Bellamy paced outside the med tent restlessly. After Y/N collapsed three hours ago due to a combination of dehydration and blood loss (according to Clarke) he had been waiting outside her room in the med bay. He'd wanted to be in the room during the surgery, but Clarke had quickly ended that notion. When one nurse-in-training had made the mistake of asking him to leave the makeshift hospital, he had delivered a glare so frightening no one had deemed it necessary to talk to him again.
All he could think about was how he'd almost lost her. He should have been there to protect her. Y/N was the most important girl in the camp-no, the world. She was funny, and sarcastic, and smart, and beautiful. Not in a classic bombshell sort of way. She had a sort of subtle beauty. It was the way her eyes lit up when she talked to him, the way she absentmindedly played with her hair, the wrinkle of her brow when she was thinking hard, the way her eyes danced when she gazed at him through the steam of her tea, her secret smile she saved only for him. It was her bravery and kindness and oh, her incredible strengththat made him fall for her. And fall for her he did. He remembered the taste of her lips the very first time he kissed her. Do stars have a taste? Stars, and honey, and smoke. She was a hurricane waiting to happen, and Bellamy couldn't believe she'd chosen him.
His thoughts were interrupted as Clarke emerged from the door, beads of sweat hanging on her face. He couldn't dare to ask, just waited, silently begging. Clarke saw his expression and softened.
"She'll be ok." She said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. It's amazing what three words can do to a person. Bellamy ran his hands through his hair and took a step back.
"Can I see her?" Clarke started to shake her head no, but changed her mind when she saw the look on Bellamy's face. Silently, she led him into the small room. Y/N lay on a cot in the middle of the room. Your face was pale and your body limp, but you were alive and that was all Bellamy needed. Without saying anything, he pulled up a seat next to the cot and took your hand in his.
"Let Y/N rest. She's lost a lot of blood." Clarke murmured. She squeezed the boy's shoulder and left the room. Your hair lay liftlessly across her face. You would hate that, he thought, tucking the strands behind your ear. Suddenly, the room felt wrong. The medical equipment on the walls seemed hostile and threatening. The sounds of the med bay drifted through the walls and the smell of sterile alcohol was overpowering. You wouldn't want to wake up here. This was where people went who were dying.
Bellamy scooped you up bridal style, with one arm beneath your knees and one wrapped around your back. Your head fell onto his shoulder. He could smell your shampoo, and right then there had never been a smell so comforting.
He carried you out of the wing and into his tent, pushing past Clarke and her protests. He laid you down with painstaking care. For a moment, he could have sworn he heard you murmur his name. Bellamy wrapped a loving arm around your waist and pulled you close, determined to be be the first thing you see when you wake up.