sadiestarrs

it’s been a few months since you started dating your secret girlfriend—well, “secret” in quotation marks.

you were pretty sure you could do basically anything and no one would be able to call you a couple unless you admitted it outright.

at least, until today.

ellie’s job kept her from you some nights. it was unfortunate, but it wasn’t anything new.

you knew how to take care of yourself.

but tonight? tonight was different.

maybe your bed was feeling extra cold or you were feeling extra needy—whatever it was, it had you frustratedly huffing out of your bed, hot and heavy after half an hour of trying to ignore the way your pussy clenched on air, wishing it was ellie’s fingers instead.

you’d decidedly had enough.

the hallway floor was cold on your feet as you padded toward ellie’s bedroom, one of her oversized band tees hanging from your shoulders, just barely grazing the tops of your thighs.

purple led lights seeped out past the bottom of her door as you drew closer, gameplay gunshots and frustrated groaning growing louder.

“ah, fuck!” you heard ellie curse from behind the door, followed by a faint “ellie, coming up on your right!” from dina’s voice on speaker.

the door creaks as you push it open.

“els?” you called out.

no response.

you watched impatiently as ellie’s eyes remained glued to her monitor, video game light illuminating her face, scrunched in focus.

gayahhbtch: L ellieswetsock: LL!!! carrotcaker523: wth bro elssmells: ellie brooooo everbb65: dina’s carrying so bad

“chat, if you don’t stop with the l’s i swear to god.”

“ellie.” you said, louder this time.

all she gives is a distracted “hmm, yeah?”

“you coming to bed anytime soon?”

“mhm, gimme, like, ten minutes. just finishing up this tourney, okay?”

you just stand there, appalled.

ten. ten whole minutes.

after you’d just waited half an hour.

oh there was no way in hell.

with yet another huff you proceeded forward, arms crossed against your chest, staying just far enough so that the camera couldn’t see you.

“ellie?” you ask.

an absentminded “mhm.”

“you said ten minutes half an hour ago.”

finally, she goes to mute her mic, muttering a quick ‘i’ll be back’ to the chat and dina before turning to you. “i know, babe. i’ll be there soon i promi…”

she trails off when she finally looks at you—well, at some of you.

her eyes find their way to your underwear, thin and lacy and just barely peeking out from under her shirt, and never seem to make it back.

yeah that was waaaay too distracting.

you can’t help but smirk at her reaction. “yeah?”

“i-uh…” she sputters, “i just gotta finish the game, baby, okay?”

“there’re like three rounds left.” she mumbles.

all that talk and not once did she look away from your panties.

this was gonna be easier than you thought.

“alright, fine.” you say, tone uninterested, though you lean in instead of leaving.

and ellie can’t help but look at you.

“i was really hoping you could help me out,” you say softly as her eyes flicker up to meet yours.

you glance down once at her lips before returning, whispering. “but i guess i’ll just go take care of it myself.”

you can practically see the gears turning in ellie’s head, a light flush creeping on her face, as she weighed her options.

as if on cue, dina’s voice perked up. “williams, you there?”

you watch ellie look back at her monitor. then back to you.

you keep your face close as you nod toward her screen. “guess you should go get that, huh?”

“ellie, we’re about to start!”

all it takes is a bat of your eyelashes and she’s scrambling to find her phone.

“ah, fuck it.”

satisfied, you watch as ellie switched her mic back on. “sorry guys i gotta go.”

you can help but smirk.

didn’t even make it two minutes.

“wha-in the middle of the game?” dina’s voice comes up from the other end, confused.

“yeah, i-it, it’s kind of an emergency.”

you can’t help but giggle when you glimpse the ruckus in the chat.

ellieswetsock: bro wtfffff carrotcaker523: WHYS SHE SO RED?? elssmells: BROOOO everbb65: LMAOOO ELLIE everbb65: wtf is going on 😭😭

“what-ellie—?”

“okay, bye! see ya for minecraft tomorrow!”

“ellie?? minecraft is on wednesda—“ click.

and with that ellie’s pulling you to the bed, her computer behind her long forgotten, even as the multicolor usernames of her chat continued to flood in.

to your credit, you were right. ellie was in fact down fucking bad.

so down bad that one word from you and she forgot about anything else—including her stream that she forgot to end.

the messages came in faster as your voices faded in—faint, but recognizable nonetheless.

a small “fuck-” slips past you as ellie practically pushes you onto the bed, face flushed like she was the one who’d been waiting all night.

unfortunately for you, ellie’s chat is pretty familiar with what you sound like.

ellielvr: wtf was that ellieswetsock: holy shit is that y/n?? carrotcaker523: OMG Y/N elssmells: nah they fuckin everbb65: WTF Y/N???

completely oblivious, ellie slots her body between your legs, head in the crook of your neck as she peppered down a wet trail of kisses.

you couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected eagerness, though you’re tilting your head back to accommodate anyway.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want this as bad as she seemed to.

“ellie, what’s with you?” you ask with a smile, fingers finding her hair.

she just keeps her lips on you, muttering a muffled “your fault, babe.”

gayahhbtch: BABE?? ellieswetsock: AYO carrotcaker523: ELLIE elssmells: are those kisses 😭😭 everbb65: BABE??? WTF??

“walk in here with nothing on.” she mumbles against your skin. “fucking evil.”

her eager hands make their way to your thighs, your ass, and you can’t help but whine at how good it feels to finally feel her touch.

you giggle a little when her hands slip under your shirt, already moving to take it off of you.

—radiohead. her favorite.

“i thought you-fuck-liked this-mm, this shirt.”

“i like it better off.”

but maybe that didn’t matter right now.

“mmh, yeah?“ you hum. “prove it.”

and that’s exactly what she does.

her face is in your tits the second she gets your shirt off, cold fingers pinching at your already stiffened nipples, eliciting high, whiny moans from your lips.

gayahhbtch: AYO?!??? ellieswetsock: HELLO WHAT THE HELL carrotcaker523: ELLIE elssmells: ur streams still on !!! everbb65: THERES NO FUCKING WAY

at this point chat was going at light speed, messages moving in faster than any pair of human eyes could manage.

people were no doubt beginning to talk—tiktoks, tweets, clips of your slip up already starting to circulate.

within a few minutes everyone had seen them—including ellie’s friends who, unbeknownst to you, were desperately trying to contact her.

the first time her phone rings, she shoves it back in her pocket without a second thought, not even bothering to check the caller id.

not even bothering to keep her eyes anywhere but on you.

just going back to bury her face in you, hands hungrily cupping and squeezing the swell of your breast like she’s obsessed, leaving you to arch into her, head thrown back, mewling out her name in high whines.

the second time it rings you pull away—just a little though.

