[ The snippet of memory is oddly devastating. Bellamy's thoughts swing immediately Octavia, remembering being young and terrified and holding her in his arms. He recognizes the ache, feels the echo of it like a pressure over his heart. He'd always been some strange mix of parent and brother for Octavia. Clint had someone he cared for like that, and presumably missed. It cuts Bellamy at the knees, feeling that bounce back through the link even for a split second. He all but crumples into the nearest seat, elbows on the table, eyes intent on Clint's back. ]
It'll be a waste if I throw it up again.
[ There's something telling in the way Bellamy's overly sensitive about food, focused on how much, who needs to eat what. Lifelong rationing left it's mark. ]
But thanks. For this.
[ It was a gesture of care, punctuated by a memory he hadn't been meant to see. Gratitude felt like the least Bellamy could offer in return. ]
no subject
It'll be a waste if I throw it up again.
[ There's something telling in the way Bellamy's overly sensitive about food, focused on how much, who needs to eat what. Lifelong rationing left it's mark. ]
But thanks. For this.
[ It was a gesture of care, punctuated by a memory he hadn't been meant to see. Gratitude felt like the least Bellamy could offer in return. ]