In the Ashes of What We’ve Burned

In the Ashes of What We’ve Burned

It’s a wicked thing with teeth, his smile. Emil had always thought so when he bothered to think of Bellamy Blackwood. Bellamy wasn’t the type of person Emil spent much time on, but when he did, disgust curled inside him like a poisonous snake. He remembered how Bellamy’s grin could slice through silence like a blade—the crooked edge, the daring smirk that always seemed just a little too knowing, too dangerous. The kind of smile that suggested the world could be burned down and rebuilt in the ashes, fuelled by the right kind of chaos.

But there were moments—rare as they were—when that smile softened. When it wasn’t so wicked but something else entirely. Vulnerable. And in those moments, Emil could almost forget how much he hated it.

Bellamy was the least eloquent of them all, but also the most honest. Emil wrapped his intentions in jokes and smiles, dodging intimacy at all costs. He couldn’t bear the idea of someone getting too close, because if they did, they’d see the truth of him. A man who ran from connection like it was poison.

Bellamy didn’t hide behind humour. Didn’t dodge anything. His words were simple, direct. Brutally so. And sometimes, Emil hated that. Sometimes, it felt like Bellamy had no concept of self-preservation—like he was all raw honesty, the kind that would leave scars, but also the kind that, in the right hands, could heal. 

That’s when they were opposites. Fire and ice. Bellamy was fire—hot-tempered, aggressive, impulsive—and Emil was water—cool, calm, collected. But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? Bellamy thought he was fire, yes, but in the way the sun is a star—close but not close enough. And Emil, well, he was watered-down whiskey. He still burned on the way down.

Bellamy wasn’t like the rest of them. He wasn’t good at pretending, wasn’t good at hiding the things he couldn’t have. Yet, somehow, he was the one who never let Emil go. Even when the walls were up, even when Emil walked away, Bellamy stayed.

And that was something Emil didn’t know how to handle.

Bellamy’s boots echoed down the quiet hallway as he approached Emil's door. He hesitated for a brief moment, hand resting on the doorknob. The apartment was just as he remembered—a quiet, dimly lit space with the scent of stale coffee and something else, something that felt like the kind of silence only a place that had seen too much could hold.

With a firm twist of the knob, the door creaked open.

"Emil?" Bellamy’s voice was low but carried in the stillness. He stepped inside, scanning the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, some weighed down with worn, dog-eared books, others with empty spaces. The soft glow of a desk lamp flickered, casting shadows across the cluttered space.

Emil wasn’t immediately in sight.

Bellamy moved further in, eyes lingering on scattered papers, a half-empty glass of scotch, and a few chairs pushed aside. There was a tension in the air, like something was about to break but hadn’t yet.

"Emil," he called again, sharper now, urgency in his voice. "I know you’re here."

A slight movement caught his eye. He turned to see Emil seated at the edge of a worn-out armchair by the window, shoulders slumped as if weighed down by something invisible.

Bellamy stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on the back of the chair.

"You’re not gonna make me drag it out of you, are you?" Bellamy’s words were playful, but he couldn’t help it. The old, familiar banter slipped in.

Emil didn’t answer at first. He stared out the window, his face a mask of frustration, like he was deciding whether to speak.

Finally, Emil turned enough for Bellamy to catch the glint of weariness in his eyes. "I didn’t think you’d come," Emil said quietly. His voice was rough, strained, but there was something deeper in it—a shadow Bellamy couldn’t ignore.

"Of course I came," Bellamy replied, his tone softening. "You think I’d leave you to do this alone?"

Emil exhaled sharply, a bitter laugh escaping him. "You never could stay away, could you?"

Bellamy’s lips twitched, a faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "Guess I'm just that predictable." He let the words settle before adding, "But you didn’t answer my question. What the hell is going on, Em?"

The silence returned, heavy, thick, as if the room itself were holding its breath. Bellamy leaned against the wall, watching Emil carefully.

Emil turned back to the window, fingers drumming on the armrest, but still, he didn’t speak.

And for a moment, Bellamy understood. Emil didn’t need to say it. Whatever was happening—it was bigger than either of them, and they both knew it. But that didn’t mean Bellamy would leave him in the dark.

"Talk to me," he urged, quieter now, concern beneath the usual edge.

The room felt smaller with each passing second, as if the space between them was closing in.

Emil finally stood, turning to face Bellamy fully. For the first time in what felt like forever, something vulnerable was in his gaze. Something real.

***

Before Emil could retreat into his thoughts, Carina stepped into the room, her presence like a breath of fresh air. Effortless, unassuming, she had a way of diffusing tension without even trying.

