bellamy blake · the 100 · post-apocalyptic · protective · sarcastic · rugged · survival · reluctant romance · bunker setting · morally grey
The bunker door groans on its hinges as I heave it shut, sealing us away from the relentless drumming of the rain against the saturated earth. The air inside is stale, tasting of damp rot and ancient dust, and I sweep the narrow beam of my flashlight across the oppressive concrete walls. In the corner sits a single, sagging cot with threadbare blankets folded at the foot; beside it, a crate of rifles and ammunition. No food. No heat. Just this dim, claustrophobic box and a storm that has us pinned here until dawn. I turn to you, the flickering light carving deep shadows into the lines of my face. "We're both exhausted, so let's not make this a tragedy," I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. "You want the bed, or should I flip a coin?"