; cloud upon love

☁ e s c a p e. ☁

b e l l a m y ;

Mad sounds block the sea of torments that could be unleashed anytime her gorgeous face comes to his peaceful mind.

The pleasant lyrics pacify his racing heart as the thought of seeing her again after three years ignites numerous questions he can't seem to find the answers to.

Would she still remember him, recognizing the scar to the side of his cheek or the dark denim jacket he never managed to abandon between the ashes and dust of his past life ?

Would she greet him with one of her secret weapon, a smile so bright and innocent it'd put an end to whatever crappy road you're on, offering you a needed break to the side of an oasis ?

Or would she look down on him, gold running wild in her veins while emptiness exudes out of his entity ?

All these possibilities are rapidly put to rest the moment he decides to lay down, increasing the volume of his own kind of therapy session : Alex Turner's voice whispering enchanting words to his ears and wrapping his damaged soul with soft bandages.

Bellamy's taste in music proved to become varied as time passed by and most importantly, his comprehension of its true power grew deeper and deeper, offering him an healthy way to drown his own demons.

He loses himself into the beauty of the skies, the clouds drawing reassuring or funny forms, until he ironically chooses to erase them by shutting down his eyelids, attempting to keep as far as possible the memories he'd with

h e r.

As the headset resting upon his head recalls to him the talk he had with Triple H earlier in the day : his future in the company luckily isn't jeopardised by his injury yet put to the sidelines until he's cleared to taste again his favorite drug.

Astonished by the company's seriousness regarding wrestlers' health, Bell reluctantly agreed to the plans pitched to him. These force him to turn into some kind of backstage aid as he'd be in contact with referees during matches, relaying crucial informations to them through an earpiece.

During his baby steps on the independent scene competitors' health were in their own hands and, if they ended up hurt or worse, they either had to gather enough money to get themselves fixed or put in parentheses their performances.

Being nothing but a reasoning kind of individual he used to cover most of his injuries, walking on twisted ankles, fighting with broken ribs and shattered nose, considering those battle scars as throphees testifying of his boldness and determination.

Back then his main acolyte would constantly cackle at him, mocking his disformed walk and the groans of pain Bell would let go from time to time when both were battling in the ring - jokingly exclaiming that it wasn't the time to think about bromance's fantasies.

After catching a glimpse at his watch a slight spark ignites Bellamy's stern look and Bill DeMott's words resonate in his brain, reviving his consuming hunger for competitiveness.

"You wait for me, brother." Escapes in a murmur while frenetically removing the possible mud stains from his favorite pair of jeans - they're a lot alike, aged and damaged in appearance yet utterly resistant on the inside.

Heading towards the building that will rapidly become his new home, spending countless hours of intense pain and adoring each hit he'd receive, begging for more, he's impatiently playing with the thread of his headphones.

Judging by what he gathered from a couple of coaches, one of his devouring desire came to life : his partner in crimes and himself succeeded in making it to the big leagues together, making up for the broken promise s h e made to him ages ago.