Against every instinct in his body, Murphy took his time reading Grey's pride and joy, Wuthering Heights. All he wanted was to devour every single word as fast as possible, swallow every analogy and metaphor and let it digest in his mind until he understood the story upside down and backwards.

But this was survival, he had to be smart and savor every sentence like it was the last one he'd ever read. It's not like he'll be seeing any more books soon, and there's nothing like experiencing a story for the first time.

The novel was written in a language far different from Shakespeare, and was filled with plenty of 19th century pompous words he couldn't pronounce if he tried. Upon reading a description of Heathcliff's dirty appearance Murphy began to notice the grease in his dreading hair and the dirt caked onto his skin. Murphy was indifferent to bathing, but he thought it would be a good distraction from his eagerness to swallow Grey's book whole.

Bucket, warm water, towel (dirty cloth), soap.

Soap.

Well shit, that's kind of important, Murphy thought. It was past curfew for the Arkers, but the guards never came all the way down the hall anyway. He pushed Grey's partially open door in a little further, and saw her sitting on the bed sharpening a grounder made knife.

"Sup," she said in his general direction while she rubbed a stone in light circles on the blade, loose hair falling around her neck in concentration.

"Got any soap?" Murphy asked stepping into the room with his hands in his pockets, feeling a little awkward surrounded Grey's cursive writing all over the walls.

"It's about time," Grey sniggered, finally looking up at him. Murphy's pretty sure it's the first time a tough girl bearing a knife has ever smiled at him.

Murphy scowled.

"What? Did Heathcliff inspire you?"

"Yeah, actually," Murphy almost laughed, and Grey rustled through her duffel and pulled out a deformed square of soap.

"How far are you?" Grey asked while handing it to Murphy. He tried not to notice when the her fingertips grazed his.

"50 pages give or take."

"You've had it for two days!" Grey shouted loud enough for every guard in the corridor to hear, "I thought you'd be almost done!"

"Well I'm not a fucking genius Grey," Murphy deadpans, but Grey can see the sarcasm in his eyes, "I'm trying to read it slowly, enjoy it you know."

"Good thinking," She stepped closer, "Make sure to get behind your ears... and your hair… and your whole face actually," Grey smirked.

"Fuck you," Murphy chuckled as he crossed the hall.

"You're fucking welcome!" Grey called after him.

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Murphy rubbed his hands and arms before putting on his shirt, feeling the smoothness of his clean skin and examining every cut and scrape that stained him. He ran a hand through his damp hair, wondering if he should cut it, as well as why personal hygiene wasn't one of his top priorities.

He crossed the hall, book and soap in hand, but was stopped in his tracks by a stern exclamation from Bellamy.

"It's past curfew Murphy."

"Why do you give a shit Blake?" Murphy hissed back.

"I'm a guard, it's my duty-"

"Shut up," Murphy interrupted, he's never in the mood for Bellamy's prideful soliloquies.

"I'm literally going two feet."

Bellamy stared at Murphy in a way that made him shove his hands deep into his pockets,

"So you and Grey," Bellamy inquired as if it were some secret.

"What?"

"Are you guys… friends," Bellamy said in an elusory tone that Murphy didn't seem to pick up on.

"She's ok," Murphy sighed.

"Ok?" Mocked Bellamy, "You either like someone or you don't Murphy. Who am I kidding, it's more like you love someone or you hate them, and I'd say most of the time it's the latter."

Murphy gave a small smile and glanced from Grey's door to Bellamy, "I like her."

Bellamy nodded even though the thought of Murphy having any sort of friend confused him thoroughly.

"You may proceed," He said, returning to his monotonous guard tone before turning back down the hall.

When Murphy opened Grey's door she was perched on her cot, humming away with a knife in one hand and an antler in the other.

"What are you doing," he asked, startling her.

"God don't you know better than to sneak up on a girl with a knife?" She pointed the blade at him and laughed when he flinched away.

"I'm making a whistle."

"Why," scoffed Murphy.

"Why not? It's not like I have anything better to do," She's said before returning to her work, "Put the soap on the table and stay if you want."

It's more of a command than an option, and Murphy is more than glad to sit on the floor with the book in his lap, silently listening to Grey's humming. The silence between the two friends isn't awkward; it's more comforting than Murphy would like to admit.

He sighed when his eyes fell upon another word he didn't know, and the sound of Grey's carving ceased.

"What is it?" She asked.

"These words are so dumb," he complained, "like countenance and pious, what do they even mean?"

