openings online. And when she's rejected by them, she applies again, and again, until she successfully starts to actually give a damn about her future.

Later, Luna tells her she needs experience in order to get hired, and so she goes into the world to do exactly that.

For a couple months, she works as a secretary at LA's Natural History Museum. It's not where she wants to be, but it's a start, and she thinks that it might be a start to something good.

In August, she posts her resume on an online scouting website, and a company representative messages her two weeks later.

"Holy shit." It's a warm afternoon, the windows wide open in the living room, and she glances at Luna. "I got a God damn message."

She blinks. "From God damn who?"

Clarke opens the link. Her eyes widen as she scans the computer screen.

"Holy shit."

"Clarke."

"It's from the Museum of Fine Arts," she mumbles, and when Luna looks at her in confusion, she turns the screen towards her. "That's the one in Boston."

She expects Luna to be upset, maybe a little reluctant, but she pushes herself from the couch, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"I never thought you'd leave," she teases, and Clarke laughs tearfully into her shoulder. "Take that fucking job, Boston. I mean it. Make me proud."

And Clarke does; packing her things within a week and moving to Boston at the end of November. Luna tells her she'll visit, and she rents a furnished condo at the edge of the city.

It's in the same building as Octavia's, and only an hour drive from her mother's home in Westwood.

And suddenly, things were starting to fall into place.

"This is fucking insane," Octavia says when she visits the apartment. "Your view is better than mine."

"I'm pretty sure it's the same view."

"No way. When we have parties, we're having them here."

Clarke laughs. She was home, happy, and had a job that she enjoyed. She was doing exactly what Carrie Bradshaw and her father had wanted her to do - she was living without limits or fear.

She was just simply living.

On Christmas, she meets her mother's boyfriend for the first time.

His name is Marcus Kane, CEO of a startup company in the city. He's funny, seems like a good man; though more importantly, he seems like a good man to her.

A week later, after festivities and the parties had dwelled, Octavia decides to throw her a gathering on New Year's Eve.

She decorates her apartment in banners and glitter. A silver streamer falls onto Clarke's when she enters the kitchen.

"Jesus, O," she chuckles. She removes the string from her mouth. "Are you sure this is a homecoming party or just another excuse for you get shit-faced in front of your colleagues?"

"Who said it can't be both?"

"It's your apartment." She lifts herself onto the counter. "Who else did you invite?"

"I mean, I know for sure Lincoln is coming, and Harper, a couple other kids from high school." She gasps suddenly, tapping her wrist. "And Finn. Finn might be here."

"You invited, Finn?"

"Yeah! It's your first gathering since you've been back. It would be cute to have a reunion."

"A reunion - " Clarke huffs, shaking her head. "O. He cheated on me."

"Like seven years ago."

"Octavia."

"Oh, relax and keep your panties on, Griffin. It was an innocent Facebook invitation." She shrugs, lining the champaign bottles on the table. "He probably won't even end up coming. "

She narrows her eyes. "Okay. What about Bell?" They haven't spoken in months, and she's nervous to see him. "Is he coming?"

"Yeah, but I didn't tell him the party was for, you know, you."

"Why not?"

"Well . . . " Octavia turns to her, bashfull, "you know how I was supposed to tell him you were moving back?"

"Yeah. So you could spare me from the pain of telling him myself?"

"Right. That didn't happen."

"Octavia."

"I know, I know. But I never found the right time." She huffs, placing her hands on her hips. "Plus, he would have gotten all confused, and you know how bad I am at giving advice."

"No shit."

The doorbell to the apartment rings, announcing the first guest, and Octavia claps her hands.

"Guess we'll have to postpone this convo later." She pushes Clarke's breasts above her shirt. "Now put your party face on, Homecoming Queen. You're the star of the show."

She opens the door, revealing Harper and Monty behind the frame. It's strange, seeing them, but Clarke smiles when Harper hugs her, and they pop the first champagne bottle of the night.

Three bottles later, the gathering has turned into a party, music blasting from Octavia's speakers.

She sees people from her high school, the people she forgot even existed. Some of them are married, divorced, a guy from the football team has been divorced twice. She sees women thinner than her with kids, and a woman thinner than her while fucking carrying a kid.

