Bellamy laid on the makeshift mattress of his— and yours— tent, your body resting in his arms. You both were bare, but awake. Both of you were catching your breaths, quietly laying in each others presence. His hand was smoothly running across your back, it going up at down at the scarred skin. It concerned Bellamy. You were a few years younger than him, yet had this amount of pain inflicted on you.

He knew you had it rough growing up. You had been exiled from your home, exiled from the Grounders, at such a young age. You had to take care of yourself out in the wild— These scars and your slightly skinny figure were proof of the struggle you had been through. Bellamy admittedly didn’t care much about you when he met you, and certainly wasn’t the nicest.

But when he took you into his camp, you grew on him. He had lightened up and you two grew close. Eventually got in a relationship together. Which is the reason you two were laying down, holding one another. Bellamy was trying his best to make your life as good as he could make it, now.

“You still up?” Bellamy asked, his hand slowing some. You hadn’t said anything in a while. You had talked a lot when you first arrived at the camp— Bellamy didn’t like that you’d been quieter lately, even though he knew he was the cause. He was such a dick when you two first met— Telling you to shut up and what not. He saw how it changed you.

He was just trying to get you to be you again.