He leaned forward to brace his arms on his thighs, rubbing his temples for a moment in an attempt to ease the pounding of his head. This was the last thing he ever wanted. At least, he hadn't wanted it like this. He thought so much more of Clarke than he did of those girls at the Drop Ship. Raven had been different - he knew she needed it and he let her use him, not the other way around. But he couldn't remember if that was the case with Clarke. Bellamy knew better than to assume and he didn't want to bother justifying his actions. He wondered absently if she even knew about Raven and decided then that he would never tell her. It seemed too close of a parallel to Finn. Bellamy had to fight back a groan; he was such an idiot. But what was new?
"I just meant-" Bellamy tried to correct his previous statement, even if Clarke already agreed. He shook his head and abandoned the attempt. Instead, he stood up, grabbing his shirt from the floor as he did. He pulled it swiftly over his head, the movement mussing his already wild hair even further. He stared at the wall in front of him for a moment, breathing steadily to fight the nausea and the pounding headache. His attention flicked toward the door and he considered leaving without another word. She was right, they could talk about this later. Probably never was the better option, but they had to be adults about this, right?
"I just meant," he echoed and turned slowly to face her. "I just meant... this place is insane. We've been through a lot. We were both drunk," he rationalized the situation for her. Bellamy knew Clarke liked to overthink everything and she would try to do the same with this. "We were drunk," he reiterated, "and we were letting off some steam." He pushed a hand through his hair. "There's nothing wrong with it. I know the deal," Bellamy pointed out, making a point to keep his tone as even as possible and as neutral as possible. "I don't want you to think that I-" he stopped. Took advantage? Because what had it been if it hadn't been that? He knew how she felt about him - waking up on floor of a corridor after having a shock baton thrust between his ribs made it pretty clear. The fact she chose the grounders (Lexa) over them (him) had been obvious, too. He'd had no reason to think this was something she would've wanted.
"Anyway," he dropped the train of thought and cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sleep. Sounds good." Bellamy's determination to clear the air quickly evaporated under the constant pressure in his head and embarrassment that was tying knots in his gut.