“do you wanna get that-“ you ask halfheartedly.

ellie doesn’t even bother looking up.

“mmh-no.” she murmurs against your skin.

“you-ah-sure? could be important-mmh-“

finally she pulls away, just enough to look up at you. the look in her eyes tells you she’s hungry, starving. whoever was calling would just have to wait.

“i thought you were all eager to get fucked tonight, huh?” she asks, voice low, hands still hard at work. “you sure you still want it?”

“ell-yea-fuck.”

“use your words, sweet girl. can do that f’me?”

gayahhbtch: ELLIE?!??? ellieswetsock: HOLY SHIT??? carrotcaker523: WHY IS SHE HOT THO elssmells: ELLI UR STREAM everbb65: someone clip this

she wanted nothing more than to have you feel her in you, fuck you so hard you’d realize how sorry she was for leaving you all alone when she could’ve been—ring!

ellie’s phone buzzes for the third time.

you give her a nudge, brows raised in a silent ‘go ahead.’

annoyed, she finally goes to answer it, cursing under her breath.

she accepts the call. “ohmygod what??”

“ellie! your stream is on!” dina’s panicked voice fills the room, and suddenly it’s completely silent.

ellie stops dead, turning slowly until the monitor comes into her view.

to her absolute horror, dina was right.

there it was; her screen lit up, your tangled bodies blurry in the facecam window, chat’s messages coming in faster than she could see them.

oh fuck.

fuck fuck fuck fuck.

ellie practically scrambles to her desk, screen going black as she shuts the stream off.

her fans watching are left with a frame off her hunched over her desk, wide-eyed and flushed with embarrassment, as she hurriedly searched for the off button.

yeah, you’d have to shut off your twitter notifications for the next few days.

you watch, hand over your mouth, as ellie makes her way back to you.

“holy shit…” you scoff in disbelief. “ellie… ellie?”

to your surprise, she doesn’t stop to sit and crashout, to pause and bury her head in her hands and worry about her very possible twitch ban.

oh no, instead she’s crawling back onto you as if nothing had happened.

as if thousands of people hadn’t just heard her promise to fuck you like she really meant it.

in a blink she’s back to rubbing at your sides, face buried in your neck, as her breath tickles your skin.

“wha-still??”

“baby, please, i need you so bad.”

there was a quiver in her voice, barely there, but it told you all you needed to know.

your hands find their way back to her hair as you stutter an approval. “oka-yeah, yeah-okay.”

before you know it she’s back fully on top of you, swollen lips on yours, desperate hands holding your face close.

you can’t help a gasp when she slots her knee between your legs.

the contact has you seeing stars.

“mhm, yeah i know.” she hums into your ear, “i know it feels good, baby.”

you whine when she reaches down to pull your underwear to the side, fingers just barely grazing your clit. “you’re soaking fucking wet.”

you expect her to tease, to work you up till you’re on the brink of tears. but she doesn’t.

instead, she’s plunging two ready fingers into your already sopping cunt without warning, getting off on the way you took her in oh so eagerly.

a steady wave of cries leave your lips with every plunge of her fingers, nice and deep.

“you did so good waiting for me.” she whispers, every one of your needy moans like music to her ears. “m’gonna make it up to you, promise.”

you whine when she suddenly pulls out just when you get used to the rhythm, leaving your pussy to check on nothing one more.

“ellie-“

“mhm, i know baby. just hold on.”

to your astonishment, she’s slipping off her boxers, fabric moving to reveal the strap beneath.

has she been wearing that the whole time?

“w-when did you—?”

a smirk makes its way onto her face when she sees the surprise on your face. “i told you i was ending soon, didn’t i?”

and with that’s she’s pulling your soaked panties to the side, lining herself up.

pleasure shoots through you when she finally pushes in, the stretch nothing short of delicious.

your hands instinctively fly up to wrap around her back, nails digging into skin.

“been wanting to fuck you all night.” you feel her breathe against you, hot and heavy, as she thrusts in, pace mind-numblingly steady. “just got-fuck-held up.”

ellie’s strap is like magic, taking away every thought in that pretty little head of yours till all you can do is whine out her name.

she moans like she can feel you pulsing around her, “fuckkkkk. so tight f’me.”

your fingers dig in so deep she’s sure they’re going to leave marks. not that she minds.

she loves seeing you like this—all fucked out and needy, pussy soaking wet, as your lips wrapped around the shape of her name on an endless loop.

“mmh-ellie—!”

“just take it, yeah?”

every whine, every fucked out cry, only spur her on further. she can feel you getting close, and she’s dead set on making good on her promise.

you’re moaning even louder when she picks up the pace, lips latched onto one nipple while a hand tends to the other.

the sensation is almost too much.

the pressure in your abdomen has been building steadily since she first fucked her fingers into you, and it was only a matter of time before you snapped.

“el-ellie—!” you cry out in warning.

“mhm,” she hummed, grip on your body grounding while you lost yourself, “cum for me, baby. i got you.”

a broken moan rips itself from your throat when you she pushes you over the edge.

you’re left arching off the bed, eyes rolling to the back of your head, as ellie fucks you through it.

“yeah, that’s it,” she groans, “take-ffuck-take it.” that little quiver back in her voice, like it’s all too much for her too.

her thrusts slow when your moans settle down, body resting on yours as she lets you pull her close to your chest, labored breaths beginning to even out.

you give a soft whine when she presses a soft kiss on your lips, pulling away as her hands return to grip your hips.

confused, you mumble. “wh-?”

“mhm?” she hums in response, eyes fixed on your entrance as she pulled out slow, causing you to gasp. “i promised i’d make it up to you, didn’t i?”

“yeah, but-“

“you don’t wanna go again?”

well, you didn’t say that.

she chuckles at your silence, “that’s what i thought.”

and suddenly she’s pulling your ankles to the edge of her bed, sinking down on her knees, strong hands pulling your legs apart.

“just sit back, baby.” she plants a kiss on your inner thigh.

