𝓳𝓪𝔂

He huffs under his breath but allows you to come around the car anyway. The afternoon air is chilly enough to bite at your cheeks as you help him carefully out of the passenger seat, one arm steady around him while he grumbles out being treated like he’s ninety years old.

“Y’know,” you cut him mid-rant, “you complain a lot for someone who almost burst an appendix.”

“It was not bursting.”

“The doctor said—”

“He didn’t know shit.”

You laugh quietly under your breath as you guide him up the porch steps. The inside of the house smells exactly the same as always: coffee grounds, old wood, and laundry detergent. Your body moves instinctively, kicking the door shut behind you before helping Joel settle carefully onto the couch.

Joel eyes you as you grab the folded blanket from the armrest and toss it over him. “Have you always been this bossy?”

“Pff, I’m not bossy.”

“Uh-huh. Definitely got it from Ellie.”

The name lands heavier than either of you expect.

Ellie. The stubborn foul-mouthed girl he’d taken in years ago and somehow ended up loving like she’d always been his. And your ex-girlfriend, too.

It’s been almost eight months since the breakup. Eight months since life started pulling the two of you in ten different directions at once and every attempt to hold the relationship together somehow turned into another exhausting argument neither of you really knew how to fix.

Stress from school, work, the future— all of it seemed to twist into self-destruction eventually. Every conversation turned into tension, sharp words, or silence. And finally, a messy breakup neither of you handled well.

You tried distancing yourself after everything imploded between you two. But Joel still texted you every couple of weeks asking how work was going, still invited you out from breakfast some Saturdays, still called whenever he needed help setting up some new appliance because Ellie “explains shit like an asshole” (his words, not yours… but you agree).

And you kept answering and showing up because losing Ellie had already felt like grieving someone alive. Losing Joel too would have made it unbearable.

Your hands pause briefly against the blanket before you straighten up again, pretending it didn’t affect you at all.

“Speaking of,” you say carefully, “did she ever get back to you?”

Joel sighs, leaning his head back against the couch cushions.

“Nah. Left her a voicemail last night and a text like an hour ago,” he scratches at his beard tiredly. “Kid’s busy lately. Finals, class, whatever… and this happened pretty fast.”

Of course. Typical fucking Ellie, you think to yourself.

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to stop the thought from fully showing on your face, though something must still slip through because Joel gives you a look.

“She ain’t ignoring me on purpose.”

“I didn’t say she was.”

“Thought it real loud, though.”

You roll your eyes and move toward the kitchen before he can see the guilty twitch at the corner of your mouth.

“Well,” you open the fridge, a sad sigh leaving your mouth as you inspect the contents inside, “I’m glad you reached out. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t live off saltines and beer while recovering… or ever.”

“Beer’s got grain in it.”

“Oh my God.”

Joel’s low chuckle follows you through the kitchen, warm despite everything.

Half an hour later, you’re halfway through making him tea when the front door suddenly swings open hard enough to rattle the frame.

“Joel?” her voice is breathless and rushed. “Shit, I’m sorry. I just got your text, my phone was dead and I had this stupid lab this morning and—”

The words cut off abruptly.

You look up and there she is. Ellie stands frozen near the doorway, grocery bags hanging from one hand and a pharmacy bag crushed tightly in the other. Her hair’s messier than you remember, auburn strands escaping the loose bun at the nape of her neck, dark circles sitting heavily beneath tired green eyes.

She stares at you, clearly not prepared for this possibility at all. Honestly, you weren’t either.

Joel clears his throat from the couch. “This is awkward as hell.”

His voice finally jolts Ellie back to life.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks immediately.

You lean casually against the kitchen counter despite the sudden tightness in your chest. “Nice to see you too.”

“I’m serious.”

“Joel needed help.”

“Yeah, and I’m here now.”

You glance pointedly at the grocery bags cutting into her fingers. “Little late for that.”

