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bellamy blake. ([personal profile] deployed) wrote in [community profile] station72 2017-03-26 05:28 pm (UTC)

[ The memories between them are like silt, rising in wisps when disturbed. Bellamy's face is always clouded with anger in Murphy's mind. He doesn't like that part of himself. He wants to be better than the man Murphy remembers him as, but it will take more to erode those images than carefully wrapped makeshift bandages. ]

Yes.

[ Because it was difficult not to miss a place that had once been a home. But when Bellamy says yes, he's thinking of all the parts of the Ark that had died with his mother. His mother and Octavia tucked safely in their quarters, cocooned together as his mother read to them. It felt idyllic; Bellamy should have known then that it would never have been possible for it to last. ]

And no.

[ No sparks a shift in his thoughts: the suffocating oppression of the class system, his mother dead, his sister locked away, a position on the guard wrenched from his grasp. His entire future had been swallowed up by the rules the Ark lived by. It's difficult to truly miss it now that he understood all the moving parts. ]

Do you?

[ His fingers smooth the material carefully, wrapping Murphy's hand as if they were going to box. It's the most secure way Bellamy knows, even if the fabric is uneven and he doesn't have quite enough. He'll get creative with it. ]

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