“m’gonna make it up to you.”

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You had just finished a minor wound stitch-up, and were the only medic available, some ambush had happened that morning so most of the beds were occupied by soldiers—their cries carrying through the thin teal curtains protecting the rest of their dignity. You heard heavy footsteps before turning around in your chair.

When you did, Abby's blue eyes, almost squeezed together with pain, met yours as you sat up from where you were organizing supplies. Your pace is urgent as you walk to the mouth of the tent, your steady steps meeting her teetering ones. Your hand hovers behind her back out of instinct, and it felt like something was buzzing against your palm as you guide her through the wall of curtains towards an empty cot.

"Lay down. I'll be over in a second." You tell her, voice soft, and concern etched in your brow as you focus back on her shoulder. Abby uses one arm to adjust herself as she settles onto the cot, paper crinkling and folding easily around her body. You rush over to the nearest box of gloves, the blue latex snaps against skin as you tug them on while walking back over to where she is, taking your spot next to her.

Abby hisses when your hand meets her arm, latex against skin. Clinical, routine. But for some reason you feel more distressed at the sight in front of you. You have seen worse by a long shot, but can't help the concern forming in your stomach.

"What did you do exactly?" You ask as you begin assessing, wiping an alcohol swab along the scrapes littered down her arm—focusing mostly on the larger scratch which found itself on the tight skin overtop of her dislodged bone, the scrape was probably from impact. Her nostrils flare and her jaw clenches as the cold chemical brushes against her skin, but she speaks:

"I landed on a rock when I jumped out of the truck and fell over." Abby's voice is strained, her breathing shallow. You almost laugh at the thought of her, of all people, falling.

"Oh wow. Aren't you supposed to be the best of the best?" You tease as you finish cleaning her up. Abby's cheeks get rosy and she juts her jaw to the right, side eyeing you for a moment. The pause is short, just a second or two so she can come up with a rebuttal. "Shut up. I can make mistakes," is all she answers with.

You smile to yourself, a low laugh leaving as you stand up from the chair.

"Well it's definitely dislocated." You state, placing your hands on her bicep and getting a good grip on the tense muscles. Abby shifts uncomfortably, brows knit together as she frowns, lips parted.

For a moment, your faces are much too close for your liking. Far enough to still be professional, but close enough for you to feel the faintest flutter of your heart. Her breath brushes against your cheek while you position yourself. You notice how her nose has a small bump, right on the bridge. It's cute. Abby's eyes fall to your lips before flicking up to look at the stretched fabric you could call a ceiling.

"Just relax for me okay?" You tell her, your heart pounding harder than it should be. She looks far too vulnerable: eyes glossy, lashes damp, and freckled cheeks pink. Not like a someone who's known to be the top soldier. "It's gonna hurt. Just breathe." You pull the arm out and twist, the deep pop accompanied by a groan tells you the bone is back where it needs to be. Abby's discomfort is soon overtaken by relief, her face relaxing as a small smile grows.

"Thanks," she rolls her shoulder a couple of times while she sits up, her eyes trailing over you for a split second before she looks away. You pretend not to notice as your shoes squeak against concrete to grab a large bandage from the cabinet behind the cot. "You're going to have to be in a sling."

"Absolutely not, I feel fine. I can go back out." Her protest falls flat, you raise your eyebrows in response, "No, you need to keep it immobilized for at least three weeks if not six—"

"SIX weeks? I'm not doing that." She laughs in disbelief, and points to the mouth of the tent, "I need to be out there."

"You're doing it. Do you want it to get worse?" You ask as you begin folding the bandage in half, feeling the roughness of the fabric against the bottom of your chin as you hold it in place.

"No."

"Then you're keeping it in the sling, Anderson."

Abby's expression is less than reluctant, but she complies. You get her to sit on the side of the cot and reach around her neck to tie the bandage. Though not on purpose, your movements linger. A thumb brushing too slow along her neck, a hand resting a moment too long against her shoulder. Abby's eyes meet yours, again not the expression you would expect from someone like her. It looks almost… desperate. Her throat bobs as your tongue brushes your bottom lip, Abby's eyes follow the movement before she blinks rapidly and glances at your eyes.

"I'll keep it on for five days." She says as she tears her gaze away from yours, her face up to the ceiling, voice wavering the slightest bit.

"No. You're keeping it on for six weeks." Abby's brows knit together as she makes eye contact with you once more. "Two weeks," she insists, almost scrutinizing your decision with just a facial expression.

"Four."

"Three."

"Fine." You roll your eyes at her persistence, "but you come back to get cleared and I can change my mind at any time."

Her blonde braid swings over her shoulder as she starts sitting up again, she nods at the instruction, "Yeah, yeah. I got it, don't worry doc, I'll be responsible."

"And if you need anything I'm here most of the time. Or ask someone else if I'm not."

"You're awfully worried about me, aren't you." Abby's voice lowers. The accusation hangs in the air and makes your cheeks warm up.

"I'm just doing my job."

~~~

As the next several weeks pass, Abby ends up in the medical tent daily—whether it be from boredom or simply wanting to be around you—she never tells you why, she just trails behind you like a lost puppy. Sometimes she makes you check her shoulder, practically begging to be cleared as you assess her range of motion but when you inevitably do not, you almost want to because of the way she looks at you: eyes pleading and lips pouted ever so slightly.

"Come on, I've got people depending on me." Her complaints had been endless, she was too bored or needed to do something with her time. Today her choice in argument was her responsibilities.

"People are depending on you, yes, and if you fuck the arm up more then you let them down and then what? You sit around for the rest of your life?" You bite back, trying your best to give her a reality check without being too unprofessional, but her insistence was frustrating to say the least.

"Can you at least give me something to do in here?" She trails behind as you walk away, her complaints not stopping.

"Go organize the supply closet or something. I don't know Anderson."

Her face scrunches up when you call her by her last name, "No one really calls me that y'know."

"I'm calling you that. Go." You point to the supply closet, the door cracked open showing the mess of bandages and salves strewn about. She finished that in about forty-five minutes, then bugged you for another task.

When the three weeks are up, it's almost as though the life comes back to her eyes. You sit her down to do a final check on the shoulder, and as soon as you utter the words 'good to go' her face lights up. Abby's eyes are still heavy lidded, as usual, but you can see the blue better now. A sloppy grin adorns her face as she awkwardly assesses whether or not she should hug you. She opts for profuse thanks instead.

