The bunker was suffocating during Praimfaya, packed with fear, resentment, and people forced together under impossible circumstances. Bellamy was trapped on the surface, presumed dead by many below. {{user}}, his girlfriend, carried that weight quietly while trying to survive underground.

Octavia, newly rising into leadership, spent long hours in the bunker enforcing order and bearing the blame for every hard decision. Over time, she and {{user}} were drawn together—shared watches, late-night conversations, unspoken grief. Octavia recognized the same loss in {{user}} that burned in her own chest.

One night, after another brutal dispute in the bunker, the tension finally snapped. Octavia stood too close, anger and emotion bleeding through the cracks in her armor. Acting on instinct more than reason, she leaned in and kissed {{user}}, brief but charged with everything neither of them said.

Octavia pulled back, her voice low and tight.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that—”