Ellie’s jaw tightens instantly. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“It’s been a minute and I’m not hearing any ‘thanks for sticking by my dad through his surgery, taking him back home and staying through his recovery’ yet.”

“Don’t start with— Wait.” Her eyebrows pinch together. “You’re doing what?”

Joel groans loudly from the couch. “M’too sober for this.”

Neither of you acknowledge him.

“I’m staying for a week,” you explain flatly. “Doctor said someone should keep an eye on him the first few days.”

Ellie lets out a short laugh, finding the idea ridiculous. “Okay. No need for that. I’m here now, so you can go.”

Your own eyebrows lift immediately. “Excuse me?”

“He’s my dad,” Ellie drops the pharmacy bag onto the counter with a sharp thud. “I can handle it.”

“I’m right here,” Joel grumbles out, but neither of you pay attention to it.

“He still needs help,” you gesture vaguely. “You just said you barely checked your phone because of class.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of him.”

“You planning on teleporting back every three to four hours to give him meds? And what if he has an emergency?”

Ellie opens her mouth, then closes it again. Got her.

You cross your arms. “Exactly.”

Joel points vaguely between the two of you from the couch. “Y’know, normal people usually say hello first.”

“You stay out of this,” both of you snap in unison.

He sinks deeper into the cushions. “Jesus Christ.”

Ellie drags a hand down her face tiredly. She’s already overwhelmed enough as it is— finals week, barely sleeping, shifts at the tattoo shop, and now this. Guilt flashes briefly across her face because she hadn’t been there when Joel needed her most.

But you were. The thought alone scratches at every raw nerve she already has.

“My classes are mostly mornings and I got like one or two shifts at the shop this week,” she exhales sharply through her nose. “I’ll be here afternoons and pretty much most nights.”

You hesitate for half a second before answering. “Well… I work afternoons.”

Ellie glances up. “So?”

“So,” you continue reluctantly, “if we both take care of him, someone would always be around in case anything happens.”

The room falls quiet for a second.

The solution makes practical sense, and that’s the problem. Because now both of you are staring at the very real possibility of spending the next week under the same roof again— sharing space, routines, and pretending your breakup didn’t leave bruises neither of you ever properly dealt with.

Ellie looks about as thrilled as you feel. Her shoulders tense slightly, face turned away as she avoids your eyes altogether. You tap your fingers restlessly against the kitchen counter, dread clear in your expression.

Joel, however, looks deeply entertained now.

“Compromise,” he hums. “Very proud of you girls.”

“Shut up, Joel,” Ellie rolls her eyes before finally looking back at you, annoyance slipping out. “Fine, we’re doing this. But we’re not hanging out or anything, don’t get any weird ideas.”

“Ew, that’s not even a concern,” you deadpan.

She drags a hand down her face for the second time now, and you notice now. There’s a slight squint around her eyes, tension pulling between her brows.

Your body reacts before your pride can stop it. You grab the aspirin bottle from beside the sink and toss it toward her without warning.

Ellie catches it automatically midair and looks surprised once she read the label. “…what?”

“You do that thing with your eye when you’ve got a migraine,” you say simply, turning back toward the counter and pretending to focus on the tea instead of her.

“What thing?”

“The squinting.”

Ellie scoffs instantly. “I don’t squint.”

But she still takes the aspirin anyway.

Joel watches the entire exchange from the couch before lifting his hand tiredly. “Can I get my fuckin’ tea now?”

------------

You’re already up by seven-thirty, moving around the kitchen in an oversized shirt and sleep shorts while butter crackles softly in the pan. The doctor had been annoyingly specific about making sure Joel ate before taking his meds, which means you’re now forcing scrambled eggs onto a stubborn sixty-year-old man before eight in the morning.

“Can you at least add some ham and cheese?” he complains from the kitchen table.

“Should have said that before I finished cooking.”

“Shit.”

You snort quietly, sliding a plate in front of him before reaching automatically for the pill bottle beside the sink.

The coffee finishes brewing when the clock catches your attention. 8:04am.

