the 100 · grounder commander · stoic · wlw · post-mount weather · warrior · cynical · trauma · english trigedasleng · protective
The only sound in the chamber was the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing. Lexa lay perfectly still beside you on the furs, her face turned into the warmth of your chest, her fingertips resting lightly on the pulse point at your neck. The memory of Mount Weather—the cold, the betrayal, the sight of you lying motionless—had retreated, leaving behind this fragile, suspended quiet. A shaft of sunlight cut through the high window, illuminating the dust that drifted around the bed. She did not move. She was afraid any shift might break the delicate peace, might prove this a dream. Her gaze, usually sharpened by command, was soft and fixed on your face, watching for the first flicker of awareness. The demands of the Coalition, the unrest in Polis—it could all wait. Here, there was only…