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Clarke is the first person to ever refer to Bellamy as asexual, and it's like having cold water dumped on his soul, like having a spotlight suddenly turned on to expose him to world, but somehow in a good way. It's shock and being seen, but being seen, someone truly looking at him for the first time. Like a jolt of electricity that shocks everything into place.
Clarke doesn't even notice, just keeps on with the story she's telling, about being at the last meet-up and the way he totally failed to notice this girl flirting with him, which he did.
Asexual fits right into the story, like it was always there. And he thinks, if he tries it, it's going to fit into all his other stories too.
They take the train home together as usual, and he waits until they've caught one and it's on its way before he says, "You said I was asexual."
She frowns. "Yeah. Is it a secret?"
Clarke is a friend he made as an adult without the help of either work or school, which puts her on a mythic level on par with dragons and unicorns. They met on a forum for parents and guardians in non-traditional families, of all places, but despite being there for years, she's the only honest-to-god friend he's made. He likes plenty of them, and the site makes up a large percentage of his social interactions, but despite how long he's been there and how respected he is as a member, he'd never actually had someone make the leap from forum friend to IRL friend until Clarke showed up.
She joined when she and her girlfriend decided to start fostering kids, and she and Bellamy moved from public to private conversations fairly quickly, once they discovered how much they had in common. They hadn't actually discussed a lot of basic demographic information, so he didn't realize she was in his city until she replied to his thread for the monthly meet-up saying she'd be there, and once that happened, the online friendship moved quickly offline. She's a few years younger than he is, bisexual, from a much better tax bracket, and even though he keeps waiting to find something he doesn't like about her, nothing's come up yet.
It's only been six months, but she's already one of his best friends. And apparently she knows him even better than he thought.
"Yeah, from me," he finally says. "I never thought about it."
She frowns. "Wait, really? I could have sworn you said you were ace."
"No. But I've spent the last hour reviewing basically everything that's happened in my entire life and I probably should have. I get why you thought that."
He's doing his best to radiate cool about it, because he really isn't upset. Given the stories he's told her, he gets how she came to that conclusion, and he agrees with her. She didn't do anything wrong. But despite his best efforts, the blood still drains from her face. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to slap a label on you."
"It's okay. I just figured--"
What he figured, for most of his life, was that sex and relationships would be things he would start to want later, when he had time. Between jobs and taking care of his sister in high school, dating didn't feel like a real option, and when people talked about how much they wanted to get laid, he always assumed it was mostly bravado. Horniness felt like a performative act to him.
By the time he realized he actually did have time to potentially try for a relationship, he didn't really know how to go about making it happen, and it didn't really bother him so much. Even now, he doesn't feel like it's something he's missing, and while he does sometimes feel like he should at some point in his life lose his virginity, or at least kiss someone, it
s mostly because that's what you're supposed to do. But dating apps scare him, and he doesn't meet a lot of people.
And, as Clarke pointed out, when he does, he often doesn't notice. It's just not something that's really on his radar.
"It feels pretty right," he admits. "I get why you thought that."
"I'm still sorry. I know better than to tell people how they identify."
He snorts. "Apparently I suck at it, so I appreciate the help."
"Any time. Do you need to talk about it?"
He leans his head back against the window, closing his eyes. "I don't know. I should probably do some research. But--it feels good to let myself off the hook, I guess? I don't have to feel bad for not having something I don't want."
"You don't. And if you ever have any questions--"
"I can still be asexual if I jerk off, right?"
It makes her laugh, just like he was hoping it would. "I'm not an expert, so I was going to tell you I could probably find a resource for you, but I'm pretty sure that one's fine. It's a spectrum. You can just figure out where you fit on it."
"Yeah. Thanks for putting me on it."
"I'm still sorry." She works with a group that does outreach for LGBT teens at risk, so it's not exactly surprising that she feels bad, even if he doesn't. It's kind of cute, honestly. "But I'm glad it feels right."
"Yeah," he agrees, letting the word settle around his shoulders like armor. "Me too."
*
For the first few weeks after Clarke IDs him as asexual, Bellamy can't stop thinking about it. He does some reading online, recognizes himself in some stories and less in others. He decides he's asexual but not opposed to or repulsed by sex, could see himself having it under the right circumstances, even if he doesn't know what those circumstances would be. He's never liked watching people be overly couple-y, but it's mostly because he feels weird being a witness. Sex scenes in movies are fine, but he doesn't find they add much, and he realizes he's never understood them. He likes masturbating, but he's never really thought about actual people when he does it. Before, he thought it was because it was creepy, but now he thinks that jerking off is just separate from any kind of specific attraction for him. Sometimes, his dick gets hard as a biological function, and it feels good to deal with that, but he doesn't need a fantasy to get him going.
