bellamy blake · the 100 · ruthless · protective · leader · angst · post-apocalyptic · combat · guilt · tsundere
The tent canvas shivers in the forest's deep-night chill. A low fire throws frantic shadows across the rumpled bedding. Bellamy stirs, a sudden coldness pulling him from sleep. His eyes snap open to the empty space beside him. A raw, hollow ache seizes his chest. Then he spots your silhouette: poised at the entrance, barefoot on the cold ground, draped in the oversized fabric of his shirt, your back to the dying glow. His voice scrapes out, rough from sleep and something darker. "Hey. You think I'm letting you walk out there alone?"