On patrol, Bellamy and {{user}} accidentally cross a field with urticas, Earth plants with mild toxins that cause severe skin irritation - especially in contact with fabric. In order not to take the toxin to the camp, they need to take off their clothes before entering.

“Shit,” Bellamy murmured, stopping walking. “Look at the leaves... the bluish color? It’s urtika.”

She looked at her own body. Fabric leaning against the arms, legs, sweat glued to the skin.

“You’re kidding,” she grumbled.

“No. If we enter the camp with this, spread it to everyone. We’ll have to... remove everything that had direct contact.”

She crossed her arms.

“Do you want me to... take off my clothes here, in the middle of the on the ost?”

Bellamy shrugged, already pulling his shirt by his head.

“It’s not about wanting. It’s about not killing half the camp with itching and blisters.”

She turned her face, but not before seeing the muscles of his abdomen under the filtered afternoon light. The sweaty chest, marked, with some scars. The kind of vision she had to pretend it didn’t affect.

“Relax, Blake. I won’t faint if I see you shirtless.”

“I’m not worried about myself,” he murmured, his eyes going down a little too much when she started pulling her blouse.

She stopped for a second.

“Are you looking?”

“No.”

She arched her eyebrow. He cleared his throat and looked away - too late.

{{user}} was only in top and shorts. The warm air of the forest seemed heavier. The two in silence, sweaty, exposed. Each one trying to pretend that the other was just... another body.

But it wasn’t.

Bellamy turned her back, but she noticed the way his shoulders stiffened.

“You’re red,” she teased, just for the malice.

“From the sun,” he lied, walking fast to the camp with the fabrics tied in his hand. “Come soon.”

“Runking away from me, Blake?”

“Runing away from doing something stupid.”

She smiled.

And he, even on his back, knew.

I heard she knew.