“Not to interrupt the brooding session,” she said, her voice light but sharp, as if she could read the room without needing to ask. “But I swear, you two are like magnets—always pulling away from each other when all you do is attract. It’s exhausting just watching you.”

Emil shot her a half-glare, half-smile. “You always make everything sound so... simple.”

She grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “It is simple, Em. You’re just too busy overthinking it.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Bellamy before returning to Emil, the understanding there, quiet and unspoken. She could see it—how he pushed people away, even when he needed them most. She’d seen the pattern before, in him, in Bellamy, and in herself. The walls they built, the dances they did, avoiding what was right in front of them.

“I’m not making it easy for you, am I?” Bellamy’s voice broke the silence, drawing Carina’s attention. His smile was still in place, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes—something was off.

“Not if you expect him to open up,” Carina said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer. Her eyes stayed fixed on Emil. “Emil’s been running from this for a long time. Maybe it’s time you stopped chasing him and let him figure it out on his own.”

Bellamy’s eyes narrowed, but Carina wasn’t backing down. She’d seen this before—the retreating, the walls, the refusal to need anyone. She knew the fight wasn’t just with Bellamy, but with Emil himself.

“Sometimes I think you’re the only one who gets it,” Emil muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you always make it sound so easy?”

Carina’s soft laugh held a tenderness he wasn’t used to hearing. “Because it is easy, Emil. You just make it harder than it has to be.”

She turned to Bellamy, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “You, on the other hand, aren’t exactly subtle. You think you can barge in, all fire and fury, and expect him to fall in line. But Emil’s not like everyone else. He needs to be coaxed—gently, when he’s ready.”

Bellamy’s smirk faltered, and for the first time, he looked unsure. Carina had a way of getting under his skin, and he wasn’t used to it. But she was right. He’d always assumed Emil would let him in when the time was right, but that wasn’t how Emil worked.

Carina stepped closer, her gaze softening. “Em, you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t always have to be the strong one. No one can carry everything by themselves. Not even you.”

For a fleeting moment, something in Emil’s eyes shifted—something raw, something vulnerable. He was teetering on the edge, caught between wanting to pull away and needing to stay.

The silence stretched between them, thick and charged. Carina glanced between the two men, sensing the tension that hung in the room like a storm waiting to break.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy,” she added, her voice more serious now. “But you both need to stop fighting it. You’ve been at war with yourselves for far too long.”

The words didn’t need to be said again. They both knew it—each in their own way. But neither was ready to let go of the walls they’d spent so long building.

Emil looked up at Bellamy, then back at Carina. His expression was unreadable. “Maybe I don’t want to need anyone,” he said quietly. “I’ve spent so long not needing anything.”

“You just need to let someone in, Em. And it’s okay if it’s Bellamy.” Carina said gently. 

And just like that, the air seemed to shift. There was no dramatic breakthrough, no sudden revelation—just a quiet understanding between them. An acknowledgment that none of them were perfect, but perhaps they could still find a way to fit together, broken pieces and all.

The room felt smaller with the three of them in it, the unspoken words hanging between them like a hum in the background. Bellamy wasn’t the type to bring up the things that lingered in the air between them, but Emil could feel it. The weight of their history.

Emil’s thoughts twisted into darker places. He didn’t want to need anyone. He didn’t want to need Bellamy. He could accept needing Carina—Carina was meant to be needed. But there was something inside him, something he couldn’t ignore, that pulled him closer to Bellamy. Something that made him want to give in and let Bellamy help him.

They’d both been through hell in their own ways. And despite their differences, despite everything that had torn them apart, they still found moments when the pieces of them that fit together clicked. When a rare truce held long enough for them to breathe.

“I don’t want to be this person,” Emil muttered, pacing the small space. “This person who’s so broken they need to be fixed.”

Bellamy’s voice was low, his tone soft yet unrelenting. “You’re not the only one who’s broken here.” He stepped forward, placing a hand on Emil’s shoulder. The gesture was awkward, but it felt right—like a silent promise.

Emil couldn’t help but feel the weight of Bellamy’s honesty, how it cut through the layers of his own carefully guarded words. They were different, but maybe they were more the same than either of them cared to admit.

Carina had always said they were like fire and ice. Emil never knew how to answer that—he wasn’t sure he agreed. Maybe Bellamy was fire, but Emil wasn’t ice. He wasn’t cold enough to shut him out. He was something else—something not quite solid, but burning nonetheless.