So the whole thing is kind of academically interesting, but it doesn't have a huge impact on his life once he's used to it. It's another demographic fact about himself, like his hair and eye color, one that helps him understand himself, but not one he needs that often. He doesn't really come out, but he says it sometimes, practices to make sure he can make it sound casual. Bellamy Blake, twenty-nine, asexual. It sounds right.
It does still come up now and then. There's a weekly LGBT thread in the forum where he advises other parents on the board who are struggling with teen sexuality, just as he always did, but he switches from pan to asexual. It's jarring for some of them at first, but it's not actually that hard to explain; he is attracted to everyone the same, regardless of gender, he was just misinterpreting the nature of that attraction. He didn't have a preference at all.
It feels easy, almost too easy, until Clarke and her girlfriend break up.
Admittedly, he doesn't immediately recognize that as the massive shift it will become in his life. The immediate aftermath of the breakup has absolutely nothing to do with him, except as a supporting player. Clarke calls him one Saturday, asks if he can come over, and when he arrives she's sitting on her couch with a bottle of beer and a carton of ice cream next to each other on the coffee table.
He sinks down next to her. "Jesus, what happened?"
"Lexa left."
"Fuck. Why?"
She rubs her face. "She got the new job, and we couldn't agree with what to do about it."
The new job he remembers, and it makes his stomach twist in guilt. He'd wanted to be rooting for Lexa, in the broad way you're root for people you don't know well to have good things happen to them, but the job is in Seattle, and all he could really think about was Clarke moving away and how much he'd miss her.
"What were the options?"
"She wanted me to leave with her right away. She figured I could find a job when when we got there. I wanted to do long distance for at least a few months, maybe even a year, while I figured out what I was going to do out there. I didn't want to just leave the kids with no warning, especially not when I didn't have anywhere to go. I hate being unemployed."
"You didn't tell me about this," he notes, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. She doesn't have to talk about this stuff with him, but he kind of wishes she had.
"I was going to, but it hasn't even been that long. I think that's what gets me? I thought it was an ongoing conversation, but--she never liked living here. This job was her chance to get out of here, and when she realized I didn't see it the same way, that was it. She was done." She rubs her face. "It just fell apart so fast. We just found out a couple days ago, and she told them she'd be there in a week. Without even asking me."
"Maybe she'll change her mind."
"Maybe." She leans forward to pick up her beer. "But if she does, I'm not sure that's enough. We've never been good at dealing with conflict. We have fights that just fizzle out without being resolved. If this is another one of those--I don't want that, you know? I don't want to feel like our resolution is always someone storming out or someone giving up."
"So you're done?" he asks.
"She's moving to Seattle, I'm not ready to. I might never be ready to. Maybe if she was staying, it would be worth fixing, but--I don't think it is. I still don't think it would be."
"I feel like I'm the wrong person for this conversation," he finally admits. "For a bunch of different reasons."
She offers him the beer bottle. "Yeah? Like what?"
"I don't like her and I've never dated anyone. I don't know how to make the argument that you should give her another chance."
Clarke laughs. "Maybe you don't have to."
"So what do you want me here for?"
"Sympathy. Maybe a hug."
He puts the beer down so he can open his arms, and she snuggles in. This is the kind of intimacy he's always been good at, being close to people, offering comfort. And he likes it too; he never gets enough hugs.
"I'm sorry, that sucks. I think you're right to not want to try to work through it."
"Thanks." She lets out a long breath. "At least we were between foster kid placements. I wouldn't want to be working through this and dealing with a dependent."
"Yeah, I bet. Do you think you want to keep doing that? Fostering."
"I think so. I'll need to look at finances and stuff, maybe move to a smaller place? It won't be for a while, but if they'll let me do fostering as a single woman, I probably will."
"Good. You're good at it."
"Do you ever think about it? You'd be good at fostering too."
"Not really." He smiles a little. "Octavia might have been enough kid for me for the rest of my life."
"I don't blame you."
"I really am sorry about Lexa. But--I'm glad you're not moving."
That makes her laugh. "Yeah, I got the impression you weren't thrilled about that."
"I like hanging out with you."
"Good, because I'm going to have a lot more free time now." She shifts a little, getting more comfortable in his arms. "Do you want to watch something?"