~~~

1 week later

Your alarm blares, breaking the peaceful silence that occupied the cool dim space you call your apartment. With a groan, you swing your legs out of bed, feet cold on the concrete as you grab your caddy and flip-flops to make your way to the showers. Your mind wanders as you walk down the vacant halls, the only sounds at this hour being the occasional squeak from a boot or hushed voices.

It had been a week since you cleared Abby for active duty, and you would be lying if you said you didn't miss having her around. You hadn't even seen her around the stadium, which is odd since usually you would have.

With your eyes stuck on the floor analyzing the way the concrete had various stains from age, you make your way to the showers. Was she hiding from you? You begin overthinking every interaction you had while she was healing, maybe you were too mean to her. You hadn't meant to… you just get like that sometimes. It had been annoying, Abby's persistence, but you did enjoy having her around so often, you had grown used to the routine. You already found her attractive before she came in, and three weeks of close proximity had feelings beginning to creep in. You tell yourself it was mostly concern, but even then you don't tend get that way unless you have some underlying relation or feelings towards the person.

You were almost convinced she may have felt similarly, there were those lingering glances even before she came in for her shoulder. Plus, you are almost certain you caught her checking you out, quite a few times, subtly before tearing her eyes off you and quickly going back to whatever she was doing with red ears. Your mind stops its spiral the moment you walk into someone, face meeting muscle. Your caddy, along with theirs, fall to the ground, shampoo and soaps strewn across the concrete.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." You sigh, squatting down to begin picking the items off the floor, not even caring who it is you bumped into, it's far too early to pay it any mind.

"You should watch where you're going, doc." Abby's voice is teasing once it finds you, and your heart stutters against your sternum. You look up to see that lazy grin on her face, your cheek finds itself between your teeth without a thought behind the motion. And of course she looks awake and chipper at this hour, so you can't help the soft laugh that leaves you. "You have way too much energy. It's 5am."

"Can't I just be happy to see you?" She asks, raising her brows, joining you to pick up the fallen items. Suddenly, every doubt in your mind was gone. She wouldn't have said something like that had she not felt similarly, right? You contemplate for a moment, mind going back to her absence you noticed this past week. Have you been avoiding me? That was much too desperate, so you settled for something casual:

"Where have you been?"

Abby's eyebrows pinch together, eyes flitting down your face. "I got assigned to the TV station for a week. I just got back last night, actually. But when I went to the med tent and you weren't there I had to get someone else to check my shoulder. They said it was fine though."

It's embarrassing honestly, the relief you feel at her admission. And it's embarrassing how fluttery your stomach is when she looks back up to your eyes. You feel your cheeks heat up, praying it doesn't show. "Yeah, I have Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays off usually. But that's good, the shoulder's probably doing well then."

Once the two of you have everything cleaned up, you walk side by side to the showers, it's moderately awkward, the silence bouncing off the walls and settling in your ears with a quiet ring. There's not much to talk about and you're far too tired to engage in any flirty conversation that requires more than two brain cells to rub together. You find your mind wandering again, this time more of a concern in regards to Abby's assignments. You probably could have mentioned something to Isaac, as you often did with severe injuries, but it was just a dislocated shoulder, it's not like she got stabbed in the gut. Plus, if word got around that a medic was trying to give someone special treatment rumours would fly. And Abby would probably kill you for limiting her. Right before the two of you are about to split and find a stall, you stop.

"Anderson, do you have an assignment today?"

"Yeah, 'course I do." She answers, the confusion evident in the way her forehead wrinkles.

"Which route are you taking?" You cross your arms, leaning against the old metal of an empty stall, which complains against your back.

"I dunno, I haven't really checked I just do what they tell me when I get there." Her voice is mellow, head tilted as she gives you a once over, "Why are you asking me this exactly?"

"I just don't want to have to fix your shoulder again." Hardly believable, but partially true. You kind of loved the proximity of her coming in, though you hated that it came with an injury. You cringe internally for even asking her about it in the first place, bracing yourself for her to tell you to mind your own business or something similar. Instead, a laugh fills the room.

