Daylight |Bellamy Blake

Eight

The light filtering into the cave gradually pulls me from the embrace of sleep. Blinking my eyes open, I adjust to the newfound brightness, a stark contrast to the dimness of the previous night. My senses gradually awaken, and I become aware of two things simultaneously: the pressure on my side and Charlotte's sleepy gaze fixed on me. Offering her a soft smile, I can see her responding with a faint smile of her own as if my presence has chased away the remnants of sleep.

Turning my attention to the source of the weight on my side, my heart stutters as I realize it's Bellamy's arm draped over me, as though he had sought to draw me closer during the night. My gaze drifts to his peaceful features, his countenance relaxed in the depths of sleep. Carefully and slowly, I lift his arm from me, my heart racing with a mixture of emotions. With bated breath, I manage to free myself without rousing him from his slumber.

As I rise and make my way over to Charlotte, I sit down beside her, mindful of keeping my movements quiet. Gently, I brush a strand of hair from her forehead, a small morning ritual that seems to signal the beginning of a new day. "Morning. Have you been awake for long?" I whisper softly, not wanting to disturb the calm of the moment.

"Not really. Should we wake him?" she asks, her gaze shifting to Bellamy's form resting on the ground.

I glance back at him, a brief moment of contemplation passing over me. We are in no immediate rush and besides we don't know if the acid fog still remains. "Let him rest," I decide, my gaze lingering on his peaceful expression. There's something oddly comforting about watching him sleep, his guard down, his features softened by the serenity of dreams.

My attention is redirected as Charlotte's small fingers begin to weave through my hair. "Your hair is so pretty. Can I braid it?" she asks, her eyes wide and hopeful, a request that tugs at my heartstrings with its innocence.

"Of course," I reply, my voice soft, as I shift to sit on the floor before her, positioning myself to allow her access to my strawberry blonde locks. The act of having her fingers work through my hair is surprisingly soothing, a gentle touch that brings a sense of connection.

Time seems to slip away as we sit there, the only sound being the soft rustling of my hair being woven into a braid. It's a simple act, yet in the midst of our chaotic reality, it carries a sense of normalcy and comfort. As Charlotte's fingers work skillfully, I find my thoughts drifting, alternating between the tranquillity of the moment and the complexity of the emotions that have been swirling within me.

The braid begins to take shape, a tangible representation of the bond forming between us, the makeshift family forged in the crucible of survival. And as I watch the strands intertwine, I can't help but wonder if the connections I'm forming, particularly the one that seems to be growing stronger with Bellamy, are as delicate and intricate as the braid that Charlotte is creating.

"There," Charlotte's gentle voice brings me back to the present, and I shift my attention to the braid that now adorns my shoulder. Looking at the neatly woven strands, I feel a sense of gratitude for her gesture. It's a small act, but it carries a warmth that speaks volumes.

"It's really good. Thank you," I express, and I watch as a shy blush colours Charlotte's cheeks in response to the praise. It's heartwarming to see her reaction, a reminder of the simple joys we can still find amidst the challenges we face.

A faint rustling draws my attention, and I notice Bellamy stirring from his slumber, rubbing his eyes as he takes in the scene before him. "Hey," I murmur, a quiet greeting that he returns as he stands and glances toward the cave entrance.

"Is the acid fog still out there?" he inquires, his focus on the outside world as he moves closer to the opening.

"We haven't checked," I answer, rising from my spot and following him to the entrance.