He kisses her hair; it feels like the right thing to do, in this moment. And she seems to approve. "Yeah," he says. "Whatever you want."
*
While Bellamy had considered Clarke his best friend for a while, for a few months before the asexual thing and another seven after, the breakup changes their dynamic enough that he realizes it might not have been a completely parallel position before. Not that Clarke didn't like him, of course, but she didn't need a best friend in the same way that he did, back when she had a romantic partner. Sometimes, he was a better resource, but Lexa was her go-to person when she had problems, the default option, and now, with her gone, it's him instead, and he finds he likes it. He likes feeling as if he's the person on whom Clarke relies, her emergency contact and default adviser.
As soon as he realizes that's how he's feeling, he feels like a selfish asshole, and even though he knows it's an irrational way to be feeling, he doesn't want to make Clarke talk him through it like he usually would.
So he goes with Raven, Emori, and Miller instead, even though they, admittedly, don't have all the background.
"Did I tell you guys I'm asexual?" he asks, to open the conversation.
"You know you didn't," says Miller. "Congrats? Is this a coming out party?"
"I want advice. I'm worried I'm being a dick."
"Are you dating someone and didn't tell them you're asexual?" Emori asks.
He frowns. "I'm asexual, why would I be dating someone?"
"My boyfriend is asexual," she says. "He's not aromantic."
It's a distinction Bellamy saw during his initial research and didn't really want to engage with at the time. It didn't seem really important to decide if he wasn't dating or never wanted to date. He's never wanted to date before, and has yet to want it, but it's not impossible.
And, if he's honest, there's something about aromantic that doesn't sit right with him. He doesn't think he's interested in sex, or even dating, but--romance. He's not ready to say he doesn't care about romance.
"I'm not dating anyone," is what he settles on for now. "And I don't know if I want to be."
"So what specifically are you being a dick about?" asks Miller. "You usually have some options."
"My friend and her girlfriend broke up and I'm happy about it."
"Does this relate somehow to the asexuality thing or are you just getting everything out at once?" Raven asks. "Like some weird confessional of why you've been weird the last few months."
He sighs. "I feel like I'm glad because she was kind of--she's a really good friend, and I'm happier now that she doesn't have a girlfriend and spends more time with me. And I feel kind of like a dick for that. It doesn't have to be an asexual thing, but I figure it might be related. I'm not great at being asexual yet."
"Friends in relationships are always kind of tough to navigate," says Raven. "You never felt like we abandoned you when we started dating people?"
"Sometimes."
"Yeah, I think everyone gets that. This is just that in reverse. You just knew the version of her that was in a relationship, and now you know single her, and she wants to spend more time with you." She pauses. "Did you tell her? About the asexual thing."
He has to smile. "She actually told me."
"Wait, someone else had to tell you that you were asexual?" Miller asks. "You're even more of a mess than I thought."
"Shut up," he says, without heat. It's actually nice, that they're all still making fun of him. This doesn't have to change anything, except how he feels about himself. "I wasn't thinking about it. I figured if I ever wanted to date someone, I'd want to have sex with them."
"Have you really never wanted to date someone?" Emori asks.
"Is it that hard to believe?"
"It actually is. Not that you're asexual, I believe that, but--I would have thought you were the relationship type. No offense."
"The relationship type?"
She shrugs. "You seem like a romantic. But I'll update my understanding."
"Thanks for saying that in the most robot way possible." He can't keep a smile off his face, so the sarcasm doesn't really land. "So, I'm not a dick?"
There's instant and unanimous disagreement, but he was going for that.
He really does feel so much better.
*
"How are you at talking about aromanticism?" he asks Clarke, a week later.
"Depends on what you want to talk about. I'm not an expert, but I can do general stuff. My coworker Niylah is aro, we've dicussed it." She cocks her head. "What's up?"
Part of him feels like he should be able to do this on his own, should come up with at least one part of his sexuality without asking Clarke. But this is what friends are supposed to do. Friends help.
"I told some of my friends I'm ace last week, and Emori said she thought I wasn't aro. Not, like--she just assumed I would be into relationships. Based on my personality, I guess." He rubs his face. "Why is doubting your sexuality every time someone says anything part of the non-straight experience?"
"Because society sucks and we're all convinced our preferences aren't real. You think she's right?"
"Honestly? I have no idea. I had some crushes back in high school, but they always felt kind of fake. But maybe that's because when we talked about that stuff, sex was always involved, and I never cared about that part that much. Honestly? The more I think about it, the more I'm not sure what the difference is between platonic love and romantic love if it's not sex."