"I make no promises, doc. I'll see ya later, I'm gonna be late." Abby lifts an arm, giving a small wave and disappears into the nearest stall.

~~~

The day goes by incredibly slowly, only stitches and minor injuries. Nothing exciting, a couple sprained ankles and one shattered femur would be all to note. Soldiers filter in and out as the sun makes its journey across the sky, and as it begins to set you find yourself organizing bandages in a cabinet, knees whining as they support your weight in a crouch. Your shift is finally almost finished, thank God. You would kill for anything exciting to come in right now. Your silent organizing is broken when Nora finds you,

"Hey, Abby's looking for you." She informs you before heading over to a basin, you frown. Abby shouldn't be needing medical attention unless something happened out there.

"Why? Is she good?" You stand up from the uncomfortable position, knees tight so you wobble slightly.

"I think so? She said she just needs you to check something I don't know what. Probably her shoulder." Nora shrugs and starts to wash her hands. "She's in the first bed on the left."

You make your way down to where she's sat, pulling the teal curtain back to find her looking the exact same as this morning, except a few cuts here and there. You notice the shift in her expression from bored to almost giddy when she sees you enter the confines of the curtain.

"Is it your shoulder?" You ask with a sigh, if it is you'll be a bit peeved, she kind of freaked you out for a moment. You pull on a pair of gloves, getting deja vu at the similarities of the current moment compared to the day you two had met officially.

"Oh so happy to see me, rough day?" Abby grins, sarcasm flowing easily. She holds her arm out, the one with the most cuts. Not a single one of them is more than a couple inches deep, nothing needs stitching. You ignore the comment, mild irritation making you forget about your crush for the moment being.

"What am I looking at exactly?" You squint, trying to see if there's something you're missing. Maybe some glass shards? Rocks lodged a bit deeper than what you can see standing? You take a seat on the stool beside the bed, scooting closer and see nothing inside the cuts.

"I just don't want them to get infected." Abby states simply, like it was completely normal for someone like her to be concerned about minor scrapes.

"You came in asking for me so I could check a couple scratches…" You raise your brows, fighting back a smile. It's a bit pathetic of her, but it's also cute in a way. Maybe she's a hypochondriac and you never noticed.

"Are you refusing a patient?" She juts her arm at you, "I'm pretty beat up, doc."

Is this her way of flirting with you? It can't be, maybe you're just wanting to confirm your own feelings. You reluctantly take her arm in your hands.

"These are only a couple inches deep, Anderson." You open an alcohol pad and wipe everything down, the chemical leaving a thin sheen on the skin.

"Yeah but you know, I just want to be safe."

You nod, fair enough. Some people do come in for the same reason, though they're often younger soldiers who have just started out and aren't used to what comes with the job. It only takes about ten minutes, but once you get her fully disinfected you send her on her way. You finish your shift thinking that it was a one off. Maybe she was a bit anxious that day. You brush it off as your feet carry you back to your apartment. It had to have been a one time thing.

But she comes in again the next day. Just as your shift starts. You're stood right by the sinks, and see her talking with another medic, Holly, an older redhead you're somewhat close with, who looks at her watch and then points your way before pointing to an empty bed. You start rinsing your hands under warm water, and Holly approaches the basin.

"Abby's in for you? She's in the third bed on the left. Not urgent. Something about her shoulder."

You thank her, warm suds on your hands as you scrub away the morning. Once you finish cleaning up you head over to the cot.

"Holly said your shoulder's bugging you?" You ask Abby, noticing the way she sits. Legs slightly apart. Confident, but not like the people who sit with their legs spread and take up half the seating space.

"Yeah I dunno it's just really tense. I woke up and it was killing me." She sighs, rubbing her trapezius.

"That makes sense, the tissues are still healing and the muscles around it were stretched past what they can support." You stay standing, and make your way across the cot, behind her to see her shoulder better. "Take your shirt off."

"What?" Abby's eyes widen in surprise, and she wets her bottom lip.

"I need your shirt off to see how the shoulder's looking."

"Oh right." She pulls off the fabric, placing it next to her. You immediately notice her back, appreciating the way it's not exactly ripped per se, but still sculpted and incredibly attractive. You suck in a breath to keep it together. Abby's shoulder looks perfectly normal, no deep purple or yellow decorating her skin. You prod at the muscles around the shoulder to see if there's a tear, to which again, you find completely normal: no gaps where they shouldn't be, and she doesn't wince at all, so no pain to the touch.

"It's not incredibly painful? Just tight?" You confirm, otherwise you might need to do more tests.

Abby nods. "Yeah it's just sore as fuck."

"Okay." You walk back in front of her and try to keep your mind professional as she sits in front of you in just a sports bra, "You can put your shirt back on."

She pulls it over her head, waiting for your solution. There's a bit of chaos outside the tent: voices yelling, cries and groans, metal clashing. It draws your attention away, you peek out of the curtain and see burnt soldiers being carried in. You look back at Abby,

"I would offer you a massage but they're gonna need my help out there." You tell her, and you see her freckled cheeks turn the slightest bit pink. You smile, she probably came in here hoping for one. "Other than that just apply heat, warm compresses, take a little extra time in the shower with warm water on the shoulder. That kind of thing."

"Yes sounds good to me," Abby nods, craning her neck to stretch out the muscle, letting out a sigh. She stands up, the two of you now very close together. You hadn't realized how tiny the space was between the curtain and the cot. Both you and Abby attempt to leave at the same time, awkwardly squeezed together. You end up staring at her lips for a bit longer than needed, and feel the tiniest bit of pressure between your legs. How unprofessional. You look up to her eyes to get rid of the feeling, but it gets worse under her intense gaze which roams between your eyes and lips.

"You go first, you're the doctor," she offers, resting a hand on your upper back, ushering you as you step out into the chaos of the medical tent. The screams leave you no time to decipher the interaction that just happened.

After a very eventful rest of your shift, you and Holly decide to go to the mess hall together and grab dinner. After you exchange the techniques you used on the soldiers, the conversation flows into talking about personal life. You ask about her kids, and she answers, telling you about how they're doing in classes and such. There's a comfortable silence for a few moments as you drink some water, the coolness against your lips much needed after today. Holly breaks the silence with a question you are not expecting:

"How long have you and Abby been a thing?"

You swallow the water quickly, before you get the chance to spit it out, "What are you talking about?" You ask, almost laughing in disbelief.

Holly shrugs, "I mean you guys kind of seemed like a couple today? She had her hand on your back after you saw her. And she sort of looked at your butt when you walked away."

"Oh. Well I didn't know that last part. The hand thing was probably just a friendly get to work type thing. And we're not seeing each other. She's just paranoid about her shoulder or something."

You spent the rest of your night replaying the entire interaction in your head on repeat, dissecting each moment and looking at it through a microscope. Maybe Abby did share some kind of feelings, it was obvious enough that she found you somewhat attractive.

A few days pass without incidents in the Abby department, so you figure she was probably just having a bit of a rough start to the week, that is until Thursday. You're in the middle of doing labs for a kid with strep throat, processing a swab in solution when Nora taps you on the shoulder.

"What's up?"

"It's Abby again, I can take over this for you." Nora offers, pointing to the one closed curtain, and you smile to yourself. Of course she's back. "Okay thanks, I'll go check her out."

You push the curtain to the side with a swish, "Is your shoulder still bugging you?" The metal hooks on the curtain scratch and whine as you close it back around you two.

"My shoulder's okay. I have a scratch I need you to look at." Abby pulls her grey shirt up ever so slightly, revealing a cut barely deeper than the other day, maybe 5 inches long. It's deep enough for butterfly bandages, but not stitches. Again, sort of within reason to come in, but out of character. Maybe she's lacking a medkit. There's a soft gleam of sweat along her abdomen, which is similar to her back in the sense that it's got muscle, but not the lean kind. And you love it. You lick your lips before you realize you've been staring at her stomach for a bit longer than you should.

"This really just needs a few butterfly bandages, Anderson." You state—trying to play off the staring as analysis with a frown of your brow— and you do the now solidified routine of pulling on a pair of gloves and grabbing supplies. Abby ignores your statement, only focusing on one thing:

"Didn't I tell you to stop calling me that?" She asks, tucking her shirt under her bra and leaning back on her forearms with her neck falling back. The movement so casual yet confident. It's almost like she knows what's getting a rise out of you.

"No, you told me nobody calls you that." You tell her as you begin disinfecting the cut. She just nods and grimaces as you swipe the swab along the angry red intrusion. You begin applying the bandages, pulling the skin together with the tabs. You notice the faded scars all along her stomach and your mind wanders, wondering what it would be like to trace them or even just touch them without gloves on.

"Did you not have a medkit with you or something?" You ask trying to distract yourself, a relevant question since realistically this is something she should be able to deal with herself. Abby feigns casualness, "Uh, yeah. I just didn't grab it before I went out today."

“Y'know, if you’re so concerned about these scrapes getting infected, I can send you home with a little bottle of disinfectant.” You offer, finishing up the bandaging. Abby frowns at the suggestion, “Don’t you guys need it?”

“It’s really no big deal, you're coming in for it anyways." You're not too sure why you're insisting—especially now that you've realized she's only coming in for the most minor injuries you've seen in your entire five years of practice—you really don't mind her coming in and 'needing' to see you.

She shakes her head, "Don't worry about it, sweetheart, I can do without." Your heart stutters, and you breathe out of your nose quick. Abby had to have noticed your reaction because she's sat back up, shirt still tucked up with a knowing glint in her eye. You try to redirect, keeping calm.

"If you ever change your mind about it let me know and I'll send you home with a bottle." Abby just nods at this, and heads out with a soft farewell. The rest of your day is slow again, recovery check-ins for the burn victims from a few days prior, which leaves you plenty of time to ruminate about everything.

