𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐄 → john murphy [1] ✓

→𝟷.𝟷𝟽←

Two days.

That's how long it had been since they ran out of food. Then again, minutes and hours and days all seemed to meld together down there. Without any signs as to what time of day it was, Rosie was sure John and her most likely were counting time wrong. Either way, it didn't really matter. All that mattered was they were hungry. And there was nothing they could do about it.

John had been surprisingly optimistic, which surprised Rosie. She was almost certain it was just an act to keep her spirits high. It was sweet, but underneath it, they both could feel the dread looming between them. It was impossible to just pretend everything was okay.

Some part of Rosie was thankful that she was already so weak from her weeks of fasting before. As much as she hated thinking about it, she was pretty sure John would last longer than her. Which meant she wouldn't, for even a second, have to live in a world where John Murphy was dead. Although she recognized that the thought was selfish and morbid, she couldn't help but feel a bit of relief from the thought, in a twisted way.

Although they never specifically spoke about it, Rosie could tell John knew it too. She could see it in the way he looked at her, the small grimace that he thought he could conceal. The way he seemed to tear up when he thought she was asleep at night. He could tell she was dying, slowly, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

To take his mind off of it, he often found himself daydreaming about their future. Or rather, what it could have been. He'd spend his time thinking of all of the reasons they both should have said no to Jaha and stayed behind in Arkadia. Half of him would always chime in with the fact that Jaha and this trip were what brought them together, and he wouldn't really know her otherwise. The other half was sure they would have found their way to each other. No matter what.

"What do you think Bellamy will say about us?" Murphy questioned as they lay curled up in each other on the couch.

"What?" It always took Rosie off guard when Murphy spoke about the future with such certainty. She wondered how much longer he planned to keep up the act.

"Like, will he try to kick my ass?" Murphy suggested with a grimace.

"I don't know, probably," Rosie tried to think about it, but found her head hurt too much to really care. Her eyes lulled slowly, threatening to shut and result in her second nap of the day. "Why would you care what Bellamy thinks?"

"He's like the most important guy in your life, why wouldn't I care?" Murphy stared up at the ceiling, letting his imagination run wild.

"Not the most important," Rosie muttered against his chest softly, her eyes shutting for real this time.

Murphy let a small smile grace his face for a moment following her words, but the moment was fleeting. It was hard to constantly smile and feign optimism. Once her eyes were closed, the act was up and he immediately went back to worry mode. He had a lot to think about, and he found the only time his head was clear enough to was when she was sleeping.

His eyes remained planted on the ceiling as Rosie's breaths grew more shallow. He listened to her slowly drift into a deeper and deeper sleep, waiting to think about the looming question on his mind. It was foolish, waiting as if she'd ever been able to read his thoughts. He persisted through nonetheless.

Once he was sure she was in a deep enough sleep that would leave her out for some time, he granted himself the selfish moment he had been waiting for. He could finally, without interruption, consider his options down there. He had a lot to think about.

To anyone who knew John Murphy, when asked about him, they'd either describe him in one of two ways: an asshole, or a survivor. John liked to think of himself as the latter, for obvious reasons. But as the days melded into weeks trapped down there, Murphy's hunger for survival had begun to diminish.