Clarke worries her lip. "I guess I've never really thought about it either. Sex and relationships are linked for me. But--I like to think I could date someone without sex."
"Yeah?"
"I've never tried it, but--" She sighs. "I don't know. I like sex, it's fun. But it's not the only difference between friends and people I'm dating."
"So what is?"
She flashes him an exasperated smile. "I'm working on it. You just asked." She sighs, closes her eyes as if she's lining up her thoughts. "I think the difference is--I never feel like I can get enough of people I'm dating. And that's me, I'm not saying it's like this for everyone. But I date the people I miss as soon as they're gone. Or I try to."
"You try to?"
"When I start relationships, when it's good, it's always like that. It's really exciting, when you like someone and they like you back."
His chest twinges. "That was the part that appealed to me too."
"When it starts off, I always feel like I can't get enough of them. When I told Lexa we could be long-distance for a year--I don't know, I probably should have called it off then. Which sounds shitty, plenty of people do long distance and they really love people. But I think part of me was relieved."
"Really?"
"I've been doing kind of an emotional post-mortem. Trying to figure out how I feel about what happened. And I feel like it was the right call. So, yeah. I think I felt like I needed a little break from her, to think about my feelings. And I should have been able to think about them with her. I should have been able to talk to her about it. Wanting to be away from her to catch my breath--that's not how I am, when relationships are good. But this isn't about me!" she adds, a little too bright. "Tell me about the crushes."
He smiles. "Nothing big. It was when I was in high school. There were just--people I liked. And I never thought about hooking up with them or anything. But like you said, I wanted to spend as much time with them as I could. There was this girl, Gina, my junior year. The last crush I think I ever had. She was cute, we had a free period together and I always came up with reasons to sit next to her, and to see her in the hall. I think if I asked her out she would have said yes, but I'd never had a girlfriend before, I figured I'd be bad at it."
"I remember feeling that way in high school."
"For a while, I thought that was, like--the moment. That was when I could have learned to be in a relationship, and I didn't. It was nice to have a break from thinking that I fucked up. But if I want a relationship after all--"
"You still might not. Dating isn't appealing?"
"Not--going on dates with strangers isn't. Octavia made me sign up for some site when I was like--twenty-two? She thought I needed a social life and I said I'd do it to shut her up. And I couldn't do it. I matched with a couple people, but we talked and I never thought--I didn't like them enough to go out with them. I didn't know how to."
"So--asexual, demiromantic, maybe. You're just interested in people you know. You got to know that girl in high school and then started liking her, right?"
"Yeah."
"If you don't want a relationship, it's kind of moot anyway," she says, gentle. "You don't have to figure this out. But yeah, maybe you want to date someone some day, if you like them enough. That's cool."
"Easy for you to say," he says, with a teasing smile. "I wouldn't even know where to start."
"I'm with your friend Emori. I think you'd be good at it."
"Which part?"
"Come on, Bellamy. You're thoughtful and caring and empathetic, those are great qualities for a partner."
"I've never even kissed anyone."
"Do you want to?"
"It feels like I should give it a try. Maybe I'm wrong and I'd like it."
"You could like it, but that doesn't mean you're wrong."
"Thanks. I think I'd like it," he admits, just to get everything out there. There's no reason to have this conversation if he's not being totally honest. "If I found the right person. I think I'd like having--someone I always wanted to be around. Someone I knew would be there for me."
"I'll ask at work if anyone knows any good ace groups in the area," is her response, and he has to smile. She tends to prefer practical solutions. "I'm always happy to talk, but it might help to have someone to talk to who's coming from it from your perspective."
"Thanks," he says. "And thanks for always talking to me. I appreciate it."
"Sure. Are you good?"
"As good as I can be."
"Cool. Want to play video games and I watch?"
He laughs. "Yeah, I can do that."
*
"Congrats on not liking sex."
Talking to Emori's semi-asshole boyfriend about the whole dating-while-asexual seemed like a good idea mostly because he was having trouble figuring out how to talk to any of the people in the aro-ace group Clarke found for him. Some of them are in relationships, and they're cool, but he doesn't know any of them that well yet.
Murphy seemed safer, and he has no idea why until Emori elbows him. He might not be that close to Murphy, but Emori's got his back.
"John."
"What? He doesn't, right?"
"I've never had it," Bellamy points out. "I just know I'm not interested in trying it."