Bellamy was fire, but his flames were controlled. He could burn you up, but you could also see him flickering through the dark when you needed him to.

Carina stood quietly in the corner, her gaze flicking between the two men. She could feel the tension thick in the air, and she knew it was time to step away. She wasn’t part of this—at least not right now.

With quiet resolve, she moved toward the door. Her footsteps were soft, careful, as if she didn’t want to disturb the fragile moment between them. But still, they seemed to echo louder than usual.

Emil didn’t look at her, his eyes locked on Bellamy as if bracing himself for what would come next. Bellamy, however, gave her a brief, almost imperceptible nod—a silent acknowledgment.

Carina paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she said, her voice steady but laced with understanding. No judgment, no lingering emotion—just a quiet recognition that this was something they had to figure out on their own.

She didn’t wait for a response. With a soft click, the door swung open, and she slipped out. The door shut behind her, and the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance, leaving the two men alone in the silence that remained.

***

In the stillness, Carina’s absence settled between them, creating space for the words that needed to be said.

Bellamy watched Emil closely, eyes tracking every subtle shift in his posture, every hesitation in his movements.

“I know what I’m doing,” Emil muttered, his voice tight, as if forcing the words past a wall that wouldn’t break.

Bellamy’s grin never faltered, his usual teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you sure? Doesn’t look like it.” Emil shot him a glare, sharp and biting, but Bellamy saw the vulnerability beneath the defiance.

“I’ve never been one for subtlety,” Emil said, breaking eye contact and letting out a half-laugh, strained. He tried to deflect the weight of the moment with humour.

“You don’t have to be,” Bellamy replied simply. “But you’re here, anyway.”

For a rare moment, there was quiet between them. Emil rarely let anyone in—let anyone stay long enough to see him this raw. Bellamy was different. Too much and never enough, loud and silent, brash and tender. He was a steady anchor in Emil’s chaos, and that terrified him.

“I don’t like this,” Emil muttered again, pacing like he could outrun the discomfort twisting inside him. “I don’t like needing anyone.” The words cracked as they left him, raw and exposed. He wanted to bury them, but they were already out there.

For a long while, Bellamy didn’t speak. The silence wasn’t oppressive. Not with him. It was steadying, like a deep breath, holding them both in that fragile space. Then Bellamy’s voice broke the stillness, as if the words had been waiting.

“You don’t need just anyone, Em,” Bellamy said, his voice low. “You need me.”

The words hung in the air, simple and undeniable, like a truth Bellamy had always known. His gaze was unwavering, the slight smirk on his lips like a challenge.

Emil stopped pacing, arms crossed, his laugh sharp but empty. “You’re the last person I need, Bellamy.” But the lie twisted in his chest. He could feel it—the ache of truth he wasn’t ready to admit.

Bellamy didn’t flinch. He leaned casually against the doorframe, studying Emil with knowing eyes. “Yeah? You sure? You’ve been running from me for how long, and I’m still here. Still waiting. Not for you to want me. Not for you to need me. Just waiting.”

It wasn’t the challenge that stopped Emil. It was the simplicity of it. Bellamy wasn’t trying to save him, wasn’t pretending to have all the answers. He wasn’t waiting for Emil to change. He was just there. And that… that was what Emil couldn’t wrap his mind around.

“Why?” Emil’s voice faltered. “Why do you keep coming back? Why not let go like everyone else?”

Bellamy’s gaze softened. The smirk faded, and he stepped toward Emil, posture shifting, his presence steady. “Because I’m not like everyone else,” he said simply. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Emil felt a weight in his chest at the words. Bellamy didn’t need him to be fixed or perfect. He just needed Emil to be present.

Bellamy’s smile faltered for a split second, and Emil saw it—a vulnerability he hadn’t noticed before. “Because you don’t get to decide how people love you, Em,” Bellamy said, his voice softer, tender.

Emil’s chest tightened. For a moment, he felt like he might drown in the weight of those words. Bellamy didn’t need him to be perfect. He was here, in the mess, waiting. Maybe it was okay to be broken—and still fit together with someone else’s brokenness.

The real battle wasn’t fought in fields or shadows. It was the war inside, over whether they could let each other in without destroying everything they’d fought for. Whether they could break the walls and still walk out intact.

They weren’t perfect. They might never be. But as they stood there, side by side, silence hanging between them like a fragile thread, Emil felt something warm stir in his chest. A feeling he couldn’t name but knew was something like peace. For once, maybe it was okay to let go. To stop pretending to have everything under control. 

And maybe, just maybe, it was okay to need him.