Chapter Text
Noise.
It had been a couple of nights since the forty seven had returned from Mount Weather, and tonight they had finally all gathered around the fire and decided to drink in celebration of the fact that they were still alive. Atleast that's what they told themselves as they rallied around the flickering flames and downed cup after cup of Moonshine, trying to be as loud as they can possibly be to drown out the vivid memories of the horrors they had all endured inside the mountain.
And Murphy seriously didn't want to be a part of that.
Sure, it was a relief that they were back, that they didn't die. But that didn't mean that Murphy wanted to be sitting out there with them.
And if he was being honest with himself, it didn't mean that they wanted him there either. He knew that he was definitely no one's favorite, and that they only tolerate his presence at best. He wasn't even allowed to go on the rescue mission when they all gathered and went up to the mountain, because he wasn't perceived as 'stable enough.' Well, atleast he knew he wouldn't have betrayed them like the grounders did. He didn't take any pleasure in the fact that that happened; it was just a bittersweet irony.
Not that anyone gave a fuck about what his opinion was. And they certainly didn't give a fuck that he was still there; they didn't care about him one way or the other.
Whatever. He hated loud crowds anyways.
As he sat on the ground in one of the furthest corners of camp, concealed from the rest of the people by one of the extension walls of Alpha Station, he found himself contemplating Jaha's words in his head for what must have been the hundredth time that day.
It was stupid that he was even considering the words of the man who was the reason why everything in his life went to shit, but knowing that didn't stop him. Jaha had gone batshit crazy, that much was evident to him when he heard the ex-chancellor spewing crap about the city of light and the 'promised land' and everything else he had said back at the Dropship. Hell, he was probably dead and gone by now, impaled by a grounder trap or starved to death or something.
Then again, maybe he was still alive. Maybe he had found the haven that he had been babbling about and is enjoying himself right now away from all of this. And Murphy could have been there too, but he missed out on the opportunity by turning down Jaha's offer and returning to camp.
No, he shook his head and dug yet another meaningless line in the soil between his legs with his knife – the one that they would probably try to take him from him if they knew he still had it.
He was being ridiculous, there was no such thing as the city of light. There were no promised lands in this forsaken world.
There was nothing good about the ground.
"Murphy?"
Murphy startled at the sound of his own name, neck snapping up immediately to see the source - even though he knew on some subconscious level very well who that tone of voice belonged to.
Sure enough, his gaze landed on the dark brown curls that seemed to grow taller and more haphazard with each passing day, and those damn brown eyes that were just a shade darker than the coffee beans Murphy used to trade his stolen rations for in hopes of making something that will wake up his mother.
How long had it been since he had talked to Bellamy Blake? Probably not since he had turned his back on Jaha and came back to camp. Murphy remembered how he felt when Bellamy returned from the mountain, and that for a split second he wanted to just walk up to him, say something, maybe pat him on the shoulder, anything really, just tell him that he was glad that he was back. Then he remembered that there was no reason for him to be glad that Bellamy was back, and that Bellamy wouldn't appreciate Murphy talking to him at any rate. So he had turned in his tracks and walked away.
Ever since that moment, whenever they would see eachother, Bellamy would always turn around and take a different route so he would avoid passing by next to Murphy. And whenever they would lock gazes, Bellamy would always look away as if looking at Murphy was like touching a kettle of boiling water.
But Murphy hadn't dwelled on it. Or he had tried not to. And failed miserably, though he wouldn't admit that to himself. The truth was, Bellamy was a recurrent presence in his dreams (Well, nightmares really) every single night. It was always a tie between three scenes that played out in his mind over and over again – the first time Bellamy kissed him, the time Bellamy kicked the ground from underneath him, and the time he tried to yank Bellamy's hands away from the seatbelts so that Bellamy would choke like he did.
He would wake up with a scream on the tip of his tongue every time.
"What?" He asked, wanting to keep his voice as leveled as possible, even though he sounded just a tad choked - a result of not having used it for a good while.
Thankfully, Bellamy didn't seem to notice that as he took a couple of steps closer over to Murphy, his foot skidding a little over the mild incline in the land. There was a sway in his movements, a lack of coordination that Murphy never associated with the older boy before.
Bellamy was drunk. Great.
"What are you doing here?" Bellamy's words were a little drawn-out, and he was probably two more sips of moonshine away from slurring his speech.