No footsteps, no cabinet doors slamming, no sight of Ellie. Weird.

Joel notices too. “Didn’t Ellie say she had class today?”

“She did.”

“Mind checking on her?”

You sigh dramatically and set the mug down onto the counter. “Do I have to?”

Joel gives you a look.

The hallway feels oddly familiar in the morning light. You stop outside Ellie’s room —technically, the guest room now— and knock twice. There’s no response.

You knock louder this time. “Ellie?”

A muffled groan answers you. Then nothing again.

“The things I do for this old man,” you mutter under your breath before pushing the door open slightly.

The room’s dim, curtains still mostly closed. Ellie’s completely buried beneath the blankets, one arm hanging off the side of the bed while her phone sits on the floor, just out of her reach. She must have dropped it late at night when she fell asleep.

“Ellie,” there’s another groan in response, but she doesn’t move, so you try again. “Ellie, it’s after eight.”

Her eyes snap open and she bolts upright so fast she nearly tangles herself in the blankets.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You lean against the doorway, deeply unimpressed, while she scrambles around the bed looking for clothes and lets out five different curses every two seconds.

You watch her for a second before crossing your arms. “Most people use alarms, y’know?”

She frantically grabs her phone, squinting at the screen.

Then, without thinking, she blurts. “I turned the volume off cause you hate loud alarms.”

Oh. That’s old. Like, old old. It belonged to another version of you two entirely. Back when you used to stay over constantly, when she still lived at Joel’s. Sleepy mornings tangled together in her room while her six different alarms nearly gave you a heart attack until she eventually started muting them for your sake.

Ellie realizes what she said almost immediately and scowls, throwing the phone onto the bed.

“Not because of you,” she mutters quickly. “Wasn’t in the mood to hear bitching first thing in the morning.”

Ah. There it is.

“The only one bitching here is you.”

“Can you just leave so I can get changed, weirdo?”

You push yourself off the doorway. “God, relax. Nobody wants to see your morning goblin form anyway.”

“Nobody wants to show it to you,” Ellie mumbles while digging through the bag full of clothes she brought from her place.

“Little late for that.”

She flips you off without even looking. You head back toward the kitchen, hearing drawers slam and muffled cursing behind you the entire way down the hallway.

Joel looks up from the table the second you walk back in. “She alive?”

“Unfortunately.”

You drop into the chair across from him with a quiet sigh, finally grabbing your own plate now that this little moment of chaos has temporarily settled.

Joel eyes you over the rim of his mug. “For two exes that can’t stand each other, y’all sure bicker like an old married couple.”

You point your fork at him immediately. “Careful, old man. Your blood pressure can’t handle this.”

“I’m not even that fuckin’ old.”

The kitchen falls into a quieter rhythm soon after. The soft hum of the fridge, silverware clinking against plates, Joel occasionally grumbling every time he shifts wrong in his chair.

About five minutes later, Ellie storms into the kitchen with her backpack loosely slung over one shoulder, flannel half buttoned, hair still damp around the edges from splashing water on her face to look more awake.

She heads straight for the counter, pours the coffee onto a travel mug and, without even asking, steals a piece of toast directly off Joel’s plate.

“I was eating that.”

“You love me,” she shoots back before taking a bite.

She’s already halfway toward the front door before slowing slightly, eyes flicking toward you for the briefest second. She clears her throat awkwardly and points vaguely toward Joel, a piece of toast still hanging from her mouth.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

“I leave around one-thirty,” you shrug, taking a sip of your own water bottle.

Ellie nods. “Got it. Bye.”

She’s gone before either of you can respond, the door shutting behind her with a soft thud. Off the corner of your eye, you can see Joel open up his mouth again.

“No,” you cut him off immediately, not even looking up from your plate. “Shut your cake hole. I don’t wanna hear a peep from you.”

He leans back in his chair slowly, deeply offended. “Maybe I was gonna ask you to pass the jam.”

“There’s no jam.”

