The way his chest tightened and the unnamed feeling that tumbled down his spine when Clarke blurted she wanted the room next to his was unfair. It should have annoyed him. Or been a request he found bothersome. It should have felt like anything other than relief. The idea of her so close shouldn't have left him so pleased given what had transpired between them. Or maybe he had a right to all of those feelings. Maybe that's what it had all been building toward back home. It was a trail of thought that he wouldn't dare go down. Bellamy wasn't sure he'd be able to find his way back if he did.
So he let himself buy into the thought of Christmas. Of a tree stringed in lights, fires in the fireplace and gifts wrapped in all that gaudy, shiny paper. Christmas music, he had already discovered, could hit you in just the right way to make all the silly, antiquated traditions seem a little wonderful. But to tackle all of that with Clarke? To do something other than plan survival and plot attacks with her seemed foreign and... undeniably like something he would find far too much happiness in. Like the memories of playing make-believe with Octavia while their mother sat at the table and sewed. It was the sort of thing wasn't meant for him. He could blame it on spite, wanting to deny indulging in something so normal and... fun with Clarke - she didn't deserve it, right? But deep down, it wasn't Clarke that Bellamy felt didn't deserve that sort of thing - it was him.
Clarke's outright honesty was a welcome reprieve from his heavy thoughts. A perfect distraction and, after all, just what he'd asked for. He lingered too long on her confession that she shouldn't have left him - she meant their people when she said that, surely. Even if he would selfishly like to think she meant only him. "You're right," he agreed. "You should have stayed." Bellamy was unapologetic in holding her accountable; he always had been.
"But I forgive you," he said after a beat. Because he did. That's what they could do for each other. He could offer her forgiveness, absolution. Maybe it would stick this time. His own confession was on his tongue. He should have done more. He should have worked harder inside Mount Weather. Had a better plan. Taken the gun and killed Dante himself. Or better yet, have killed Cage before it ever got to that point. Rather than give that all up, Bellamy cleared his throat. "We did what we had to do," he resolved. "You did what you had to do," he rationalized for her. "You had to take care of yourself." She had to take care of herself because she must have believed no one else could have.
It was an odd thought. Bellamy spent the last months working to protect Clarke. To defend her. To back her up. To share the burden of leadership and war. It hadn't occurred to him that he also wanted to take care of her. It made his heart stumble, because the only person he had ever felt that way about was Octavia. "You just should've realized that I-" Bellamy stopped again, because the idea of confessing to Clarke that he would have taken care of her, that she didn't need to do it alone... He felt his ears burn at the thought. "I could've helped," he said instead, studying her with an expression that he hoped wasn't too easily read.