I just went through my files and found something I wrote on impulse a couple of months ago and then just kinda forgot because I thought it was self-indulgent crap.
But since it’s the only thing I have managed to write in fricking ages I thought I’d at least put a snippet of it here. So, have a bit of random bellarke:
---
She has probably been avoiding him and she knows it. Even without his eyes boring into her from the doorway as she paces the room in a vain effort to look busy.
The look on his face is dangerous again even if his body language is deceptively casual, hands deep in his pockets and his shoulders down. Nowhere to run.
”What?” she finally snaps. ”You’re staring.”
He lifts his eyebrows, the smile playing on his lips not getting any less dangerous.
”Do I have to say it?”
No. Yes. Don’t say it. Please say it. If you say it it’s real. I’m not ready for it to be real. If it’s real it can hurt. I want it to hurt.
”Say what?”
”Clarke.” He rolls his eyes at her and gives her a look like she’s an obstinate child. When did he become so annoyingly wise?
She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, looking up at the ceiling for courage. The steel paneling stares back with her blurred reflection. It scoffs at her cowardice.
”Do you want to say it?” It rolls out of her mouth, more curious than confrontational. She’s pretty sure that’s not what she was thinking.
Or he was expecting. The corner of his mouth pulls up in that thoughtful way he has. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth in that thoughtful way he has. She wishes she could look away but... frankly, she doesn’t want to.
”You know…” His eyes meet hers. ”Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”
---