It's crazy, how much life has changed, and she dances with Octavia to the Backstreet Boys in her living room.

She's happy, having fun, and it isn't until an hour later when she see's him again.

She had just finished talking with Lincoln on the balcony, and she stumbles inside the apartment, head dizzy from the wine when she bumps into him.

"Oh, fuck." His hands grip her elbow for balance. "I'm sorry, I - "

His voice is low when he recognizes her, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Clarke?"

She glances towards him. He looks different again, older, fingers wrapped around a beer.

She's an idiot for thinking seeing him again wouldn't destroy her.

"Bell." She forces a smile. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

God, does she hate Octavia. "I - "

There's a calling of his name, the sound of a voice approaching, and a woman walks towards them - tall and skinny.

"Babe, when are we - " She blinks when she notices Clarke. She was pretty, dark hair, even darker eyes. Bellamy's type. "Oh. Hi. I don't think I know you yet."

Clarke stares at her. Bellamy clears his throat.

"Yeah, uh. Echo," he gestures towards her. "This is Clarke."

"Clarke?" She tilts her head to the side. A moment passes before the name resonates. "Clarke. Right, the neighbour."

"Yeah." She presses her lips together. "The neighbour."

"You live in LA, right?"

She glances at Bellamy. "Uhm, I did. I actually just moved back."

His eyes harden, unmoving, and she notices the tightening of his grasp around his beer.

Echo smiles widely. Clarke hates how nice she seems.

"That's awesome, we'll have to grab a drink sometime. I'd love to know how Bell was as a kid."

Clarke nods. "Yeah, that'd be nice." She watches as Echo's arm wraps around his waist, comfortable, and she steps back. "I'm sorry." Her chest feels heavy. "If you'll just excuse me . . . "

She turns from them and walks through the living room, squeezing through the crowds of people.

She isn't surprised when she hears him calling her name.

"Clarke." His voice is strained. "Hey."

He reaches for her arm as she steps into the empty hallway.

"Clarke, come on - "

"What?" She turns and looks at him. "What do you want from me, Bellamy?"

He narrows his eyes. "Nothing," he whispers. The answer annoys her, and she steps back. "Clarke, stop. Just . . . " He sighs. "Why didn't you tell me you were moving back to Boston?"

"Should I have?"

"Yeah," he tells her. "Yeah, you should have."

She glances at Echo in the living room, watching as she laughs about something with Harper.

She swallows thickly and turns back to Bellamy.

"Well. It doesn't seem like it would have mattered anyways."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He steps towards her. "It matters. How can you not fucking see that, Clarke?"

She closes her eyes. "Stop."

"It would have mattered. It still does."

"You really believe that?"

"Yeah. I do."

She frowns. "You're an idiot."

"Clarke - "

"What do you want me to say, Bell? Huh?" Her eyes burn with unshed tears. It feels like she's about to combust. "That now that I'm in Boston, we can finally be together?"

"Why can't we be?"

She shakes her head. "Because we don't fucking work," she hisses. The words are loud, drowned out by the music. "We never have. It's been like this for years and we always screw it up."

"That's not true."

"It is true. We've tried this before. It's probably time to just . . . move on."

Bellamy stares at her. The expression on his face nearly breaks her.

But it needed to be said. They weren't meant to be, and it hurt too much to keep thinking they were. He was different, their lives weren't in synch, and she was tired of the painful cycle they had become.

She steps away from him. The tears have begun to fall down her cheeks.

"You should go," she says, because she can't look at him anymore if she wants to be strong. "Your girlfriend is probably wondering where you are."

She doesn't wait for him to move. Instead, she's the one who turns from him, walking down the hall and into the bathroom, her palms cupping her face as she cries.

It's pathetic, and Octavia finds her moments later.

"Oh, Homecoming Queen. Where are thou, Homecoming Queen?" She opens the door, stumbling as she enters. The music outside is loud and overwhelming. "Get up, silly. The party is - "

Clarke glances at her, and that's when she realizes the tears streaming down her face.

"Woah, woah." She kneels beside her and cups her cheeks. "Hey. Talk to me. What happened?"

