GRIM REAPER¹, bellamy blake

030 ━━ side glances

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BELLAMY AND Iona hadn't spoken much since their time in the closet. It didn't end on bad terms, considering Bellamy held the woman for another five minutes, a comfortable silence settling between them.

It was when Iona had turned in his arms to meet his eyes, that he realized how incredibly close they were, and how incredibly wrong it was to be indulging in such affectionate gestures at a such a time.

Iona had seemed to realize this, too, because she hesitantly placed two hands upon his chest and gently pushed herself out of his grip, his arms falling lifelessly to his sides. She then opened the closet door, leaving him to trail down the hall, which he followed a few steps behind, his mind racing.

It was undoubtedly hard to express what he was feeling- what both of them were feeling.

Iona seemed as if she accepted his apology, but her actions nor her voice spoke as proof to this, making Bellamy wonder if he'd already screwed up their semi-friendship. Acquaintance? He couldn't find the correct term for what they were.

Occasionally letting his gaze slide over her instead of the halls, Bellamy internally sighed.

Something was wrong and he knew it, but this wasn't the time nor the place to show his concern for the woman. She was right in asking if he trusted her, because a few days ago, he would've said no; his answer would've been set in stone.

Yet, now, the question seemed to ring in his mind over and over again. Did he trust Iona Valana? From what he could tell so far, she wasn't a bad person- and then Lincoln's words sprung to mind.

It was just as he said. She was a good person that had been misled by her customs and her upbringing. Deep down, she was just as fragile as the rest, but with a harder shell than most.

Truth is, Bellamy trusts her. Or, well, he doesn't not trust her.

"Which door?" Iona questions, glancing back to Bellamy. She'd caught him red-handed, making the man look away within seconds, eyebrows furrowing.

He clears his throat, looking at the different prisoner cells where Clarke was once held. Immediately, he recognizes one and nods towards it, taking cautious steps forward before opening the door.

The elderly man within the room instantly turns, his face hardening once he finds Bellamy, and then once his eyes find Iona, his lips form a deep scowl. Not a fan of Grounders, Iona notes. Good, because she sure as hell isn't a fan of Mountain Men.

"Sir, we need your help again," Bellamy spews out, just as Clarke and Monty- another group of two- come running into the door.

Monty nods to Bellamy, saying, "It's okay. We took out the cameras. Everything should be clear."

The man shakes his head, "They aren't watching us regardless. Thanks to all of you, they're all on Level Five."

"You're not," says Clarke.

"No... I'm not."

"Prisoner in your own mountain," Iona laughs darkly, finding the situation on an entirely new level of irony. "Must suck, being trapped here. Can't imagine what it's like."

At her statement, she gets a disapproving look from Clarke, while Bellamy grabs her upper arm between his hand and squeezes, pulling her into his side and pressing his lips near her ear, "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

Iona pushed him off of her, her body twitching on its own accord, and sends him a dirty glare.

"Too touchy..." She mutters, and Bellamy rolls his eyes at the comment.

Clarke ignored their exchange, resorting instead to apologizing for Iona's behavior and demanding Dante's assistance in their mission.

Iona, still pouting slightly, crossed her arms, tuning out of the conversation.

Of all the people she could've risked everything for, it had to be this guy?

She stole a glance at his side profile, taking note of the way he was so focused on the conversation that he hadn't stepped away like she expected him to. Instead, he hovered near her, arms crossed over his chest.

If she were to move just a little bit to the left, she would've touched his arms; that's how close they were.

Typically, Iona didn't get close to people- in both senses of the term- and wouldn't hesitate to shove him out of her personal space. A small part of her ached to do so and keep her within the confinements of her little bubble, but she refrained, remembering he meant no harm.

And she couldn't deny there was a comforting aura surrounding Bellamy. He had soft features when he wasn't glaring, which made her stomach flutter, and he had a pretty smile she could admire hours. Not to mention, he was kind, which only fueled the cozy feeling he gave Iona.

"Stop staring," Bellamy grumbled, not sparing her a glance.

If Iona had a better view of him, though, she probably would've seen the red rising to his cheeks, and his eyes flutter sheepishly.

Iona simply shrugged, "You first."

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