Joel frowns for a second before muttering, “Maybe I wanted some.”

-------------------

A couple of minutes past one, the front door finally opens again.

You’re in the kitchen packing leftovers into containers by then, moving around with casual efficiency. Ellie walks in looking significantly more alive than she did earlier, though barely. She lets her backpack drop to the floor as she plops into a chair.

“Someone’s more alive,” you greet without looking up.

“Someone’s more annoying,” Ellie rolls her eyes automatically, already shrugging off her flannel when the smell of food properly hits her. “…did you cook?”

“No, Joel did. Right after he did a hundred push-ups.”

“Smartass.”

You snort softly and finally glance at her. There’s ink smudged faintly across the side of her hand, probably from class notes, and she looks exhausted. You push down any concern, and before she can say anything else, you start pointing toward the counter one thing at a time.

“Joel already took his noon meds,” you start. “Next dose is at four, but make sure he eats first or he’ll get nauseous again.”

Ellie’s brows furrow slightly. “Again?”

“He tried taking them on an empty stomach.”

She nods once, quieter now. She catches herself actually looking at you as you keep moving around the kitchen. At the way you tidy up as you speak, at the tiredness sitting beneath your eyes, even though you’re clearly trying not to show it.

There’s an awkward twist in her chest at the thought of how naturally you’ve slipped into taking care of Joel.

“He’s asleep right now,” you continue, not even noticing the way she’s staring at you now. “The meds knocked him out like twenty minutes ago. Food’s ready for whenever he feels hungry, but there’s some Jell-O in the fridge if he’s still nauseous and wants something light.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t let him try to bend down. He seems to think stitches are a suggestion.”

“I think I got this.”

“And I’ll be back around eight,” you keep going, grabbing your bag from the chair nearby. “I can bring dinner on the way home if he’s not vibing with the food I made. Remember he has to eat something before—”

“Yo,” Ellie cuts in finally, somewhere between amused and defensive now. “Chill. I can take care of him.”

You adjust the strap of your bag awkwardly now. “I know. I’m just saying.”

“You know I’m a competent human being, right?”

Something about the comment and the tone she uses instantly rubs you the wrong way.

“I never said you weren’t.”

“You kinda act like it.”

“Oh my God,” you shake your head. “You’re seriously getting defensive over me explaining your dad’s medications’ instructions?”

“My dad, Y/N, you just said it,” Ellie pushes herself upright and gestures vaguely at you. “You always do this shit. You swoop wanting to handle everything personally cause if you don’t, your world falls apart.”

The words hit harder than they should.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Her expression tightens immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You weren’t even there for his surgery,” you set your bag down harder than necessary.

“I got here as soon as I could.”

“Yeah, a day and a half later.”

“Fucking hell,” Ellie scoffs, hurt flashing briefly across her face before anger covers it back up. “You think I don’t already feel shitty enough about that?”

“You sure have a funny way of showing you care.”

The second the words leave your mouth, the kitchen goes dead quiet. Ellie just stares at you, and God, you know that look.

You’ve seen it before after arguments and bad days, after fights where Ellie acted angry because admitting she was hurt felt worse somehow. A past version of you would immediately stop and try to mend things, to take a step back and find a way to diffuse the situation.

But you’re angry too. Angry because she disappeared emotionally for months before the breakup. Angry because loving Ellie had sometimes felt like trying to hold onto smoke with your bare hands, hurting yourself only to find out it vanished anyways. Angry because part of you still cared enough for this to hurt after all this time.

“Don’t you even dare do that,” Ellie says finally, voice quieter but rougher now. “You know I do care.”

The kitchen feels too small, too warm. Your pulse thuds hard against your ribs.

“You tend to shut people out, Ellie.”

“Yeah? And you smother people until they can’t fucking breathe.”

Regret flickers across Ellie’s face right after.

She remembers it too. The suffocating months before the breakup, you trying to fix things every single time she spiraled, the constant talk to me, let me help, stop shutting me out. Ellie had always hated herself for needing help. That was the part you never fully understood.

