Bellamy’s fingers wrapped around the bottle as soon as it was handed back, he huffed at Murphy’s words and only glared at him. He just wanted to think something else and Murphy surely helped him with that, first starting with Connor, which was much more pleasing to listen than he would’ve guessed. He couldn’t help a smal smirk finding its way in corner of his mouth as he passed the whiskey back to him. For a little moment he just laid back, staring up as he listened, at times taking another moutful of the whiskey that slowly started to taste more bearable. For once, Murphy was actually honest with him and he had to appreciate that, after all he had needed this, a small moment to forget everything else. Even in sleep he couldn’t escape his thoughts, his fears, nightmares that would become true soon, but Murphy’s stories actually brought him far away from those thoughts.
Thanks to Murphy he found that small piece of peace that he had lost a long time ago. He listened to him, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning, but he was quiet. He was almost close to even fall asleep, but as Murphy stopped, he turned to glance up at him. He wasn’t sure what to answer, so he settled down with a sharp huff and a grunt, ”shut up.” But it was true, he hadn’t ever listened to him like that before. And he never would do it again since… since everything would be too late in just a few nights. He sighed, not even bothering to sit up.
What an earth was he even supposed to say now? Thank you sounded stupid but also being quiet was stupid, he had been quiet for too long. ”You were right,” Bellamy finally admitted, pouring the last mouthful of the whiskey into his throat. It didn’t even burn anymore, he was getting too numb to even notice that anymore. Last days he had been becoming numb to feel anything at all. ”I guess I really needed this. Preparing for your death isn’t actually that peaceful that some people want to say.” He let out a dark chuckle, smirking a little at the ceiling of the tent.
Bellamy’s ensuing chuckle sent ripples down Murphy’s spine. Bellamy’s voice had dropped several octaves, roughened by Whiskey and fatigue, and shit, that should’ve been illegal. Murphy felt colour in his cheeks; he scoffed, both at the deadpanned shut up and at Bellamy’s appreciative expression.
“It’s easier when you don’t except it,” Murphy told him, mouth curving into a vicious smile of self-deprecation. He was pleasantly tipsy and in remarkably good humour; such good humour, in fact, that he did not think twice before laying back on Bellamy’s mattress. They had finished the whiskey together, and the bottle sat solemnly on the floor, all too bright and sparkly to fit in with the ramshackle tent. Murphy kicked it over, just ‘cause.
He knew that he should’ve left Bellamy to his own devices. After all, he recognized some social cues, thank you very much – he’d overstayed his welcome. A sardonic farewell rested on the tip of his tongue, but he did not speak. No. Because he didn’t want to leave, not really. Bellamy had been left alone with his thoughts for much too long, and what good had that done for him? It had fucked him up, and he deserved better than that. Things fall apart, and it takes more than one set of trebling hands to pick up the pieces.
“Whatever. It’s late, man. Can I stay here?” The request spilled from his lips like blood from a wound; he could no more stop it than he could have stopped his half-hopeful expression. “I’ll be good, promise.”
He didn’t really know what he intended. Part of him wanted to just lay there with Bellamy: to soak in his transient scent and presence. Other parts of him wanted to continue talking, to help him to sleep. And hell, part of Murphy was on the cusp of trying to kiss him. He’d hoped his feelings for Bellamy would recede after their reunion. But they were still there, perpetual and hot and plastered to his body like a second skin. Sometimes, he stewed in his want until it took all he had not to claw at his skin, to tear up his flesh. It’d be easier if it was just lust. It’d be easier if he didn’t want to do all the things that had once repulsed him. But it didn’t fucking matter. They’d both be dead soon anyway.