~~~

Over the next month the two fo you began flirting much more, each day things got more evident than the last. Touches lingered for longer from both of you, laughs were shared more often, teasing exchanged. It was fun even if nothing was coming from it. She still came in more often than any other soldier, to the point where other medics began to notice, whispering among themselves. Most of them figured she was just having a hard time recovering from the shoulder injury, which wasn't unheard of. There's a Thursday which was quite gloomy, rain cascading down the sides of the stadium and pattering against concrete. Days like this were often your favourites. Not only does the earth smell fresh again, revitalizing you after a period of extreme sun, but tons of people end up coming in for cuts, having fallen or slipped, plus people get sloppy and come in with arrows or bullets embedded in them. You’re almost finished stitching an older fellow up when you feel a tap on your shoulder and a familiar voice:

“I need you to check something for me,”

“Anderson?” You stop your stitches for a split second, twisting your neck to see Abby stood behind you.

“Yeah.”

"Please tell me you didn't fall again." You gripe and go back to stitching.

She scoffs at this, "That was a one time thing. I have a cut."

“Yeah I can see that, find an empty cot and keep the curtain open. I’ll be over in a minute.” You can hear the heavy step of her boots and a curtain opening accompanied by the groan of a cot. Once you finish up the stitching, you walk over to where she’s sat.

“You really like being in this tent, huh babe." You inquire, the pet name spills out of your mouth without a second thought as you close the thin teal curtain around you. You notice Abby's cheeks heat up, "Do you call all of your patients babe, or just me?"

"I call everyone that" —a lie — "force of habit." You take a seat, Abby purses her lips. "Damn, had me thinking I was special." With a soft smile, you change the subject.

"What brought you in this time? Is it your jaw?" You've started to notice where each scar on her body has a home, the cut on her jaw—the most minor cut you've seen in your entire career—is the only new intrusion on her skin.

She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, "Yeah, I got a knife to it. I think it was rusty. And well this one's…” She lifts her top, revealing a nasty gash on her lower ribs, pretty deep, still not enough to be stitched up, it could probably just be glued shut. Your eyes light up at the sight, "Finally you bring me something decent."

Abby snorts, "Love to see that my suffering brings you pleasure, sadist."

You roll your eyes, and rip open a pack of alcohol wipes "You're not suffering. if you were suffering you wouldn't be talking to me, you'd be all whiny like you were with your shoulder."

"I was not whiny." She winces while you disinfect the cut. That's another thing you have noticed, some days she winces when you clean the wounds, other days she has little to no reaction.

"You were totally whiny, I'm not complaining though." You bite your lip and she meets your eyes, lips parted for a moment as her ears turn pink. She changes the subject.

"It's pretty bad right?" She asks you, brows furrowed together with that same look in her eyes as the day she came in for her shoulder.

“This one’s still not deep enough for stitches, Anderson.” You grab a tube of adhesive, fingers dancing along her ribs. You place a dab of the glue in the cleaned cut, gently pinching the skin together, repeating this a few times, and ignoring how her abs twitch under your touch.

“There we go, you're done.” You say softly. You're still looking at her abdomen, noticing all the small scars littered over her skin, you have a rush of blood to your face as you think of running your tongue along them.

“Thanks and my jaw too, don't forget. The knife was rusty, I could get tetanus."

You shake your head. "When did you last get a tetanus shot?"

"I dunno a while back. I think I was sixteen."

“Tetanus shots last ten years. You should be okay.” You pull on a fresh pair of gloves and a grab a swab. You hold her neck, nudging her chin upwards with your thumb. Abby's breathing staggers and she looks from your lips to your eyes while your brow furrows in concentration. Your eyes flick up and meet hers; she winces when the swab meets her skin, breaking the intensity of the eye contact. Her jaw clenches.

“Just relax, Anderson.”

“Kinda hard to do that with such a pretty doctor above me.” The comment makes your stomach flip. She thinks you're pretty. You look up to the ceiling and take a breath before pulling yourself together, and when you look back down, you find her with a small smile as she looks at you. Your hand has stayed holding her neck this whole time, which you now peel away slowly. "How bad is it?" Abby asks, her breathing leveling out.

“It’s a surface level cut, so it should scab over in the next day or so, I wouldn't worry about it.”