"Huh. Well, it can be okay. But I don't really get the big deal. Except with Emori, obviously," he adds, and she snorts.
"I'm aware how you feel about sex." Bellamy's face must give away his general confusion, because she smiles and clarifies, "There was some adjustment at first. I like sex, John doesn't care. Before, it would be about if my partner or I was in the mood, and it was hard to understand that John never was. But it's something we deal with. Every new relationship is an adjustment."
"I like being with her," Murphy says, shrugging. "The worst part is how much emphasis other people put on sex, like it's the biggest thing. For me, it's kind of like--she doesn't like wrestling, but she watches it with me, and she gets into it. If we broke up, she'd stop watching wrestling, but while we're together, she has fun with it. But when I tell other people that, they act like I'm kicking their dog or something."
"There are all sorts of ways to love someone," Emori says. "Ours works for us."
"I've dated people who couldn't get over feeling that me not being really--passionate, or whatever." He rolls his eyes, but even not knowing him that well, Bellamy can tell it bothers him a little still. "That meant I didn't care about them. Whatever, I'm not for everyone."
"For a lot of reasons."
He snorts and she smiles, and they do seem--good. They're making this work, and it doesn't seem like either of them feels like they're sacrificing anything.
It's a thought that lingers as he says goodbye, as he takes the train home. Because that was always part of it, he's pretty sure. Some part of him always felt as if anyone who was dating him was giving something up, even if sex wasn't what he would have come up with. It was this subconscious belief that he would never be the person anyone would want, in a relationship. Maybe, if he'd had fantasies about fucking Gina Martin, he would have asked her out, but maybe he would have still thought something was missing. He still would have had his sister to take care of; he still would have been nervous, and probably inexperienced.
But not wanting the thing he thought he was supposed to want most hadn't really helped.
Me: I think as a teenager I thought all boys were aro and all girls were ace
Just like
Guys just wanted sex
Girls just wanted romance
I know it's reductive and shitty, but I think that's how I understood it
Clarke: That makes sense
Societally speaking, anyway
Me: Yeah
My mom's endless parade of boyfriends who she said only wanted one thing probably didn't help
Clarke: Probably not
Is there more you want to talk about with this?
I get it, but I'm not sure what to say
Me: I met up with Emori and her asexual boyfriend
They convinced me I'm going to die alone because the odds of both of us finding partners seems way too low
Murphy got there first
Clarke: You know, you could try finding other asexual demiromantics
Or just other people on the ace spectrum in general
If that feels better
Also autocorrect really didn't like "demiromantics"
Me: Fuck you, autocorrect
I don't know how to try to date someone
I'd feel weird going looking
Clarke: There's no rush
Take a break
Stop stressing about it for a minute
Come over and tell me I can take on this foster kid
Me: You can take on this foster kid
Which foster kid?
Clarke: Come over and I'll tell you
He's already on the train, and he doesn't really want to go home.
Me: On my way
*
He wants to forget about the whole thing, mostly because it feels like he's done more worrying about his romantic life since he figured out he was (barring further complications) asexual and demiromantic than he did for all the years when he thought he just didn't have time, and that feels completely wrong. But there's something about having a name for what he's feeling--for what he is--that makes it seem pressing. Like he should be doing something about it.
More than that, it feels like there's something he should be doing, something he's missing, a last piece that only slots into place when he tells his sister on their weekly phone call that he's hanging out with Clarke tomorrow.
"What's up with you guys?" she asks.
"She just got a new foster kid, she needs backup."
He's not exactly playing dumb, but he knows the secret question Octavia is asking: is she your girlfriend? And she's not, of course, but he doesn't want to tell her about his whole sexuality journey, because--well, honestly, he just doesn't want to. Part of him feels like an asshole for not coming out to her, for having talked to people he's ostensibly less close to than his sister about it, but he just doesn't think it would make either of them feel better, and it might make him feel worse.
And, obviously, he could just say that he's not interested in Clarke like that, but without the shield of his developing sexuality to fall back on, he doesn't know how to explain why not.
"And you're the one who has to help with that?"
"I never said I had to. I like her, okay? You're not wrong. But it's not--"
And that's when he stops, because there's a part of him that still doesn't know exactly what having a significant other would look like, but he liked Clarke's take on romance without sex. And that is how he feels about her. If he could spend every day of his life with Clarke Griffin, he would, so of course he's helping out with Madi, of course he's at her place as much as he can be.
Of course he loves her.
No wonder he didn't want to say he wasn't interested.
"It's not what?" Octavia prompts.
