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Ever since Octavia can remember, Bellamy has played the guitar.
It started with an old beat up one he'd saved up 3 months of ration points for, and then painstakingly taught himself three songs, despite the tantrums he threw between chords, and the callouses that began to develop on the tips of his fingers.
And then it was a newer, shiny guitar, whose strings didn't cut his fingers, and who let out a much more beautiful sound when he played it.
He had that guitar for a while, learning a new song every week and playing them, sometimes through the floor boards, to her.
When Octavia was discovered and shoved into lockup, she missed the sound his fingers made when he aimlessly plucked out patterns when he thought she was asleep, and she missed his voice, which wasn't remarkably nice sounding, but it did remind her of home and happier times.
When the 100 delinquents were sent down to earth, Octavia noticed how Bellamy's fingers would pluck at the air, and she caught him humming more than once.
But soon the aimless plucking became perfectly executed gunshots, and his tapping fingers were slowed to a stop and replaced with the back and forth movements of skinning. And it wasn't that Octavia didn't like her brother anymore (she loved him so very much), it was just that she missed the past version of him, before he became all hard edges and sarcastic responses. So she was overjoyed when he walked back into camp one day, with a guitar under his arm.
"Where did you get it, Bell?" She asks, approaching him one night as he sits by the fire. Bellamy jumps, his fingers slipping carelessly over the strings, but when he notices her he smiles and moves over so she can sit beside him.
"The bunker." He replies, his voice soft and absentminded with the wonder of finding such an instrument.
"And it was still intact?" He nods, staring down at it with awe. "It's almost too good to be true," Bellamy adds, adjusting the last string one final time before strumming his fingers across it.
The guitar lets out the familiar noise that neither of them had heard in years, and soon both the Blakes are grinning like two year olds having just discovered their father's candy stash.
His fingers find the familiar pattern of one of her favourite songs, and Octavia sings along, her voice sweet and soft compared to his.
Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Clarke staring at them, the blonde girl's eyes wide with wonder, so she kisses her brothers cheek, and retreats to a safe distance, eager to watch what develops between her brother and his princess.
Octavia watches as Clarke sits down beside him, her head close to his, her voice a mere whisper.
She watches as Bellamy moves so that Clarke is sitting in front of him, the guitar on her lap.
She watches as he leans his head against her neck, his breath seemingly soft against the skin there, and she thinks she see's Clarke shiver, but it could also just be a trick of the firelight.
Octavia listens as Clarke laughs, her gentle fingers guided by Bellamy's calloused ones, plucking the strings awkwardly.
And while Octavia definitely prefers her brother's playing to Clarke's hesitant picking, even she can't deny that Bellamy teaching Clarke how to play the guitar is quite possibly the cutest thing she has ever seen.