Clarke shakes her head. "Nothing." But then she thinks of Bellamy, of his expression when she left, and -

"I'm an idiot," she whispers, and cries into Octavia's shoulder.

oh, and you look as beautiful as ever, and i swear that every day you'll get better

xvii. new year's eve 2014

In the end, he chooses Echo, and she tells herself it's better this way.

The world was unkind, and happy endings were only seen in the movies.

It takes time, but she tries to move on. She goes on dates, finds hopeless people to fool around with, but when a man falls asleep on her one night, she thinks that maybe she's doing this all wrong.

That maybe Samantha Jones was right.

The good ones screw you, the bad ones screw you, and the rest don't know how to screw you.

The man snores beside her, and yeah - she feels as though the entire fucking world just kept screwing her.

"You're getting cynical," Octavia claims when she tells her. It was a Sunday, and they were doing their morning yoga class. "And giving up. Bellamy isn't the only good guy out there."

"Who said he was a good guy?"

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Whatever. A good guy for you." She stretches onto the mat, rolling her shoulders forward. "I have someone in mind for you. He's adorable, works in my building, and word is he's great with his mouth."

"O, I'm 26-years-old. I don't want blind dates."

"It's not a blind date. I'm telling you who he is."

"That's the same fucking - "

A lady beside them holds up her finger to silence them, and Clarke gives her a finger as well, though hers is in the middle.

Octavia sets up the date for New Year's Eve.

Clarke refuses at first, but she caves the night before. It was about to be a new year, and maybe she could find someone new to go with it.

She wears a red dress, curls her hair, and takes a taxi to Giacomo's.

He's there before her, and even more handsome than Octavia described, ordering two steaks from the menu.

"So. Myles." They had just finished their meal, and Clarke leans in her seat, fingers caressing a glass of red wine. "What is it that you do?"

"I'm a divorce lawyer."

"Oh." She presses her lips together. "That's . . . sad."

He chuckles. "Yeah. It's not an impressive thing to say on a first date."

"No, no. I'm interested. What made you want to be a divorce lawyer?"

"I'm not sure. My parents got a divorce when I was young, and it got really nasty. Cost them thousands of dollars. I guess I just want to try and make things simpler for others.

Clarke nods. "I don't think a divorce would ever be simple."

"No, but that's why you have to find someone easy to love. Or at least, that's what I think."

She raises an eyebrow. "Easy?"

"Yeah." He takes a sip of his wine. "Love isn't supposed to be hard. If it is, then it's probably not love, or at least not with the right person."

"That's what you think?"

"It's what I know." He beckons the waitress forward and orders a bottle of champagne. "Listen, I know it sucks to hear. But most of the people I represent just end up hating each other. It amazes me why they even got married in the first place."

She shrugs. "They probably loved each other at one point," she says. "Sometimes things just . . . get in the way."

"If it's true love, nothing will get in the way."

Clarke narrows her eyes. "Yeah, it will," she tells him. "Love is the hardest thing in the entire world. Because once you find that person, the person who completes you, you just . . . you can't let go."

Myles stares at her, curiosity filling his gaze, but she doesn't even notice - the emotion is blinding.

The revelation is strong this time, and she feels it grow, powerful and raw inside her. It's love, she realizes, the stuff that makes her fucking crazy. And even though it rips at her soul and breaks her heart, she still feels it, craves it.

Because it makes her feel alive, even as it destroys it. Makes her want to keep fucking living.

She laughs, a tearful one, and Myles narrows his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

She glances at him. "I'm so sorry, Myles," she says. "But I am someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, can't-live-without-each-other love. And I don't think that love is here, in this expensive suite." She exhales, shaking her head. "In this lovely hotel, in Paris."

He stares at her. His glare has hardened into confusion.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I apologize. You seem like a nice man." She pushes herself from the table. There's an eagerness within her that won't settle. "But there's somewhere I have to be."

She grabs her coat, nodding at him as she leaves - leaves her hesitance, her fear, and waves down a taxi outside the restaurant.

She gets to his apartment in minutes, fists urgent on his front door.

Bellamy answers on the third knock.

"Clarke."

She walks past him and enters his living room. Her breath is heavy, racing against her heart.

He looks at her. "What are you doing here?"