How every worried look from you only made her feel more broken, every attempt to pull her closer only reminded her she was failing at being the kind of girlfriend you deserved.

She’d started avoiding conversations because she was exhausted, then avoiding your texts because she didn’t know what to say anymore, then avoiding you altogether because every time she looked at you, all she could see was disappointment slowly replacing love.

And well… you both know how that ended. A horrible final argument, too many cruel things said out of exhaustion and hurt. Ellie telling you maybe you’d both be happier if you stopped trying so hard to save something that clearly wasn’t working anymore.

Your eyes sting suddenly, and you hate it.

After eight months, after everything, she still knows exactly where to hurt you. And maybe you know where to hurt her too.

“I’m running late,” you grab your bag again, the words hollow as they leave your mouth. “Your plate’s in the microwave.”

Neither of you apologizes or takes it back.

The second the door shuts behind you, Ellie exhales shakily through her nose and drags both hands over her face. The kitchen still smells like the food you made, you even left her a plate and it’s still sitting warm inside the microwave, and for one stupid second all she can think about is how arguments between you never used to end like this before.

They used to end tangled together under blankets, voices quieter, one of you apologizing first while the other pretended to stay mad a little longer.

That feels like another lifetime now.

--------------

The house is quieter when you get back. Not silent, because Joel always has the TV on for background noise even when he’s barely paying attention to it, but quieter in a way it sends a chill down your body after your argument with Ellie.

You lock the front door behind you and immediately catch the smell of food lingering in the air.

“Hey,” Joel calls from the couch when he notices you walking in. “You’re late.”

You shrug off your jacket slowly. “Lots of traffic.”

It’s not entirely a lie. You had driven around the block twice before coming inside, though.

Your eyes flick briefly toward the kitchen. Ellie’s there, rinsing dishes at the sink with her back turned to you. Sleeves pushed up to her elbows, damp hair curling slightly at the nape of her neck from a shower she must’ve taken earlier. She doesn’t look over when she hears you come in.

You turn your attention back to Joel, not even wanting to greet her.

“Did you take your meds already?”

“Yeah,” he nods, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen in a weak attempt to force normalcy back into the room. “She gave ‘em to me after we ate some pasta she made.”

“Cool,” you answer quietly.

Ellie dries her hands on a dish towel without turning around. “There’s some left if you want.”

Your chest tightens a little at her tone. It’s just so… normal. Like the argument never happened and neither of you said things designed to cut deep. After all, the two of you had always been good at pretending things were fine right until they completely fell apart.

“Thanks.”

You move toward the kitchen carefully and Ellie shifts sideways almost the exact same moment to make space for you, without either of you actually acknowledging each other.

There’s a plate waiting for you at the table, beneath the little plastic cover Joel insists on using. Your throat tightens unexpectedly, because of course Ellie would remember you usually come home starving after work.

The silence stretches while you pick absentmindedly at your food instead of eating properly. Ellie leans against the far end of the counter scrolling through her phone, though you can tell she’s not actually reading anything. Every few seconds her thumb stops moving completely.

Joel clears his throat, clearly seconds away from losing his mind over the tension sitting in every corner of the house.

“So,” he starts, volume louder than necessary over the TV. “How was work?”

You glance over your shoulder toward him. “Awful.”

“That bad?”

“Customer service is the hardest part of it,” you sigh, finally forcing yourself to eat a proper bite. A memory crosses your mind and a tiny smile tugs briefly at the corner of your mouth. “But this old lady gave me a chocolate cause she said I looked like I was ‘having a hard time’.”

Joel lets out a laugh at that. Before silence can settle again, Ellie speaks without lifting her eyes from her phone.

“That’s kinda nice.”

The words should feel harmless. But after this afternoon, they make a wave of annoyance twist sharply inside your chest.

“Don’t act like you care.”

Ellie’s thumb stops moving against her phone screen. Slowly, she looks up at you, irritation flashing across her face almost instantly.