"Sitting, obviously," Murphy's hold tightened around the knife involuntarily, fingers closing around the bent piece of metal he used as a hilt, his index finger faintly grazing the bottom of the sharpened edge. He didn't wince at the sting.
"Why aren't you drinking out there with everyone else--Hey," Bellamy's vision picked up on the twitch of Murphy's fingers, observant even when wasted, his gaze moving between Murphy's hand and his eyes. "Put that away."
"I'd rather not do that. And that applies to both your questions," his tone was forcefully clipped; he just wanted Bellamy to take the hint and get back to his friends. Murphy knew Bellamy would rather be with them than him, and he really wasn't in the proper head-state to deal with Bellamy. Not now.
He didn't know why he was feeling anxious, Bellamy probably stumbled to this part of the camp by mistake, and it probably has nothing to do with him.
He also didn't know whether he should be comforted or disappointed by that thought.
"Murphy, there are no grounders here, it's just our people. You don't need that," Bellamy frowned, a look of genuine confusion in his eyes that tugged on an invisible string in Murphy's chest, causing him to look away from Bellamy and down at the ground.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that those eyes can still make him feel anything at all. It wasn't fair that he knew that if he stared into Bellamy's eyes long enough, he might just be willing to forget about everything that Bellamy had done to him.
It wasn't fucking fair.
Murphy made to stand up on his feet, and he placed both hands in his pockets, the right one still closed around the knife. "Your people, Bellamy."
"You're one of my people," Bellamy added, so hastily and without any hints of hesitation that Murphy had to look up at him again, just to see if he was smiling or laughing - because that must have been some sort of twisted drunken joke.
Except Bellamy wasn't doing either. In fact, Bellamy was stepping towards him, his eyebrows creasing together in concentration as he stared ahead at Murphy.
"You're hurt, there's blood on your face," Bellamy finally added when he was close enough for Murphy to be able to smell the pungent aroma of alcohol on his breath. That moonshine had a scent stronger than anything Murphy's ever smelled before.
If one excludes blood and rotting flesh, he thought.
"What are you talking about?" Murphy asked in what he hoped would be clear annoyance, but only came out half as loud as he had intended.
"There's a cut right here," Bellamy elaborated, reaching out and brushing his thumb over Murphy's left cheek, a feather-light touch that left Murphy reeling, unable to respond with anything beyond an astonished stare.
He couldn't remember the last time Bellamy touched him like this.
That's a lie, the last time Bellamy touched him like this was one of the most vivid moments in his entire existence. And it was the night directly before Murphy's knife was found near the lifeless body of Jaha's kid.
"What are you doing?" Murphy asked.
"You're bleeding."
"So? I must've hit a branch or something, what's it to you?" Once more, Murphy's words failed him, lacking the necessary amount of disdain due to the fact that his voice was merely a whisper. He was well aware of Bellamy's hand cupping his cheek.
Bellamy didn't reply to that, instead he stared ahead at Murphy with wide brown eyes that lingered a little lower than Murphy would have liked and he knew that look -- He knew that look like he knew the back of his hand and he had been convinced that he would never get to see it again but here it was and--
And then Bellamy's lips were on his.
Murphy has no idea what happened exactly in that short pause, only that now Bellamy's hand was slipping into his hair and he was kissing him, actually kissing him. Murphy could feel the small prick of broken skin on Bellamy's lips and he could taste the bitterness of the moonshine as Bellamy briefly caught his lower lip between his teeth to nip at it, urging and impatient.
And Murphy didn't have time to think before he reciprocated, his own lips pressing into the kiss, his hands dropping from his pockets - sans the knife.
Bellamy placed his other hand on Murphy's hip and tugged him closer till their chests were flush against eachother, and Murphy placed his hand on Bellamy's shoulder, fingers curling into the tattered material of his black t-shirt.
A small sound escaped Murphy's lips despite himself, a gasp-like moan that had Bellamy tighten his grip over his hip. The latter's fingers then slid underneath the hem of his t-shirt, and the sensation of cold fingertips slithering up his side was something of a shock to Murphy, not unlike the shock of one's head being plunged into a bucket of ice water.
Murphy broke the kiss then, leaning back from Bellamy and using his grip on his shoulder to shove him away, taking a step backwards in the process.
"You're drunk," He breathed out, his own eyes were wild, his heart hammering against his chest as he inhaled and exhaled in fast, unsteady breaths.