"Countenance is like your facial expression and pious is being devout and religious, I think."

Murphy nodded and continued on with the book, slightly angered that he never focused in school and got put in lock up before he could even finish. Soon there's another word, lachrymose, that Murphy didn't even try to pronounce. He just held up the page for Grey and she explained what it was. They had a good system going, Grey was the human dictionary and Murphy was the avid reader with a limited vocabulary.

The word meant sad to the point of tears, and it reminded Murphy of everything he'd ever known. Like starving children on the Ark, his mother sprawled on the metal floor, a gag thrust between his lips, burying the innocents of Mount Weather.

Lachrymose, it was such a beautifully disguised word, and to Murphy it was the perfect arrangement of letters to describe life on the ground.

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The next day Murphy got so lost in the words of Emily Bronte he showed up to dinner late, and by the time he got to the canteen his usually empty seats by Caspian and Harris are taken.

Fuck.

He had two options really, either grab food and go or sit next to Grey… Who also happened to be sitting besides Bellamy Blake, Raven, Wick, Miller and Monty. Murphy wanted to avoid that, but Grey saw his lost expression and waved him over.

Murphy took a seat on the end of the table beside Grey, and looked up to meet the faces of the delinquents. Bellamy just stared at him emotionless, Raven glared, and Wick, Miller, and Monty shared a general look of what the fuck?

"No way in hell," Raven muttered just loud enough for Murphy to hear as he scowled at his stew. Grey inhaled as if she could suck all the tension from the air with her breath.

Bellamy gave the group a look, and they immediately became engrossed in their meals, and Wick started talking about the heating system or something. At least no one said anything to him, thought Murphy. Even Raven, who had shown him the most distaste, didn't budge from her seat.

Grey smiled at Murphy like he was one of them, like he belonged. And when he looked at her peaceful expression he truly believed that he was, but only for a moment.

"Wait isn't Christmas tomorrow?" asked Monty to the table, interrupting whatever engineering shit Raven and Wick were talking about.

"It's in two days I think," replied Miller.

"Oh I know," said Raven, leaning past Bellamy, "Grey won't shut up about all the kitchen drama."

Grey rolled her eyes into her spoonful of stew, "You have no idea. The Manager, who's supposedly in charge of everything, never shows up, so I'm stuck organizing everything while everyone else is just incompetent."

"Like the ginger?" Bellamy inserted.

"Oh god, don't even get me started on the ginger! I swear he is the spawn of satan!" That got a laugh from the table, and Murphy was just grateful that no one was looking at him.

"There's so much to do with Christmas coming up, but at least the most important part is being taken care of," she smirked across the table at Monty.

"What?" Smiled Wick.

"Moonshine," Monty grinned in reply.

The whole table gasped, and for the first time Murphy actually looked up from his stew.

"Oh yeah," nodded Monty enthusiastically, "We have gallons."

"Christmas is gonna be better than I thought," Raven said.

"Well with the amount of fresh meat were getting I wouldn't get your hopes up," Said Grey looking crestfallen, "I have no idea what were going to do tomorrow for food."

"Even worse than the food shortage is the heating system," sighed Raven, "it's blasted. We're working day and night just to keep it going," she nudged Wick with her elbow and he nudged her back. They were so gross, Murphy thought.

"You do more than work," muttered Monty.

"I mean she did say day and night," smirked Miller.

Raven's jaw dropped as she reached across the table to slap Monty in the head. They barely noticed Murphy, the guy who had been a complete ass to them two months ago, the guy who almost killed them. But then again, they tied the noose around Murphy's neck too.

The only person to even acknowledged him was Grey, who spoke softly to him the whole dinner about Christmas plans and Wuthering Heights. She didn't care that Raven glared at her every time she laughed with Murphy, she didn't care that he had done unspeakable things, because haven't' they all?

A few days later Murphy awoke to the sound of his cot creaking and the feeling of a pillow being pressed playfully against his face. When it was pulled away all he saw was darkness and the outline of Grey as she sat over him.

Her eyes glowed with excitement as she yelled in his ear, "Merry Christmas!"

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this took so long to write, and i thought i had to include my other favs sometime. i hope you enjoyed a little minty/ravick. also a hint of murphamy (friendship though, FRIENDSHIP). also im sorry i like wuthering heights so much im literally writing a bellarke au write now for it lol! so there's that to look forward too! pls keep reading and commenting and favoritng 3

p.s "the ginger" referenced too by bellamy is the guy grey pointed out to murphy as a perv a few chapters ago, just to clarify.