“I was just responding to what you said.”

“Next time, keep to your usual brooding and sulking self, got it?”

“Jesus,” Joel mutters quietly, visibly sinking deeper into the couch cushions. Both of you ignore him, too caught up with your discussion now.

Ellie pushes herself off the counter. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don’t,” her voice sharpens immediately. “You want me to ignore you completely? Cause you get pissed when I do that too, remember?”

Your stomach twists. There she is again, picking at an open wound that never really had the chance to heal. She’s slipping the knife into the exact same space every time, knowing exactly where it hurts and turning it anyway.

You shake your head slowly. “Every conversation somehow turns into a fight with you.”

“With me?” Ellie scoffs, disbelief written all over her face now. “You’re the one turning me saying one nice thing into a fucking attack.”

“Because it feels fake!”

The words echo louder than you intended. Ellie just stares at you for a second, jaw tightening hard enough you can see the muscle jump beneath her skin.

“That’s not fair,” her voice almost cracks this time.

Good, you think bitterly. Maybe she should feel worse.

But then guilt immediately follows right after, hot and ugly in your chest.

Joel suddenly pushes himself upright with a pained grunt. “You girls are exhaustin’.”

He gives you two a disappointed look, and neither of you has the courage to respond.

“Doctor said stress is bad for recovery,” he mutters. “Pretty sure watchin’ my daughter and her ex, who is basically like another daughter at this point, verbally knife each other every time they interact counts as stress.”

Guilt twists heavily in your stomach at his words, throat tightening instantly. Ellie looks away, jaw tight.

Joel sighs heavily, grabbing the remote. “M’goin’ to bed before one of you says somethin’ even stupider.”

“Joel—” you start quietly.

“Nah,” he gestures vaguely without much energy behind it. “Figure your shit out or don’t. Just keep me out of it.”

The words land harder than either of you expect.

Underneath the irritation and the grumbling is something worse: exhaustion. Joel’s pale beneath the warm light of the living room, movements slower than usual as he presses a careful hand against his abdomen. And suddenly, the fight feels childish.

You move first automatically, stepping toward to help, but Ellie does too at the exact same time. The two of you awkwardly stop short beside each other.

Joel stares between you both flatly. “I got two hands-free nurses and still gotta walk myself to bed.”

“Sorry,” you mutter immediately.

Ellie rubs the back of her neck. “…yeah, sorry.”

Joel grunts, too tired to fully accept the apology, but he lets Ellie help him down the hallway while you trail behind carrying his water bottle and meds for later.

Once Joel’s settled into bed, you’re quick to finally give him some time alone to rest. The bedroom door clicks shut behind you both a moment later, leaving you and Ellie standing awkwardly in the hallway again.

Ellie exhales slowly through her nose.

“We should probably…” she starts, then grimaces like the words physically pain her as they leave her mouth. “Maybe not fight in front of him again.”

You cross your arms instinctively, ready to snap back, but Joel shifts loudly in his room and you freeze. There’s a long silence after that, and you let out a tired sigh.

“I’m serious,” Ellie says more quietly this time. “We don’t gotta suddenly become friends or whatever, but can we maybe not turn every conversation into a fight for like one week?”

Your shoulders loosen slightly with a long exhale. The look Joel had given you just minutes ago… yeah, no, you don’t want to end up losing him too just because you can’t get along with your ex-girlfriend.

“Fine,” you mutter reluctantly. “It’s a truce.”

She nods once. “Truce.”

A beat passes. Then, because neither of you knows how to exist in softness for too long anymore, Ellie gestures vaguely toward the living room.

“You drool in your sleep, by the way.”

“I absolutely do not,” you shake your head.

“You absolutely do.”

A tiny smirk tugs briefly at the corner of Ellie’s mouth before she looks away. For a second, it almost feels like one of those old nights again. The ones where arguments stretched long past midnight until both of you were too tired to keep fighting.