Clarke turns to him. She's trembling, only slightly, though the presence of him makes her feel strong.

"To say something really stupid," she whispers. Her voice is raw, dripping with emotion. "But also important."

He narrows his eyes, stepping towards her.

"Clarke - "

"I love you." The words echo off his walls, strong and vulnerable in the darkness. She laughs, because she feels good, her chest lifted from the weight of it. "Wow. That feels really good to say."

She's tempted to say the words again. I love you. It's a chorus, a melody, and her heart sings with each beat against her chest. I love you, I love you, I love you.

He stares at her, his expression unreadable, but it doesn't discourage her. It doesn't stop the burst of emotions pouring from her.

"You don't have to say anything," she tells him. "I know you're with Echo. Respect that, even. But God, I just wanted you to know. Or maybe I just wanted to finally say it. Because I am - I'm completely, stupidly, disgustingly in love with you." She laughs, shaking her head. "It's almost pathetic."

She can see the emotion in his gaze, the ones he's trying to fight, and her eyes burn with unshed tears.

But she keeps going. She doesn't even know how to stop.

"And maybe this won't work out, you know? Maybe, we'll never get our shot. Because we keep missing each other. Life keeps getting in the way. And I've tried so long to stop myself from feeling this way, but I can't. So. I just needed you to know."

Her chest heaves, with freedom - with love. Maybe with something more.

But he knows. That's all she wants. For him to know, and to be happy.

She just wants him to be happy.

Clarke presses her lips together. His expression is unreadable.

"I'm not expecting you to say anything back, or - "

"I broke up with Echo."

She stares at him. "What?"

Bellamy nods. His eyes are dark, burning with emotion.

"Last month. I told her I couldn't be with her," she steps towards her, and maybe this is the something more, "because I wanted to be with someone else."

She stares at him, and that's when he smiles. Wide and perfect. A smile just for her.

She walks towards him. "Bell."

This kiss is fierce, strong, like the night in his dorm.

But it's warm, tender, and real against her.

Finally.

His arms wrap around her, pulling her close, arms strong and reluctant of ever letting her go. She can feel the response on his skin, tastes it on his mouth as he kisses her, and it fills her heart with the warmth it had been lacking since she last felt him.

After a moment, she pulls away. Her breathing is heavy as he leans his forehead against hers.

"Clarke," he whispers. "You should know something." He holds her face between his hands, gentle, thumbs grazing her cheeks. "I love you. Have my entire life." He kisses her, whispering the words into her lips. "And I'll love you for the rest of it."

She smiles. He trails kisses down her neck.

She thinks he's her soul mate, Bellamy Blake, and when she tells him that, he smiles - the kind that makes her heart skip. The kind that he gives her when he says it back, when he lowers her to the bed, the kind he gives when she whispers him good night.

It's her favourite smile, and it's with her in the morning.

She thinks it might be with her for the rest of her life.

i promise till death we part like in our vows, 'cause now it's just you and me till we're gray and old

xviii. new year's eve 2016

He buys an engagement ring two weeks later, and proposes in the spring.

It was a Sunday, and they were at their mother's house for dinner.

He brings her onto the back porch. The stars were clear the night, the sky a certain blue, and he asks her to find him a constellation, using her father's telescope to gaze into the night.

She finds Cassiopeia, her favorite. Her father's favorite, too.

When she turns to him, he's leaning on his knee, a ring box on his palm.

She says yes before he can even finish the question.

"He took me to four different stores in one day," Octavia says the next morning, after she shows her the ring over breakfast. "Four, Clarke. It was insufferable."

Clarke laugh. "That's not insufferable. That's romantic." She glances at Bellamy and presses a short kiss to his lips. "I love it."

"I love you," he whispers.

She coos, and he lowers her onto the table, deepening the kiss.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Octavia groans. Lincoln laughs from the living room couch. "We eat there, you know."

They marry on a summer day in August. Marcus is the one who walks her down the aisle.

She cries through their vows, and they spend the entire night dancing, leaving in the morning for Hawaii.

It's beautiful, peaceful; and on the third night, they pretend to be British tourists at dinner.

It's the funniest night of her life.

