Everything is on fire. From the pads of his finger tips to flames roaring inside of his chest. He enjoys the slow burn.
Maybe he's a masochist, but he likes the sensation. He finally feels alive, the fire in him overwhelming.
It's her fault really. It's always her fault.
His co-leader had been a pain in the ass from the start.
He sorta liked it.
And that's when this weird masochistic thing started.
They'd fight, his eyes would see red, her lips would form a defiant pout.
He couldn't help but find her so freaking adorable when her lip jutted out like that. She looked like a little girl who had been told "no" for the first time.
The brilliant blond of her hair softened all of her features, but she was still undoubtedly the strongest, and most stubborn, person he'd met here on earth.
So he liked this vicious cycle of fights with his co-leader. He liked that he could rile her up. But most of all, he liked that he was the only one able to get her back on track after the fight.
He always seemed to be the one apologizing first. After all, his mouth was quicker than his brain sometimes, and he said things in the moment that he wished he hadn't.
And when he finally utters out the word "sorry" her shoulders move from a slump into her usual straight posture, the frown disappears from her forehead, and her eyes seem to start of fire of their own. They've both got a fire inside of them, and they'll burn the whole world if they need to. She draws him in like a moth to a flame.
So it's no surprise to anyone when the campers find them in a tight embrace, their mouths morphed together.
Octavia shakes her, rolling her eyes at the two. "Took long enough."