Except back then, both of you would eventually drift closer. Your knees would bump under the table, she’d steal your hoodie, one of you would apologize quietly into the dark because being apart felt worse than being angry.

You turn away toward the living room before you can keep spiraling any further. Ellie hesitates for a moment, wanting to add something, anything else, but she doesn’t.

you wanted her to proceed as usual, to think everything was fine, even if it wasn't. it's like a generator running on empty, the way you've been picking yourself up every morning just to send ellie off on patrol with a packed lunch and kiss goodbye. then, as soon as she's gone, you collapse — crawling back into her fading warmth, rotting away in that spot for the day.

being 'human sunshine', as ellie calls it, isn't a performance, but it starts to feel like one when the nights are longer and the walls meant to protect you from the winds feel claustrophobic. the insulation isn't the greatest, nor do the wooden beams across the ceiling feel as supportive as they should be when rough conditions start to batter the flat.

the structure holds itself together just about as well as you do during this time.

and usually, you're up by the time she's back, pottering around the kitchenette or reorganising stuff — doing anything because there's nothing else you can do to raise your spirits — and you've rested up long enough to pretend nothing's wrong for her. because doing that takes a lot of energy.

the further into winter you get, the slower the routine becomes. you try to power through it, to lift the covers and get out of bed, but ellie stops you. there's her shushing your whiny pleading to let you help her out, her kissing your forehead before she heads out. now there's none of that, because she lets you continue sleeping through her departure. (although, the kiss remains part of the routine, unbeknownst to you.)

you often wake to find ellie absent already, but lie in the silence for as long as you need. you never realised you were starting to stay there longer and longer until one day, the door opens, and ellie comes stomping through.

she flicks the lamp in the corner of her room on, then off immediately after you stir in bed.

"shit, babe, i'm sorry. are you napping? i didn't mean to wake you."

you start to peek out from under the covers, bloodshot eyes focusing on her peeling her outerwear off and dropping it to the floor. she chuckles a little at the sight of you, tilting her head down to get a better angle.

"sheesh, you got some crazy bedhead going on today," she says, throwing each boot behind her and walking up to the side of the bed. but her voice gets softer, hand grasping your shoulder over the blankets. " . . . did you even get up today?"

"um, no," you mumble, shrugging your shoulders. you try burying yourself in blankets again, but ellie places the back of her hand over your forehead, testing the temperature, her lips curved down.

"are you feeling alright?"

"it's just cold out," you murmur.

something about that clicks to ellie, the familiarity of such an excuse. the multiple of them over the recent few months, the 'i'm tired's and the 'i didn't sleep well last night's and the 'm'not feeling well's.

well, this will be the last of them.

"yucky, els, no. no outside clothes in the bed — yuck." she ignores your complaints as she climbs in, jeans and hoodie and all still on, to curl around you. she's just another protective layer from the world, shielding you from the chilled air.

"outside clothes don't matter." her voice is muffled, face buried into your hair, of which she takes a big, comforting breath in. "mmm, isn't that better?"

winters are hard on jackson county. it's cold. it's dark. and ellie's gone more often, because efforts to keep the migrating infected away do have to increase at this time. so the boredom hits, the loneliness paralyses you, the fears make you sick. and there's nobody to run to.

it's hard to admit it, but after weeks of crying into your hands and trying to absorb her sweat and scent in the bed while she was gone, it has a simple solution. you've been doing it all alone when you didn't have to. you needed your moon to light the dark — to give back, reflecting the light you give her everyday.

"ughhh, so tired," she groans comically, squeezing your body extra tight. "i say we watch a buncha movies tonight . . . i never gave tangled back to dina, so . . ."

you nuzzle against her chest, warm grey cotton on your cheek. "really? she usually gets so mad when you steal her shit."

"yeah, i know. i told her it's your favourite. she said you can have it." ellie chuckles a bit, taking a gentle hold of your hand. you must look tired, with your eyes drooping and body weak. "i love you."