"It's not like that," he manages, because he thinks it's probably true enough. Whatever Octavia's thinking isn't what's happening. "She's my best friend."
"Miller must be crushed."
"He should have been a better friend." He rubs his face, grateful his sister is on the phone and not here to witness his silent freakout. "How's Lincoln?"
The subject change works and Octavia fills him in on her life until the call ends, and then he lets himself fall back on the bed. It's been so long since he had a crush, and it was gradual. It was so easy to like Clarke, to like her more and more, to talk to her about everything, to spend as much time with her as possible.
He should have noticed, probably, but it's not as if he ever claimed to be good at this. The opposite of good, even.
It's going to be a mess. But at least Clarke knows exactly how much of a mess he is. If he ever figures out what he wants, and what to say to her about it, and how to say it, she'll be cool about it, no matter what.
As silver linings go, it's not much of one. But, as always, he'll take what he can get.
"At least I don't have to try to meet someone new," he mutters, and goes to face-plant on his bed.
*
Madi is the one who opens the door for him the next day, which is nice both because it puts off his having to interact with Clarke and because he really does like Madi. Clarke hasn't been fostering her for very long, only a few weeks, but she already feels like the best fit of any of the kids Clarke has been matched with. Bellamy's really hoping they decide to keep each other.
She doesn't bother with a greeting, just steps out of the way to let him in with a casual, "Cool, you're here. Do you know how bad Clarke is at braiding hair?"
"I can braid!" Clarke protests, from somewhere else in the house. "I just can't do the small braids."
"How does that make sense? It's exactly the same thing!"
"I like having more to work with."
Madi rolls her eyes, all fond exasperation, and turns her attention to Bellamy. "You can do braids, right? Small braids?"
"Yeah. Why do you need braids?"
"So I'll look cool," she says, like it's obvious. Which, to be fair, it probably should have been. "I'm going to a party later."
"What are we talking about here? Do you have a reference picture?"
"Obviously."
Bellamy follows her into the living room, where she does have a picture printed of a cool kind of braided ponytail deal, as well as a brush and a bunch of hair ties, and something for her to read while he works. No wonder she and Clarke get along so well; they're both over-prepared for life.
He glances around, self-conscious, but there's no sign of Clarke in here. She must be in the kitchen, but it won't be long before she comes in to check on them.
He doesn't know if he's ready for that, if he's honest. He has no idea how it's going to be to see her, now that he (mostly) knows how he feels.
"What's the party?" he asks Madi, turning his focus to her.
"My friend's birthday. Don't worry, I'm going to be here first, you're not actually missing out on hanging out with me."
"Oh good. Is it a sleepover?"
"Yeah. Clarke has all the details, you don't have to worry. I think she got a checklist of questions to ask about where I was going."
"I was making conversation," he teases. "Sorry for caring about your life."
"You should be," she shoots back. "Are you and Clarke really not going on a date tonight?"
"Madi," says Clarke, warning, and Bellamy glances over his shoulder to look at her.
It's not like seeing her for the first time; it's like seeing her for the hundredth time, the thousandth. It's like every time seeing her is, this warm sense of relieved happiness, something like contentment sinking into his bones. The recognition that she's here, that they're together, that this is how it's supposed to be.
She's his person, and he always wants to be with her. It's not really new.
"What?" asks Madi. "You said I could ask."
"I said you could ask him about dating. Not about dating me."
"What's the difference?"
"You know the difference," says Clarke, sounding tired. She offers Bellamy half a smile. "I was trying to explain asexuality to her, but a lot of the explanation was that it was a spectrum, and that what asexuality means varies from person to person, just like how I'm bisexual isn't how everyone is bisexual. So it seemed like she should ask you."
"Yeah, but what I really wanted to know was if you guys were going on a date tonight. She can't just answer a question," Madi adds to him.
He turns his eyes back to his hands weaving through her hair. That's safe enough. "I've never actually been on a date."
"Never?"
"Nope."
"Because you're asexual?"
"I guess. But I didn't really figure that out until recently. I just never went on any dates, and I figured I would someday, when I was ready. And I still could. I might like dates."
"Just not sex."
"Yeah."
"So you could go on a date with Clarke."
"I could go on a date with Clarke," he agrees. "That's a possibility. But just because two adults are friends doesn't mean they want to date. We could be incompatible in all kinds of ways."
"So tonight isn't a date?"
"Not as far as I know. She hasn't asked me, I haven't asked her. If no one asks, there's no date. So we're not going on a date tonight. Whose sleepover is it? Which friend?"