You hold your hand out, helping her up from the cot and you lead her out to the mouth of the tent, where she thanks you as she always does and lets the rainwater and mist overtake her. It's not until Holly gives you a knowing look that you realize you held Abby's hand until she left the tent. The rest of your day is more boring than you had expected, only minor stitches like those you had done this morning.

~~~

The following day was your day off. Your body relishes the extra few hours of sleep you get in the morning, and you can tell by the way you wake up without your eyes screeching at you. At 9am, you head down to the mess hall for a bite to it. It's pretty packed for the hour, the crowd's individual conversations melding into one loud cacophony as you line up. A few of the people around you make pleasant conversation, talking about weather patterns or what they saw out on patrol the night before. Once you have your tray in hand, you scan the tables, finding Nora at your usual spot, by herself, presumably having just finished a night shift based on the circles cradling her eyes. She looks up as you approach, smiling.

"Hey,"

“Hey, just got off an overnight?” You ask sliding your tray onto the table. Nora nods, taking a spoonful of her wilted fruit. You look down at your own tray, prodding the oxidized apples in your porridge.

“Did you get anything good?”

“Oh I had to take an arrow out of an abdomen, that was fun.” Nora smiles, you love your conversations with her. You can be enthralled by injury without her acting like you were crazy for it. You can't even help the jealousy bubbling since you haven't had to take a weapon out of a body in ages.

“Ugh lucky. Maybe I should switch to nights, it's when all the good stuff happens. Y'know, all I've had of note the past week is a broken foot and Anderson coming in for tiny ass scratches.” Nora looks up from her food, cocking an eyebrow, 

“Abby’s getting you to check her for scratches?” She scoffs, as if she didn't believe you. The reaction makes you bite back a smile. Abby must have been coming in specifically to see you if someone this close to her was shocked.

“Yeah, is she like a hypochondriac or something?” You ask, testing your first theory,

“Are you kidding? She's the furthest from it. Manny practically begged her to come in for that shoulder.” 

You hum, nodding and thirsty for more details. “So why the hell is she coming in so much?”

“Well she told me you were making her come in because of the shoulder. To check and make sure everything was okay since she’s out of the sling earlier than most. That's why I always get you when she comes in. She asks for you.” Nora's eyes narrow as she ponders.

“I mean, I double check with her when she comes in, but she’s coming in out of her own volition for the most part.”

Nora shakes her head, "I know for a fact she has a medkit with her at all times. I drilled that into her years back. So she definitely shouldn't need a medic tending to cuts."

You finish eating quite quick, spending the rest of your day reading and drawing. The only thing that conversation with Nora does is confirm the growing suspicion you have that Abby keeps coming in to see you simply to spend time with you, or maybe she even liked it when you touched her. That wouldn't be an unreasonable assumption, you have been noticing the way she tenses or relaxes when you touch certain parts of her, even if it's clinical.

~~~

It had been a fair amount of time since you popped into the gym, so that night you decide to swing by. You pull your hair up and rustle through a bin to find shorts and a t-shirt. After a quick snack down in the mess hall, you head out to the gym. As usual, when you walk around the stadium, you find yourself praying to see Abby in some setting other than the medical tent. You crank open the heavy steel doors of the gym, which was completely barren since most people were busy eating. The dim white lights flicker and buzz, quiet music drifts out from the busted up CD player in the corner. You can feel yourself already sweating upon entry, so you decide to pull your t-shirt off, the fabric smacking against the wall when it's thrown to the side. After setting down your water bottle with the crumpled fabric, you make your way over to a squat rack.

The air in the gym is muggy while being cold in the same way most of the rooms with concrete were, and there's a lingering smell of vinegar. The rough texture of the barbell digs into your neck as you take a step back and start your set, knees bending and chest up. You try your best to regulate your breathing as your glutes and quads begin burning. While you're in the middle of your last set, the door gets opened with ease. You hear her before you see her.

“Looks good, don't let your chin dip though, sweetheart." Abby's voice echoes off the cement walls, her tone relaxed. Your knees wobble, even if the name wasn't new, she'd been calling you this for weeks now. You can hear her footsteps coming closer, and then she's in front of you. She stands there, in a muscle shirt and a simple pair of sweatpants, biceps showing off as she places a hand on her hip. You pause your movements.

"Don't stop," she tells you, "make sure you're engaging your core." She takes a step closer as you continue squatting, fighting back the hurge to make noise.

"Can I help? With the form?" You just nod, teeth gritted as your muscles complain under the weight resting on your back. Abby makes her way behind you, close enough that you can feel her breath fanning across your neck. Her calloused hands are warm when they slide up your sides, changing your positioning with ease.

"Like this, and keep your belly pulled back." She corrects, still spotting you as you continue with the improved form, "That's better, atta girl."

The praise shoots straight down to your core, the pressure that had already been growing since her hands touched you was almost impossible to ignore now. Has it seriously been that long since you had sex that something as simple as this could get you going? Or was it just because it's Abby?

"Don't do that while I'm squatting!" You laugh and re-rack the bar, not even having finished your set fully, too unfocused but the growing need between your legs. Abby takes a step forward, cocking her head. "Do what? Give you pointers?"

You sigh, shaking your head and waving her off, "No. Never mind. Do your set."

You take a step back from the rack to go grab a couple dumbbells, and Abby begins to walk away.

“Where are you going? Don't you need to do your set?" You ask her, confused.

"Oh I'm not hitting legs, I need a bench." She says as she drags one over with ease and sets it down, the peeling leather dull from years of use makes a stiff sound as she sits down on it. You just hum in acknowledgement and head over to grab a couple dumbbells.

The two of you spent the better half of an hour making eye contact with the other's lips as you quipped, the rest of the time spent less-than subtly admiring the other's body. Abby pushed you quite hard, insisting you could add 10 more pounds for each set, then inevitably helping you finish the last few reps once you could barely lift. As soon as the barbells are empty and set on the rack, you both grab your belongings and head out of the gym. Abby holds the door open for you, and you both walk down the corridor heading to the apartments. Your footsteps are lazy, legs already sore from being pushed so hard. Your apartment is closer and on the way to hers, so she drops you off at your door. Your key turns with a gentle pop, and you're just about to close the door behind you when Abby speaks:

"Hey are you coming to Manny's party tomorrow night?" She rests her forearm against the doorframe and leans against it. Her top rides up exposing her abs, which have the tiniest pump from her workout. Your eyes trail down her torso, and you pause, shaking your head as you tear your eyes away, "I haven't been invited, so no I don't plan on it."

Abby smiles, head bobbing to the side, "This is me inviting you."

"Okay then," you chuckle, "where is it exactly?"

"Manny managed to talk his way into blocking off a section of the mess hall, somewhere along the east side." She gestures vaguely behind her, "it starts around 8:30 but I'll be there around 9:45 if you want to swing by."

