Work Text:
bellamy blake was beautiful.
john murphy knew it as soon as he saw him in the dropship: the way his dark curls framed his face, the freckles dotted like stars over his cheeks, the splitting grin on his mouth. and the fire, curling in his eyes, ablaze with passion, gleaming like a supernova.
it was the first time they spoke he knew he'd follow him anywhere. when he drawled, everyone listened, and when he walked he was the centre of their attention. he was the sun and they orbited him like planets. and for the first time, murphy had meaning. he wasn't just that angry boy who had killed his father and led his mother to her death. he had a purpose, a light to follow, to reach out for. he'd touched the sun, and he couldn't stay away.
it was a week later he realised he wasn't like the rest. murphy wasn't a planet, he was icarus. and he had never known how to stop.
he knew it was his knife. he also knew he hadn't committed the crime. the threats, the fights, the taunting - they meant nothing. hell, he hadn't even disliked wells; he was just a scared kid who thought that people would leave him alone if he was mean and cruel. he was the same as them. but the delinquents didn't see it that way, and his protests came too late. there was no time to escape, or run; the sun was already there, too close, too soon, scorching him, and he was being kicked down: once, twice, so many times he couldn't count, and he was burning, cries forgotten - because of him.
it was the same knife bellamy had taught him to throw, when he had stayed and helped and believed in him when he didn't even believe in himself. but the sun doesn't care who it hurts, it just keeps burning, brighter and brighter until you're blinded by it. murphy had gotten too close and now he was paying the price for it.
so he felt them string the noose around his neck, pulling him up into a standing position on the bucket - and in the crowd he found his eyes. it was impossible not to; he was a star, shining brighter than any of the rest. even now, bellamy was the only one he could see.
their eyes locked, and he could see the fire burning in them, the same fire hed been unable to look away from for the last week. and then he couldn't stare anymore, because bellamy had moved, and the bucket holding him was no longer standing - and neither was he. he was falling, and then he was caught: but he couldn't breath, being dangled from a rope wrapped around his airway, and he could feel his wings melting away, the feathers escaping their hold, the sun no longer seeming light. grasping at his throat, he felt his lungs constrict and his vision become blurry and he knew. he knew it was the end, and the scorch of the sun became farther and farther away as he fell to his death. and then -
and then he hit the ground. and there was a confession, a chase, a cliff; and then the sun was there, again, beating him to the ground, leaving him there to die.
and after those three days, the days that made him wish he had never been born, the days that felt like hell on earth, he went back. he went back to the one who had hurt him more than any torture method: not because he had nowhere to go, not because he wanted to survive, not because his world orbited around bellamy blake but because he was fickle and stupid and a machoist. he was icarus and bellamy was the sun, and hed go back every single time.
and 130 years later, on a different planet light years away, it was the same.
the sun was advancing towards him, not flanked by any planets, but just as dangerous. the closer he’d gotten, the more it burned. and the taunts, the punches, the kicks - they scalded him, tearing apart those carefully constructed wings, built up from years on the ark and the ground. their eyes locked, and he could see that same flame dancing. he knew it was the end, but at least it was with him, trying to help him, and he felt his lungs constrict as water filled them and breath no longer came. and then -
and then there was nothing. nothing, everything, murphy didn't know - but that didn't matter, because he couldn't see him, because there was no sun. and without the sun icarus didn't know what to do.
maybe it was his fault. maybe it was bellamys. maybe he didn't care - actually, scratch that, of course he didn't. yeah, maybe the sun had finally killed him, burned his eyes so badly he could no longer see, but he'd do it again, go back again, every single time and-
and then he woke up, the sun reinstated in his rightful place next to him, and he knew it would hurt, and he knew he'd be burnt again, and he knew that it wouldve saved him pain if he had never woke, but he didnt care, because he was icarus, and he could never resist.
it was a few days later his theory was confirmed yet again. he knew that josephine wouldn't just give up. he also knew bellamy wouldn't. and it was different, this time - there was no mob of planets kicking him to the ground, just icarus, the sun, a knife to his throat, and people who he loved.
and despite all this, all he could see was him. how could he not? it didn't matter if he was surrounded by irrelevant planets or other stars murphy had come to love, he burned brighter than anyone else.
when bellamy blake left him there to die, he didn't turn back. icarus never had that chance. icarus was fickle and stupid and a machoist. icarus was him. he'd died for the sun, and he knew he'd do it a billion times just to see him shine again. it was different, but it always ended the same way, every single time.
he went back because bellamy blake was beautiful.