I have a thing for Bellamy running into Clarke (and vice versa) during her away time sue me (slightly bittersweet, like dark chocolate fluff)
send me a thing. or not. really it’s up to you i’m just the apathetic writer
Bellamy was fairly certain that he’d passed
that tree before.
He wouldn’t exactly say that he was lost
because that would mean that he had some semblance of a destination, but he had
been walking around this part of the woods for the past few hours, apparently
long enough that the fucking tree became familiar to him.
He huffed out an irritated breath and drew
her jacket closer as she trudged through the snow. Fucking brilliant.
So there he was, in the middle of January,
trudging through knee deep snow in the forest by himself with a hole in the
sole of one of his boots, and no more than maybe two more rounds left in her rifle
because he was the idiot who didn’t check his ammo before heading out on an
impromptu escape trip from camp.
Bellamy gritted his teeth and sent a patch
of snow flying through the air for no damn reason whatsoever.
Leaving camp in the middle of fucking
winter for some alone time was probably the most idiotic idea he’s had in a
long time. And he’s used to being told that his ideas are idiotic. Or at least
He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d
been holding and shoved his hands inside his coat pocket, kicking up more of
the fresh snow as he went. He passed the tree again, and he glared at it, as
though it was its fault that he’d been going in circles.
“That’s not going to do much to the tree,”
a wry voice said from behind him. He jumped and held the gun out, ready to
shoot at a moment’s notice.
He didn’t of course, because leaning
against one of the other trees, arms crossed and exuding confidence, was Clarke
Griffin. His breath caught as she stared at him, and he stared back, trying to
wrap his head around that yes, this was indeed Clarke, and no he wasn’t going
crazy, or ate some more weird, hallucinogenic shit that caused him to picture
his heart’s greatest desire. No, this was real, she was real, standing before
him in the same dirty, bloodstained clothes she had left camp in almost two
She looked weary and skinnier, with
bloodshot eyes that brought out the blue in her irises, and longer hair than
the last time he saw her. Unlike then though, the tenseness in her shoulders
had decreased a little bit, and she looked as though she wasn’t faced with
quite as many ghosts as before.
“Clarke,” he nodded in greeting after he finished
scrutinizing her, eyes sliding back up to hers.