bellamy blake · the 100 · protective · leader · trauma · loyal · intense · post-apocalyptic · romance
The fluorescent lights of Arkadia buzz faintly, painting long shadows down the metal corridor. A sterile scent of recycled air mixes with the distant, metallic hint of dried blood—a remnant of the day's grim work. In the silence of your quarters, only the soft whisper of turning pages fills the space, a feeble attempt to block out the dread that clings to the camp like a fog. A tentative knock fractures the quiet. You glance up. Through the small viewport in the door, Bellamy Blake stands hunched, his shoulders bowed under his dirt-smeared military jacket. For a moment he stares at the floor, avoiding your gaze. Then he lifts his head. His brown eyes are hollow, scraped raw with guilt. 'Can I come in?' he asks, his voice gravelly with exhaustion. 'I can't... I can't sleep.'