Because of You

Epilogue: Someday

"Or the other friend," added Thalia. "A third wheel is already too much without making it four."

"I'm not trying to be romantic." I'd honestly just wanted him to have something else that could be his. Something that bore witness to who he was, other than the posters and solitary picture of him and Octavia that encompassed most of the personality of his apartment.

Octavia's brows screwed up in the oddest way, like I was saying something so absurd that she wasn't about to deign to correct. "Too bad," she deadpanned. "Plus, Thalia already agreed to give me a ride home." She lifted a shoulder dismissively, as if the matter was settled.

"Well aren't you two quite the planners," I muttered, exchanging a look between them. Thalia stood, one hand on her skirted hip as the other pointed an accusatory finger at the younger Blake. "It was the kid's idea."

Octavia had the gall to try and feign innocence, attempting to look somber against her lone crutch.

I narrowed my eyes at the pair of them, until Octavia's acting cracked. "Four minutes! We'll be off. Thalia, would you grab me my other crutch?" Thalia obliged and I watched, a little bemused, as she hobbled from the room, Thalia in tow.

"Do you need help?" I called after, suddenly worried. I pictured Octavia tripping and falling down the stairs, an image that instantly sparked fear in me.

Octavia didn't share my concern and scoffed at the entryway. "I'm not a piano," she said. "I'll fit in the elevator." And with one final wink from her, they closed the door behind them, leaving me alone in Bellamy's apartment.

Well.

It was too late to ask Octavia if this looked a little . . . weird. I pictured what I would do if I found Bellamy randomly in my house. Would I think it creepy or endearing?

I felt my face bunching up and forced it to relax. I'd been in this apartment a few times over the last couple weeks, dinners spent together in his small kitchen, evenings tucked beside him on the couch. It was a familiar space I was strongly becoming fond of. A place where things just felt . . . right.

But this time I was nervous, the anticipation of his reaction now having time to build, slow and painful. The small of my back ached and I massaged it, trying to work out the knot there as my nerves tied a new one in my stomach. But despite it, I knew this was a good idea. I was confident in this. And more than being nervous that he wouldn't like it, I was excited, because somehow I knew he would.

It was easy for me to tell when he was home. He wasn't a soft-walker, and I could distinctly make out the sound of his heavy footfalls moments before the key jangled in the lock. Suddenly he turned the handle, having found it already open.

Oops. I'd forgotten about that.

He stepped inside, a look of confusion and maybe a little alarm crossed his face. But it ebbed when he spotted me, a silent question lingering in his eyes. "Hey," he smiled, the grin starting from one corner and spreading lazily to the other.

Clearly he didn't find my presence too out of place.

He'd only taken a couple steps toward me before he noticed the bulky object I was trying-and failing-to hide behind my back. Suddenly the smile dropped. His brows drew together in suspicion. "Clarke . . ."

"I didn't really pay for it," I said quickly. "If anything, I did the previous owner a favor by taking it off their hands, so it's too late to bring it back," I added for effect. No, he definitely would not be taking it back, if my exhausted muscles had anything to say about it.

One of those furrowed brows shot up at the challenge. "Is that right?" he asked, ambling closer. I saw the hesitancy on his features. The reserve, as if he didn't quite believe me yet.

I moved around the piano and pulled out the simple, wood bench for him. "Now I admit, I did pay for someone to tune it, but that's not even worth mentioning." I gestured to the bench before he could say another word. "Sit."

A trace of that smile reappeared, curving at the corner of his lip. "Bossy," he said under his breath, but he complied and settled himself on the bench. I watched as he took in the pearly keys before him, his expression suddenly one of bewilderment and perhaps a little awe. He raised a hand as if to stroke the keys, fingers hovering over them, hesitant.

"I knew you wouldn't have accepted a fancy piano," I told him. "But a keyboard seemed a little too simple." Ever since I'd heard from him that he played, I never saw his broad form seated before a paltry Yamaha. That was a visual that refused to take shape. He needed something older, something worn, that had its own histories engraved in the chords.

"You . . . bought me a piano," he said, as if trying the words out. Making them real.

I'd be lying to myself if I didn't acknowledge the matchstick of pride that ignited in my chest. "I got you a piano," I amended. For me, it wasn't about the money. But for Bellamy, I knew it was a bigger thing, a commodity he was unfamiliar with, and I never wanted to give him anything he thought he could never give me.

He was silent long enough for me to actually consider if this decision had been a mistake. But before I could say anything, he'd already hooked his arm around my waist and was pulling me down on the bench beside him. His gaze found mine, full of curiosity and that wonder, as if he believed he were looking at something frail and fleeting, and was still trying to convince himself it was neither.

I smiled at his reaction, suddenly very thankful to Octavia and Thalia for giving us this moment to ourselves. "Plus I figured it would be a little easier to play than a kid's xylophone," I said around a smile.

He blew out a breath and shook his head. "This is . . ." He looked back at the piano and back at me searchingly. "Clarke, this . . ."

That matchstick in my chest was a veritable bonfire now. "Play something," I said, as nonchalantly as I could manage. But secretly, I'd been looking forward to this moment the most, the moment I would get to see yet another side of Bellamy Blake.

"You sound pretty confident that I'm good," he mused. "What if you went through all this trouble, only to find out that I'm really just tone-deaf?"

"Guess that's a risk I'm willing to take," I told him.

He chuckled softly. But then some of the lightness in his features dissipated as he looked at me. Once again, genuine concern filled his face, catching in the lines between his eyebrows, dragging down the corners of his lips. "I thought you didn't like listening to music."

I stared at him, suddenly the one taken aback now. It was strange, what the simple act of remembering something about a person could do to them. It seemed to speak what words couldn't fit around. "I . . . didn't like what it reminded me of," I admitted. "But now . . ."

I thought about it. In the last few weeks since sharing my deepest fears with Bellamy, I'd come to the conclusion it had been in that moment I'd reached the point where I was finally ready. I couldn't carry the weight of guilt anymore and expect to keep myself afloat. And without being aware of it, I'd found myself in that place where I could release my Dad, and Finn, and to do so knowing it was okay.

I'd thought, somehow, that by letting them go it would mean losing what I'd shared with them. But it didn't. It didn't mean forgetting them. It simply meant tucking precious things in a safe place that would be visited often. When I'd remember, and I'd miss, and I'd move, step-by-step, forward from.

I was finally ready to say goodbye.

"Now . . . ?" Bellamy prompted, when I'd said nothing.

I leaned against his shoulder, tilting my head up to look at him. "Now, . . . I want to like it again," I said. "And I can't think of a better way to be reintroduced."

The solemnity dissipated and his smile reappeared in that brilliant display, blazing like stars against a clear night sky. He lowered his head just enough for his lips to brush against mine, teasing. "No pressure, or anything," he murmured, as he set his fingertips gently to the keys.

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until he struck the first note. 

The End