✮ Her head wished she had went on thinking he was an infuriating, overly-confident, horribly handsome asshole, that hated her people and always put himself first. Her heart knew he wasn't any of those things. He was a celestial; a man plucked from t...
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"I'm here. I love you. I don't care if you need to stay up crying all night long, I will stay up with you... There is nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I will protect you until I die, and after your death I will still protect you."
—Elizabeth Gilbert
Eight days passed since they left Polis, but they were no closer to finding a solution to the wave of radiation heading their way.
When they returned to Arkadia, Thomas was waiting at the gate to ambush Astoria with a tight hug. She huffed about it, yet still she found herself gripping onto him as though he would slip through her fingers. Then she pulled back and studied the nursing black eye and bruise on his jaw. He complained and tried to push her away—claiming that he felt great, and that helping Raven and Monty save the world was so cool!—but Astoria didn't let up her worry.
It was her job to care for him and ensure that things like what happened with ALIE, and a chipped Jasper, didn't happen. She failed, but she wasn't going to let it happen again.
He acted as her shadow for the days that followed, only rushing away when Oran offered to teach him to wield a sword (something Astoria wasn't too happy about, but her brother promised they would only use the dulled training ones. Truthfully, Astoria would sleep better at night knowing that Thomas could protect himself). When she was given a moment alone, she spent it with the others brainstorming ways to save humanity. She hadn't had the time to pick up a book in days, though she wasn't sure if she would be able to read if she tried.
After four nights of waking up throughout the night from dreams that made her body shake with sweat, she pulled on a pair of sweatpants—they belonged to Bellamy, and she was sure he wasn't aware she had stolen them—and a hoodie before shoving her feet into her boots and not bothering to tie them. She had been seeing Bellamy's bloodied face beneath her and hearing his Trigedasleng pleas for her to stop. That night, her subconscious had twisted the memory. Her knife dug through his skin and summoned horrible cries and chokes from him. Even when she knew it wasn't real, her cheeks became sticky from tears and her hands took hold of her sheets. She needed to see him.
Her breathing was laboured and much too fast as she moved through the halls of the Ark, her arms crossed and one hand holding her sleeve to wipe at her face. Let them take care of you; Kane's words echoed through her mind and almost seemed to bounce out of her ears to pound on the metal walls around her. They were taunting her. Calling her weak.
Having people around you that care makes you strong, not weak.
Perhaps if she wasn't so tired, she would have done what she usually did and pushed away the need for comfort, but she needed a good, uninterrupted night of sleep. She knew that it wouldn't be possible without seeing with her own eyes that Bellamy was fine; she knew that having him next to her would make it much easier to rest.