"Great, I'll see you tomorrow then."

 ~~~

The first thing you noticed when you walked into the party is the sheer amount of people, the second thing? Abby was nowhere in sight. And you're good at finding her in a crowd. You feel so awkward, this entire party was just soldiers—plus Nora and Mel—but they have their whole friend group consisting of soldiers. You make your way further inside, dancing for a bit, and then you end up pouring someone's nasty homemade beer in your cup, it's got some lingering taste that's too similar to bread soaked in rubbing alcohol for your liking, but you still drink it. At least you're relaxed now, socializing as you dance with a light buzz after having downed the beer quickly. You see Manny in the corner of your eye, with some girl dancing on him. Of course. You decide to approach, giving him a tap on his shoulder. When he turns around to see it's you he greets you with a big grin—definitely drunk already, you two hardly interact.

"Hey! You lookin' for Abs?" He was right, but why was that his first association when you'd know Nora for longer? Manny must have seen the perplexed expression on your face;

"She told me she invited you. I think she's around here somewhere." Manny starts scanning the room. The girl that was dancing on him whispers something in his ear that makes his ears turn pink and walks off. He quickly points over to one of the pool tables, "There."

You see her now, laughing with a few others around the table, giving a clap when someone got a ball in. You thank him before pushing your way through the sea of people while the bass vibrates the ground. You observe Abby for a minute, as you stand by another table covered in drinks. Your heart pounds, for whatever reason your nerves are acting up as if the girl wasn't essentially feeling you up in the gym last night. You decide to take a shot of some mystery liquor, probably moonshine whipped up in someone's kitchen. It's harsh, scraping against your tongue and burning your throat before making its way down to your stomach. You sputter, almost gagging, and crack open a can of pop to wash it down.

Abby sees you first, while you're wiping your chin in a manner several levels below graceful. You feel embarrassment flood your cheeks as her eyes almost burn through you. She excuses herself from the game without even giving the other players a second look. Hot yes, but did she have to stare at you while your eyes watered from the shot? You're far from being composed when she reaches you.

"Glad you could make it, sweetheart." She drawls, resting her hip against the table and grabbing a beer for herself. Abby had to have been drunk to some degree, as she checked you out in the least subtle manner to date. You bite your lip, cocking your head sideways. "Real subtle with that one, Abby."

Abby's brows raise, and you could swear you see her cheeks flush. "You're using my name."

You give her a shrug, "I feel like it. I'm not in a professional setting."

"You've called me babe in a professional setting."

"I already told you I call everyone that." You insist, feeling a bit of a buzz from the shot you had taken moments before. "And I've seen you around enough people to know that you're lying out of your ass." She counters, taking a small step to close the distance between you. You lick your bottom lip, unsure of what to say to that, so you just laugh quietly. You could feel the alcohol more now, your confidence growing. You decide to take a risk.

"Come with me. I want to talk to you." You loop a finger in her belt loop, tugging her forward as you wind out of the area. Abby follows you willingly until you two are in a short corridor leading out to old stadium seats.

You sit on the stairs, the coolness quelling your buzzing nerves even if Abby was still standing above you. She leans against the wall and looks out to the rest of the stadium. The night had settled peacefully over everything; the fields below quiet, the farm animals asleep as the stars shone down. The only noise was the thumping music and overlapping conversations that came from behind you. You reach into your back pocket, grabbing the lighter and cigarette holder you had shoved into it before leaving your apartment.

"You smoke?" Abby's brows raise in surprise as she watches you pull a cigarette out, and light it.

"Only when I'm drunk," You defend the habit, taking a drag before offering it to her. Your fingers brushed as she took it, and you almost cough out the smoke as she finds her place in the spot next to you. You were close enough to have your knees brushing. Abby took a couple drags, then rested her freckled arms against her knees, handing the cigarette back to you, letting you finish the rest.

"These things can kill you, ya know," she smirks at you, and you can tell she was a bit nervous because she pursed her lips before speaking. You let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah Abby, I know."

She turns to you fully, freckles illuminated by the pale light of the moon. "What exactly needs to be said out here that can't be said inside?" Abby's voice was softer now, almost treading cautiously. There's a small amount of hope in her tone. You take a moment to finish your cigarette before answering.

"I know you like me, Abby." Your voice bordering on accusation as you blow the smoke out, flicking the ashes off the butt before stomping it out. You're not quite sure what had just taken over you, making you say something with no build up—probably the liquor—but you're not displeased with where it could lead you tonight. She flashes you a knowing smile, and an awkward laugh leaves her. "Oh wow. Just getting straight to the point aren't we?"

"Well you haven't left much up for me to interpret, have you? Checking me out while I'm working…" You shift your weight to face her fully, leaning forward as a smirk made it's way on your face.

She leans in as well, eyes tracing down your body, then your face. "You noticed that, huh?"

"I'd be stupid not to." You look at her eyes, then her lips, then her eyes again. Her pupils are blown wide. She looks hungry, desperate even.

"Don't act like you haven't been flirting for months either." Abby's nose brushes yours as she speaks in a low tone. You trace a finger along her forearm before letting your palm rest by her elbow. "Well, are we going to keep dancing around it or are we going to do something about it?"

Abby's lips part, a shaky breath leaving her as she makes the decision. You both pause, lips barely making contact. She closes the distance first, her hands finding your waist immediately, yours holding her biceps and pulling her closer. Her lips are soft against yours, and the kiss is hungry even without introducing tongue. You pull back for a moment, just to look at her face, which is already blissed out. Abby's hand flies up to the nape of your neck and pulls you in again, this time her kisses are more hungry. She licks the seam of your lips, and you part them for her, letting your tongues dance together. And good lord, if this is what she kisses like, you'll get exorcised when she goes down on you. You feel heat pooling between your thighs and you whine into her mouth. She pulls back ever so slightly, murmuring against you:

"Straddle me," so you climb on top of her, pushing your hair to the side and kiss her again.

This time, she's the one who makes noise when your tongue rolls against hers, hands flying down to grab your ass and grind you down on her. Your hands are everywhere; running up her stomach, down her arms, holding her neck. The neck is what makes her lose it, hungry sounds falling from her when you tilt her head up. You keep rolling your hips against her, and you're not sure how long the two of you stay out there, but it's long enough for you to begin feeling like ripping her clothes off and fucking her on the stairs sounds like a good idea. You pull back, "We should go back inside."

"Your place or mine?"

tags: @hopehelykazuha @krisziestmblr @thatredheadloserlesbian

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part 2 w smut should be out soon and the whole fic will get posted to ao3 once that's done!

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.