"i love you too," you whisper. "can we watch it?"

she’d been lapping at your cunt for well over an hour, having pulled two orgasms from you already in that time with the combination of her quick-witted tongue and three of those thick fingers buried inside you. but the flames coiling in your lower belly never fully seemed to extinguish themselves they way they normally would have by now.

“abs,” you mewl, fingers curling into the sweaty hair at the nape of her neck. suddenly unsure of what you need when you your hips jerk away from her skillful tongue.

“tell me what you want, pretty girl,” she rasps, keeping her fingers buried to the hilt inside you as she finally meets your half-lidded gaze from where she lays between your still trembling thighs.

but one perfect curl of her fingers as she adjusts her position has pleasure shooting up your spine, and you answer by rocking your hips down harder onto her fingers, keeping a tight grip on her hair.

“you want my tongue again or—”

you cut her off with a loud and desperate moan, shaking your head as you frantically start fucking yourself back onto her fingers.

“well that’s a first,” she teases, pressing her flushed cheek to your inner thigh and gently nipping the soft flesh there.

her chin is still shining with a mixture of her spit and your arousal, her blonde hair soft and mussed from all your constant tugging. but she’s never looked more effortless gorgeous than she does right in that moment and your immediately clench harder around her fingers.

“fuck, go faster,” you plead.

she leans up on her elbow then, dark blue eyes focused entirely on where her fingers are continuing to disappear inside you. abby spreads her other hand flat against your lower belly, pressing down as she starts pistoning her fingers inside you.

“oh my god,” you practically scream, back arching up off the mattress when you feel the tips of her calloused fingers continue to bully your g-spot.

tears of pure pleasure stream steadily down your cheeks as you come—loud and messy, completely soaking her hand and the tan skin of her forearm.

but abby doesn’t stop fucking you, she merely slows her pace as she leans up and over you to press a sloppy but urgent kiss to your mouth before she murmurs a rough, “fuck, think you can do that again for me, baby?” against your lips.

Abby grabs your wrist and pulls you back, “come on, now, don’t be like that,” she slurs.

You pull your hand back, “you get home late, drunk outta your brain, and you wanna have sex? Goodness, Abby, take the fucking hint. I don’t wanna!”

You turn and walk back into the bedroom, holding the front of your robe to keep her from seeing even the littlest of your underwear beneath. Abby grunts and walks towards you, footsteps now louder.

Your eyes widen, you turn but before you can close the door, she’s already standing at the doorframe, trapping you in the bedroom.

“Abby, please, I—” she’s not listening.

She doesn’t seem to be in a mood to care and crosses the room in two wide strides. Your hand is grabbed, robe pulled off. You gasp and try to cover whatever’s left of your dignity but Abby’s not having it.

She rips your bra off clean, and ties your wrists together using them.

“Abby! Abby, this is— you don’t have to do this!”

Abby pins you down on the bed, “you wanna do this the hard way, you’re the one runnin’ away from me when all I wanted to do was love on you,” Abby says, voice low and dangerous.

Abby’s fingers are rough, pushing past your folds and lodging in your tight, unprepared hole. You moan involuntarily as your thighs try to close, pushing her away. Abby forces your legs apart almost painfully using your other hand while her dominant hand’s fingers continue to toy with your pussy.

She slapped it, sharp snacks that made your cunt tingle, red and sore.

She spits on the mound and drives her fingers back inside, curling against your g-spot to make your back arch, earning soft desperate moans from you.

“D-don’t, Abby, Abby… this is so embarrassing, please, just untie me…”

“You don’t get to decide what happens. You don’t even give a shit about what I want.”

“I do, I’m sorry, I’ll— I’ll be good…”

Abby doesn’t reply, her fingers work faster. You can’t help how your pussy squelches around her digits. How can you even say that you don’t want it when your cunt is making such lewd sounds on her digits? The heel of her hand rubs against your clit, you’re close. You hate how fast you’re breaking.

Nevertheless, all it takes is another stroke to your g-spot and you cum hard. Messy. Beautiful.