No, no, this couldn’t be happening, it was LOU, he was…. no, no, no! The word screamed through her as she clutched him to her, head bowing over his own in her arms, her body curving over his own as she sobbed, her heart cracking and shattering. She had thought she was broken before, had truly believed that every part of her had died at the hands of the chief and she was nothing but manipulation and deceit, but god she hadn’t wanted to learn she was wrong this way.

“You’re going to be fine,” she whispered, hand coming to smooth back that red hair she loved so much, smudging blood across his face in the process. “Clarke’ll be here in a minute and you’re going to be fine.”

He was her BEST FRIEND, she couldn’t lose him. He was so much more than a stupid boy with a wicked grin. There was a darkness in him that slithered behind those charming brown eyes that sang to her, crooned and whispered that she was NOT alone, and as she looked at him she could see a different kind of darkness creeping into those eyes that had always sparkled with so much confidence.

”Lou, don’t,” she cried, hand lifting his head other arm going around his chest and tugging him to her. “Don’t, please, please,” she couldn’t live, couldn’t breath, without knowing he was breathing and living to. How was she supposed to go on when she knew she wouldn’t see him behind a corner? When she knew that there would be no one there for her to run to.

’Dying in your arms, the best way to go out,’ his words fanned the flames of her panic as she looked up, screamed loud enough to tear her throat, her screams bouncing back to her in the silence. “ANYONE, PLEASE HELP,” they may not want to help her but everyone loved Lou and she couldn’t —— she refused to allow this to happen. He had always been taller than her and as she struggled to her feet her arms under his armpits she slipped in the mud, her cry out of frustration and anger as tears streamed down her face.

’Babe, it’s ok,’ god how she hated that fucking smile as his bloody hand raised to her cheek, cupped it and he smiled back up at her. She pressed it to her cheek with her own as she looked down at him. “I lied Lou, I do love you,” she whispered her tears falling on his face as she smiled down at him through the sobs ripping through her. “Do you hear me? I said I lied, aren’t you gonna give me shit?” Anything, anything. She would give ANYTHING for him to make a smart ass comment but his eyes were dimming and as she looked at him he smiled.

‘They’re gonna be so jealous of me,’ he whispered, blood leaking out the side of his mouth. She laughed, forehead lowering to his own, her hair falling in a curtain around them both as she held him, felt the breath leave him, saw the light disappear, and she sat there, rocking him in her lap, clutching him to her until they found them.

She’d been wrong about being broken before, but she wasn’t this time.

     “ Tell me, was the fight worth it? ” She asked, her tone even and curious, no judgment in her voice. Ra understood bloodlust and anger too well to question what others deemed worthy of a fight. A small smile gracing her lips at the chance to talk about a fight.

“Do you remember me?” Her voice falls as she watches the burning planet spin below her, the radio clutched between her ivory fingers. There was comfort in the static. The hope his voice would break through and put her mind at ease, give her hope it all wasn’t lost. “Do you even know I made it? I’m sure if you did you’d--you’d say something, anything.” Her laugh echoes the sound of her broken heart, the one she barely nursed over the last six years. She met at the window, everyday calling out to them. Still there was nothing, but the sound of her hope slipping away. Many had given up on making contact, but she never stopped. She would steal the radio from Bellamy’s cabin, planting herself in the bay window, calling out every passing hour. Hours turned into days. But she never gave up, because when she did they’d be gone. And she can’t lose him, not him. “You aren’t quiet, I don’t think you ever could be.” Her finger falls from the button, aching to hear his voice break through the deafening silence that crewed at her soul. “Louis--I’m coming home. Tonight, I’m coming home to you. Please be alive, be there.” Her voice shatters as she looks upon the Earth, knowing she needed to let go. She needed to put on her suit and prepare for the fall. It slips from her grip with a loud crash, Bellamy’s voice calling for her to come along, but she stands there--letting the tears fall for the love she only got a taste of. “Remember me, Lou, please.” She breathes before she turns away. She was going home. 

She’s your boss, she’s your boss, she’s your boss. The words repeated themselves in his head like a mantra, trying to keep him from misbehaving ( Lydia seemed too sure that Brian wouldn’t kick his ass to the curb for inappropriate admiration or behavior, but he wasn’t quite so convinced ) to really no avail in all honesty. Still his eyes slid from the box he was sorting through to the sliver of skin more than a sliver, enough to run his hand along her skin and only catch fabric on the edges of his fingers bared to him unintentionallyintentionally? as she stretched.

She was allowed to stretch, he reminded himself. They’d been working through boxes for the last two hours, she was probably stiff, probably needed to stretchor needed a massage.

It was just unfortunate for him that she was so tempting at the same time. He didn’t realize she’d turned to him, wondering why there was no longer a rustle of things in his box, and by the time he realized he was staring, her eyes were already on him and all he could do was offer a half abashed, half charming smile. “What can I say? I like the view.”

It’d been intentional. She wouldn’t deny it. The small smirking smile that graced her lips as her head turned toward the ceiling, looking at her up-stretched arms, was pretty much a confession of its own. She lowered her arms and rolled her neck, bones popping and cracking enough to elicit a quiet hum of satisfaction. Her head slowed it’s slow circle and her eyes focused on Louis. She considered him for a moment, head tilted toward the side. “So do I.” 

Lydia was tired of unpacking. Her office was in order and now the last of her creative, personal affects were strewn half unpacked through the living room and bedroom. She rose from her place on the floor near the coffee table and moved closer to Louis. “Your hair looks like a Botticelli painting.” 

A smile broke her features and reached out to run a hand through said hair. Her nails raked his scalp and she liked the feel of the unruly locks beneath her palm. “Do you know what a muse is, Louis?”