Madi fills him in on her friend Carly, who's being allowed to host a sleepover for the first time ever now that she's living with her aunt instead of her grandmother, and how Madi wasn't sure she'd be able to go, because her last foster family was really strict. Bellamy nods and agrees at all the right times, but he's far too aware of Clarke on the other side of the room, watching them with an expression he can't see.
It's not really a surprise that Madi asked about this, or how Clarke answered her. It's the most predictable thing.
It's just that Clarke got this one wrong. He doesn't know what, exactly, a date with Clarke would look like, but he would go on one. He'd be willing to try the whole thing out for her.
He'd be willing to work very hard at it.
Once Madi's hair is done, they go out for lunch and a round of mini-golf. It's a nice day, even if he's more aware than ever of the outsider perception of the three of them, the stupid societal stereotypes that say they must be a family. The assumption is as annoying as the fact that he wants it now, the knowledge that after years of resenting and pushing back against that, what he wants is to be with this woman, to be that guy.
It's hard to feel as if all the introspection mattered, if he was just going to end up here.
Clarke drove to lunch, and on their way back to her place and his car, they drop Madi off at her sleepover, and then, suddenly, it's just the two of them. They haven't been alone for more than a few minutes at a time since Madi showed up, and he'll admit to being a little excited.
"What are you doing tonight?" he asks, before the feeling can run away with him. Clarke might be looking forward to actual complete alone time. "This is your first night off since you got Madi, right? You should have something going on."
"No, nothing big."
"Really?"
"I figured we could get pizza and watch a movie if you wanted. It's been a while."
The relief of not being expected to leave is like an actual weight lifting off his shoulders. "Yeah, that sounds awesome." And then, because he doesn't know when else he'll do it, how else he'll do it, and it seems stupid to not talk about this with her when he's talked about everything else with her, he adds, "It kind of sounds like a date."
She doesn't look away from the road. "If that's a date, you've actually been on a ton of dates."
"You're the expert. Have I been on a ton of dates?"
Her breath comes out in a small huff that might be a laugh. "Do you really want to have this conversation in the car?"
"I guess not."
It's not a long drive back, but they spend the rest of it in awkward, mostly silence. It gives Bellamy time to rethink the whole thing, to wish he could stuff the words back into his mouth and make the air less heavy.
As soon as they're inside, he's ready to apologize, but Clarke is even faster. "I'm sorry, Madi shouldn't have said that. I was trying not to--I didn't want to misrepresent you, but she's a kid, and any nuance to a question about if we want to date comes off as--I should have just told her you didn't want to date me and left it at that."
"That definitely wouldn't have worked," he says, smiling a little. "I tried that with Octavia all the time. That just made her think I wanted to date the person and thought they weren't interested, and she'd give me really unhelpful pep talks. You have to say you don't want to date me."
"That's the secret?"
There's something just off enough in her voice and her stance that hope spikes in his stomach. Against all odds, he might have actually fallen for a girl who could like him back. "As long as you don't want to date me."
"Bellamy," she says, voice slow and just a little strained. "You're the one who doesn't date. So you need to--"
It's enough to make him sure. "I like you. Honestly, if you'd been single when we started talking I probably would have figured it out sooner, but by the time you were single I was--fuck, I was a mess. But I knew I was a mess, which is probably good. I would have screwed everything up trying to be--someone else." He wets his lips, the words still feeling wrong, inadequate. But Clarke is watching him with hope rising in her eyes. "Look, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but if this is what dating is like, please date me, I'm begging you."
"This is kind of like dating, yeah." She bites her lip, a smile spilling off the sides of her mouth. "I was trying so hard not to be an asshole."
"You were succeeding. You're good, Clarke."
"Yeah, but I still can't stop thinking about how much I want--"
It's a good reminder that this is probably going to be a long conversation, and he steps in close, reaching down to take her hand.
"You're not an asshole for wanting things, Clarke. Even if--"
"Even if you can't give them to me," she says, but she doesn't sound as upset as he expected.
"What do you want?"
"To kiss you."
She sounds so sure, it staggers him. He's sure people have wanted to kiss him before, even if he didn't know, but Clarke says it like it's a complete list, not just of what she wants from him, but what she wants in the whole world.
"Ever since you said--you said you thought you'd like kissing, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about kissing you."
"I might suck at it," he reminds her.
"You might not like it," she shoots back. "Which is fine. If you want to get better, we can try to get better, but if you--"
He slides his hand up her cheek, marveling at the soft warmth of her skin under his fingers, and when her voice dies, he leans down and presses his lips against hers.
