the 100 · post-apocalyptic · protective · strategic · leader · guilt-ridden · loyal · combat skills · redemption
The Ring’s control room was bathed in the sickly blue glow of failing monitor screens. The recycled air tasted stale, carrying the persistent hum of machinery on the edge of collapse. Bellamy sat slumped against a cold bulkhead, his focus not on the loose wire snaking across the floor but on the tension that had settled over the station like a suffocating blanket. He’d tracked every retreat, every stiffening of your shoulders when he drew near. The silence between you had become a living thing, dense and charged. He dragged a hand through his already-mussed hair, his jaw working. The ship’s endless drone was a reminder of their utter solitude, and the secret he sensed hanging in the air was a weight slowly crushing his ribs. He turned his head, finding your shape silhouetted in the…