They stumble into their room after, tearing at their clothes. He lowers her on the bed, and she giggles, slightly tipsy, her legs winding around his waist.

"Oh dear, I think we're about to . . . " She pauses. He trails his lips softly along her jaw. "What's a British word for sex?"

He whispers the word into her skin. "Fork?"

"Fork." She laughs. "Let's fork."

Bellamy chuckles. He kisses her, and it's playful, hands weaving through the flowers in her hair.

"You're so weird," he murmurs.

"So are you. Our kids will be unbearable."

"I know. Especially since we're having five of them."

She groans. "We agreed on three."

"Right." He presses a kiss to her nose. "So, four."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Bellamy," she whines. "There's no way I'm pushing four watermelons out of my vagina."

"Why not? Sounds fun?"

"Fun?" She huffs. Her mouth rounds as she imitates a British accent. "Bloody hell, Bellamy. What do you take me for? A French century prostitute?"

He shakes his head. "God, I love you."

It's fun, living with him, being married. They felt right together, even when they fight, even when she tries to watch Sex And The City while hockey was on. They were different, but it worked.

They were happy.

That New Year's Eve, they spend it at home. Watching the countdown on the television.

They're sitting on the couch when Bellamy groans beside her.

She raises an eyebrow, glancing at him. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just Miller." He's scanning through his phone. It was yellow and black - the same colors as the Boston Bruins. She got him the case for Christmas. "He's at Eastern Standard, wants us to come down."

"What did you tell him?"

"That we're an old, married couple now." He glances at the television, rolls his eyes when he notices Mariah Carey on stage. "And that, as a good husband, I am going to watch Mariah Carey with her until she falls asleep before midnight."

She laughs and leans forward. Her fingers pry the beer from his hand.

"Cheer up," she whispers. She climbs onto him and places the bottle on the ground. His hands settle on her thighs as she straddles his hips. "I think you might be forgetting the reward of being a good husband."

He smiles, her favorite one, and she leans down to kiss him. He tastes like beer, and his fingers smooth along her legs, crawling below the material of her shorts, higher and higher -

The TV quiets. Clarke gasps, turning.

"Did Mariah Carey just forget her lyrics?"

He drops his head on the couch. "Clarke."

"Sorry. Okay, I'm sorry." She laughs, nuzzling his cheek, his jaw. "You can change it to hockey or something. That definitely won't distract me."

"Of course it won't."

She smiles. "You know me so well." She presses a kiss to his lips, short, and pulls away. "Did you think, that when we met all those years ago, we would end up like this?"

"Like this?" He gestures towards the TV. "No. With you? Always."

She kisses him again, because he's adorable, and she wants to.

She leans her forehead against his. "I think my dad knew, too."

He grins. "Really?"

"Yeah. He would always tell me how great of a guy you were. Even when I was with Finn." Bellamy laughs. "It was annoying how much he loved you."

"But understandable."

"Shut up." He chuckles, playing with a loose strand of her hair. "When he first died, I was upset at first, that he wouldn't be able to meet my husband, to imagine what his grandchildren would look like."

Bellamy nods. "But he did."

"Yeah." She glances at his lips. "Thank you for that."

"Anytime."

She kisses him. It's intimate, burning, and he pulls her closer against his chest. He's warm, he always is, and she melts into him, hands reaching for the buckle around his jeans.

There's a sound of celebration. Clarke smiles into his mouth.

"Happy New Years, Bell," she whispers.

"Happy New Years, Clarke."

She discards his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath her hands as he lowers her onto the couch. It's odd, because New Year's Eve has always been special to them, where they've had so many firsts, and perhaps some lasts, and it makes her excited for the future.

Because the future was theirs, and they were facing it together. She doesn't need anything else to keep going.

And that's the end. Wow. I'm genuinely crying while finishing this. This story meant a lot to me - it felt real. I think it's always important to fight for something that might not be easy, because that's what life is, and it's why we keep going.

So that's the end of Say You Won't Let Go. Again, I apologize for the delay, but life is quite busy right now. I hope it was worth the wait, and I would love to hear what you guys think of this in the review/comment section below.

Be kind to one each other. Fight for love. I know I did, and it's why I'm in a good relationship as we speak.

Until next time, xoxo.