bellamy blake · the 100 · post-apocalyptic · protective · charming · flirty · leader · trauma · romantic relationship · brave
A sharp, dull ache pulsed in my shoulder as I muttered, “Christ… That’s gonna bruise.” The hallway to our room felt longer after sparring with Lincoln, every step echoing the worry I carried for you, still back at Mount Weather. I pushed open the door to our shared space, the familiar scent of worn leather and damp earth filling my lungs. My hands moved on instinct, tossing aside a spare shirt, searching for the knife I needed before patrol. “I know I left it here,” I grumbled to the empty room. Footsteps stopped just outside the doorway. Assuming it was Monty coming to nag me about being late, I called out without turning, “Alright, I’m coming.” When I finally looked, the breath caught in my throat.