[ Sam's almost familiar. He's plucked pieces of him from Clint's thoughts, flashes of memory encompassing cities and weapons and battle like Bellamy had never seen. He isn't expecting Sam to come after him, but he stops when spoken to, turning to face him directly. ]
Do you?
[ Noting the way he's moving. That part isn't unfamiliar; Bellamy's nursed enough physical traumas to recognize their presence in someone else. However whatever other snappy commentary he might have followed the question with is circumvented by the queasy swoop of his stomach. Bellamy swallows in response and immediately regrets it. ]
It's not—you can't help.
[ He doesn't have enough hair to need it held back, but the offer's appreciated. At which point Bellamy shoves open the bathroom door. The idea of company is humiliating, but he doesn't have the time to make the point any clearer. ]
yeeeee
Do you?
[ Noting the way he's moving. That part isn't unfamiliar; Bellamy's nursed enough physical traumas to recognize their presence in someone else. However whatever other snappy commentary he might have followed the question with is circumvented by the queasy swoop of his stomach. Bellamy swallows in response and immediately regrets it. ]
It's not—you can't help.
[ He doesn't have enough hair to need it held back, but the offer's appreciated. At which point Bellamy shoves open the bathroom door. The idea of company is humiliating, but he doesn't have the time to make the point any clearer. ]