"So?" Bellamy was staring at him like Murphy had just said something preposterous, a completely unguarded frown across his lips that made Murphy want to punch him in the jaw.
"So you have no idea what the hell you're doing, you just kissed me!" His voice rose a little higher and Bellamy lifted his hand up, pressing a finger to his own lips.
"Shush, not so loud," he stage-whispered at him, taking a look around then meeting Murphy's gaze again. "I do know what I'm doing, I know I kissed you. What's the problem?"
"What's the problem--You kissed me, that's the problem."
"It didn't seem so problematic when you kissed me back."
Murphy scowled, his fingers now closing into a fist by his side. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought to himself. Why the hell did he kiss back? Why the hell is his goddamn heartbeat ringing in his ears?
"Why'd you kiss me?" Murphy inquired, tone pressing.
Bellamy brushed both hands through the royally tangled mess that is his own hair in frustration, shaking his head. "I don't know, Murphy, I saw you here and I felt like it." He paused, closing his eyes for a brief moment, "I just wanted something to take my mind off of--"
"Clarke?" Murphy cut him off, the princess's name tasted unusually rancid on the tip of Murphy's tongue, spat out in the manner one would spit out snake venom after sucking it out of a wound.
Bellamy looked at him then, his eyes now set, the confused look replaced by an irritated one. "That's not what I was gonna say, it's not about Clarke."
"Everything you do is about Clarke!" Murphy almost yelled at him, and he was taken aback by his own sudden anger, feeling waves upon waves of it coursing throughout his body. Only Bellamy could get such a rise out of him.
"That's--" Bellamy hesitated, "That's not true." His voice was lowered.
"Yes it is, you went into that mountain because she told you to, you strung me up because she told you to."
"I went into that mountain to save our people--Murphy," he met Murphy's gaze, the look in his eyes piercing and serious despite him being drunk, "You got more than your revenge for that, remember?"
"So now you just wanna make out like it never happened? Like we could go back to the way it was before?"
"I never said anything about going back to the way it was before, I wasn't thinking that far."
"Ofcourse you weren't. Just like you weren't thinking that far the day you let me hang. What was it that you told me after? I shouldn't have let them? Like you saying that would have fixed everything?"
Murphy didn't know why he had gotten so riled up, and why he was bringing all this back. But he did know that Bellamy wasn't entitled to do this, to just— just walk up to him and decide he wants to kiss him without even sparing a moment to talk.
As if all the pain he had gone through was some dust that could be brushed under the rug.
"Are you forgetting that you tied a noose around my neck too?" Bellamy replied with both eyebrows raised.
"You did it to me first, I trusted you and you strung me up just to save face, you strung me up like I was nothing to you!" Murphy kept his hands clenched into fists, but this time only to keep them from shaking.
Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose, "I told you I made a choice that I thought had to be done, and I tried to apologize, and I paid for it, we're even. What more do you want from me?"
Seriously? That's all he has to say. Murphy basically just spilled out what he felt about him, and all he has to say was what more do you want from me? Is Bellamy even listening to him?
"I don't want anything from you! You're the one who came to me!" Murphy was full-on yelling now.
"Well, that was obviously my real mistake!" Bellamy snapped.
Murphy blinked, then clenched his jaw, to the point where he felt it could snap if he pressed down on his teeth any harder. He moved past Bellamy, heading away from him.
"Murphy, wait, okay, I didn't mean--" Bellamy's tone unexpectedly softened, he reached out to stop him, wrapping his hand around Murphy's arm, but Murphy yanked his arm back out of his grip with enough force to cause Bellamy to stagger backwards.
"Yeah, you did, but get this," Murphy turned around to face him, "I am not a backboard for you to bounce your goddamn feelings off, Bellamy. You can't just kick me or kiss me whenever you please. It's not whatever the hell you want anymore." He spoke through gritted teeth, snarling, then whipping around again to walk away.
"Murphy, just listen--"
"No, I'm done listening to you. And I'm done with this place, for good. Leave me the fuck alone." He didn't turn back to look at him this time, treading up the incline and heading towards the entrance of the fallen Alpha station.
He didn't see Bellamy's lips pressed together, or his gaze following Murphy until he disappeared out of sight.
And he didn't see Bellamy kicking aggressively at the soil or hear him cursing viciously under his breath either.