It's not the kind of fireworks he thinks it's supposed to be. He's worried he's doing the wrong thing with his mouth even though he's not doing anything with his mouth, and it feels like there should probably be something more to the whole experience.
But then Clarke smiles against his lips and he feels it, and she takes his wrist, guides his hand down to her waist, and then wraps her own arms around his neck, kissing him back.
That's definitely more like it.
He knows his tongue is supposed to get involved at some point, and he always thought that would just be instinctual, but mostly they're just swapping quick, warm kisses, lips brushing against each other, and it feels like he could do it forever just like this, but also like he should be doing more. Clarke wanted to kiss him, she probably had bigger expectations.
Clarke wanted to kiss him; he still can't quite believe it.
He slides his tongue against her lips, like he's read people doing in books, and she laughs and pulls back, her smile bright and dazzling enough that he doesn't realize he screwed up right away.
"Not how that's supposed to work?" he asks, with a sheepish smile.
Clarke's fingers toy with the curls at the base of his neck, sending pleasant shivers up his spine. "You don't have to rush. I just--if you didn't like kissing, I might have trouble."
"So far, so good." He leans down to brush his mouth against hers again, quick, getting a feel for it. His girlfriend likes kissing; he can live with that. He likes kissing her. "Fuck, Clarke, I like you."
She buries her face against his neck. "I got that, yeah. But I'm not in a hurry."
"No?"
"This is new for you. We can just--sit on the couch and watch a movie and have some pizza."
"Like a date."
She presses her lips against his shoulder. "Just like a date, yeah."
"That sounds like something I can do."
"Yeah. I think you're going to be great at it."
*
Of course, it's not quite that simple. In some ways, they're a great fit, an easy chemistry that makes disagreements feel even worse by comparison, throws their differences into even sharper relief.
But she's still Clarke, and she's still his best friend. He's never gotten along as well with anyone as he gets along with her, and it feels easy to just tell her what he's nervous about, to admit to his anxieties and worries. In fact, the most surprising thing is how much she worries, how she thinks she's inadvertently pressuring him, how she doesn't want to push him.
"It's always something," she says, when he tells her as much. "No relationship is just magically functional."
"Hey, you're the expert. I'm still trying to figure all this out."
"You know that's not a bad thing, right? I get why it feels that way, but--the worst relationships I've ever been in have been with people who think they know everything there is to know and don't have to put any effort in."
"Yeah, but if I knew shit like that, I could give you pep-talks."
"You give me pep-talks. Mostly about how much you like me and how sex with me is fun."
He tugs her into his lap, leaning up for a kiss. He's gotten really good at kissing, if he does say so himself. He loves kissing Clarke. Sex is more complicated, but-- "It is fun. I get to do it with you."
"Also, at some point, you need to accept that this counts as experience being in a relationship. Just because it's with me doesn't mean it doesn't count. You have six months of being an awesome boyfriend on your resume."
"Yeah, but it's not like I'm going to use this on anyone else," he says without thinking.
Her smile goes soft. "You might."
It's obviously possible, but--he still doesn't feel like he needs a relationship. If he and Clarke broke up, he's not convinced he'd seek out a new relationship, doesn't know if he'd care enough. He's happier than he's ever been, but it's not because he's got a girlfriend, it's because he has her. If he lost her, he has trouble imagining anyone else living up to that.
Maybe everyone feels that way when they're in love. Maybe everyone who's ever dated anyone thinks that they'll never get over it. But it doesn't really matter what anyone else thinks or does; all that matters is what he wants, and what Clarke wants, and for now, they're in agreement. He's allowed to hope they always will be.
He doesn't really need to use this on anyone else, but if he can keep on being a better and better boyfriend for her, that's plenty.
That's everything.
"Or I could just use it on you."
"That was what I was hoping for, yeah."
He kisses her again. "When's Madi coming home?"
"About an hour."
"You want to play video games until she gets back?"
She laughs. "Do we have to stop playing video games when she gets back?"
"We only have two controllers, so we have to let her play too."
Clarke settles in against his side, and he kisses her hair, slides his arm around her, hand sliding under the hem of her shirt. It's a familiar position, and one of his favorite, the being close and warm and together, like he always wants to be.
Just like Clarke said, she's the person he can never get enough of. It doesn't have to be love for everyone, but it's love for them.
She turns on the TV. "That sounds good."
"Yeah," he says. "I thought so too."