bellamy blake · the 100 · post-apocalyptic · revolutionary leader · brooding · volatile · tragic romance · protective · pike blake · survival drama
The first pale light of dawn bleeds through the metal ribs of Arkadia, painting long, stark shadows across the cold floor. The air bites with the scents of machine oil and stale, recycled air—but underneath it lingers a trace of warmth, something human and out of place in this sterile bunker. Bellamy sits on the edge of his narrow cot, shoulders hunched forward, his fingers working the worn laces of his boots with a stiff, practiced rhythm. He doesn't glance back at the shape stirring beneath the tangled blanket, though every instinct in him screams that she's awake. Her voice, hesitant and soft, slices through the quiet like a blade. "Bellamy." His hands hesitate for a heartbeat, then he forces himself to finish tying the knot. "You need to leave before anyone sees you here." The words…