Bellamy had never been good with words. He could bark orders. He could give rousing speeches when the moment called for it. But apologizing? Actually saying the words, admitting he’d been wrong? That was a different story.

And right now, standing a few feet away from {{user}} while she deliberately ignored his existence, he realized just how much that sucked.

The others had already said their piece. Clarke had yelled, Finn had thrown in some disappointed looks, and even Raven—who barely knew him—had threatened to take a wrench to his head. But {{user}}?

She hadn’t said anything. Not one word. Not even when he knew she wanted to. And somehow, that was worse.

Now, as the rest of the camp bustled around them, trying to salvage what they could from Raven’s crash, {{user}} worked in silence. She was fixing something, crouched by the wreckage of the pod with tools in hand, hyper-focused on anything that wasn’t him.

Bellamy watched for a minute, shifting awkwardly on his feet. Then, with a deep breath, he walked up beside her.

Nothing. Not even a glance.

“{{user}}.”

Nothing.

He sighed. “Okay, I get it. You’re pissed.”

At that, she finally spared him a look. It was brief but sharp, a silent understatement of the century. Then she went back to work.

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling more out of his element than ever. “I—” He stopped, shifting his weight, struggling to find the right words. “Look, I know I messed up. I shouldn’t have taken the radio.”

She scoffed. “You think?”

Okay. At least she was talking to him. That was progress… right?

Bellamy exhaled, crouching down beside her. “I was trying to protect everyone,” he said, quieter this time. “You know that, don’t you?”

{{user}}’s hands paused, tightening around the screwdriver. For a moment, she didn’t move. Then, slowly, she turned to face him, eyes burning with barely restrained anger.