depth

ix.v

"You need to talk to him. It's your right and his to know where you two stand. And he has to know that what he did was wrong."

"I know, Lexa. I want to talk to him. And I definitely will. Right now, I just don't think he'll really care."

Lexa harrumphs. Splays her hand on top of Clarke's palm. It's so intimate, the blonde almost wants to cry. Why are they not embracing this? They should embrace this.

She gave Lexa a "next time". She will deliver on that.

Looking up. The art in the room frames the brunette – a semicircle on the wall opposite them curving above Lexa's head from this perspective. Lighter colours, a time Clarke took the plunge and became confident in new shades.

Yellows, golds, creams. Light streams in – life streams in – and gold becomes rose gold through tissue paper.

It's so beautiful. She's so beautiful.

"Do you really think he'll care?" she reiterates. Her voice has become a whisper now. But it doesn't need to be loud to be confident. She's sure in the vision before her – a vision of reality, of strength in each other. Hanging onto every word, knowing the comfort found in each syllable – even if the topic itself is harder to swallow.

The calmness roars in her ears. This is life.

Lexa's mannerisms are not overt – but she does stare into distant lands, and from that the blonde knows she's considering the words that so securely left her best friend's mouth.

"It depends on who's being hurt. Him, or you."

With her free hand, Clarke rubs at a recent paint stain in the carpet. It only spreads the paint further, and she does not mind that.

"And he is. When I talk to him, he will be hurt. You saw what happened earlier; he'll react. It's hard to deal with that, Lex. Sometimes I doubt if I can. What if I find all my confidence has been drained?"

What she does not expect is the wry smile her best friend offers.

"Clarke, don't believe for a second that you could ever lose that hurricane inside of you."