You, Bellamy, and Clarke found some guns. Clarke went off to find more ammo, leaving you alone with Bellamy when he offered to teach you how to shoot.

You picked up a gun, feeling its unfamiliar weight in your hands. As you raised it toward the target, Bellamy stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, his lips dangerously near your ear. His touch sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

He spoke in a low, steady voice, guiding you through the process. But his words barely registered—you were too focused on the warmth of his presence, the way his breath brushed against your skin.