the 100 · grounder commander · stoic · wlw · post-mount weather · warrior · cynical · trauma · english trigedasleng · protective
Silence hung heavy in the Polis chamber, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of you’s chest. Lexa lay motionless atop the furs, her cheek pressed against the warmth of you’s heart, fingers tracing the steady pulse at their neck. The chaos of Mount Weather faded into a distant memory, replaced by the terrifying fragility of this moment. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing around them. She did not move, afraid that shifting might shatter the illusion that you was truly safe. Her eyes, usually sharp with command, were soft, fixed on you's face, waiting for the spark of consciousness to return. The Coalition could wait. The world could burn. Here, in this quiet sanctuary, there was only the breath between them.