#bbf!ellie

mr. brooks clears his throat.

“alright, students. group projects. DNA replication and genetic variation. pages 94 through 99. picked your partners for you.”

groans ripple across the room. you roll your eyes, zoning out as he goes on to list random pairs of students in the class… “david and rebecca, ashley and karen, adrian and braxton, becky and jared-“ then suddenly.

“y/n and… ellie.”

you look up from your manicured hands in your lap instantly, silence. you make a disgusted look. brows furrowed, lips pouted.

but ellie? she jerks in her seat like someone pulled a string in her back. her eyes snap up and lock on you, wide behind her crooked-ass glasses. her whole face goes red—forehead, ears, even her damn neck. she freezes. then immediately starts fumbling with her the spirals on her notebook, like she thinks if she looks busy enough, maybe you’ll ignore her.

you don’t.

you sigh heavily as you take your time walking over, swinging your hips just enough to make two boys whisper. you drop your bag next to her desk. she looks at it like it’s a bomb.

you sit down.

“so,” you say, voice flat, bored, already annoyed. “you gonna write the whole thing or just f*ck yourself to it?”

she chokes. like physically chokes, hand flying to her chest, eyes bugging out. she tries to answer, fails, tries again, and somehow makes it worse.

“i—i don’t—i wasn’t—f*ck mysel-?—no—what—”

you stare. blow a bubble. let it pop, then giggle in her face.

her face is ruined. her mouth opens and closes like a fish. she looks like she wants to die. and then crawl under the desk. and then die again.

you lean in, just a little, enough for your perfume to hit her nose.

“i still remember that sketchbook from last week by the way.”

ellie flinches.

“i wasn’t—you know.. it’s for anatomy,” she blurts, which makes no sense, and she knows it. “not like, your—i didn’t mean your anatomy, just—like—the concept of anatomy, which, like, technically—f*ck—”

you tilt your head.

ellie covers her face with her hands and groans, long and low, like she’s in pain.

“do you touch yourself to those with your hoodie on, or do you take it off to set the mood?”

“please,” she whispers. “please shut up.”

you giggle again, soft and wicked.

adrian—your adrian—is three rows in front of y’all, hearing the whole thing. you haven’t even acknowledged him since class started either.

ellie peeks through her fingers. she’s twitchy. sweaty. miserable. and when you pull your chair closer, she damn near leaps out of her skin.

“we’re gonna get an A,” you hum, dragging her open textbook toward you. “you’re gonna do all the work. and you’re gonna keep your nasty little sketchbook zipped up tight.”

she nods. small. frail.

“say ‘yes, ma’am.’”

“…yes, ma’am.”

you smile. pop another bubble.

this is gonna be fun.

ellie keeps her eyes locked on the textbook. she hasn’t spoken in five minutes. not since the “yes, ma’am.” her handwriting’s shaking. her cheeks are red. her hoodie sleeves are halfway over her fingers again, clenched tight like she’s praying.

you lean back in your seat, legs spread just a little wider, flipping your hair over your shoulder. her eyes flicker for a second—just a second—to the inside of your thigh under the desk.

you catch it.

“are you even paying attention?” you ask, fake sweet. “or are you too busy trying not to cum in your boxers?”

her pencil snaps in half.

“i’m—i’m paying attention,” she mumbles, head down, the tips of her ears red like she’s been slapped. “mitosis. cell cycle. S-phase. DNA replication. i—i know it.”

you hum. press your knee against hers under the desk. she jerks back like she’s been shocked. you look down at her shaky hand on the table. long, twitchy fingers. drum and guitar callused.

slowly, you reach out. grab her wrist. guide it down.

“wh—what are you—” she tries to pull away, but she’s weak. pathetic. you’re stronger. meaner. so much prettier. you press her hand against your bare thigh, just above the hem of your skirt. warm skin. smooth. soft.

she stops breathing.

“f*ck,” she whispers, wide-eyed, voice cracking. “you—you can’t—i’ll f*cking—”

you don’t let go.

“don’t be a p*ssy,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded. “it’s just a little skin, right? nothing you haven’t seen in your nasty little sketches.”

her fingers twitch.

you push her hand higher. just a little.

the edge of your thong peeks out. she squeezes her eyes shut, like she can block it out. but her fingers stay.

shaking. burning. gripping your thigh like it’s keeping her alive. ellie whimpers.

you smile, slow and wicked and keep her hand right where it is. she doesn’t move at first.

your fingers are still around her wrist, soft but firm, like a leash she doesn’t want to escape. her palm is pressed flat to your thigh, skin burning hot, nails barely grazing you. you’re looking ahead like nothing’s happening. like you’re so fucking bored. like her hand being between your legs is just part of your routine.

ellie’s brain? completely fried. ‘f*ck. f*ck. f*ck’ she thought.

she doesn’t know where to look. her eyes are flicking between the worksheet and your lip gloss and your thigh and the window and the corner of the floor like any of it will help her not lose it.

her face is flushed. her mouth’s dry. her hoodie’s too hot and her fingers are twitching because all she can think about is—

‘she’s soft. she’s so soft. i can’t—f*ck—i can’t.’

you’re right next to her. in the flesh. warm. sighing softly. looking down, pencil in hand while pretending to read the textbook like her hand isn’t right there.

and now?

her fingers start to move.

slow. slight. like she doesn’t even realize at first. like muscle memory. like her horniness has taken over completely.

she slides the tips up, just a little.

then down.

tiny little strokes. featherlight. testing you. seeing what she can get away with.

you shift in your seat.

press your legs together.

you don’t look at her. but you don’t stop her either.

so she keeps going.

and her heart is slamming in her chest.

she’s so wet in her boxers, her clit becoming a rapid beating second heartbeat to the point it’s actually painful. ellie thinks she might cum just from this.

her fingers dip slightly beneath the curve of your thigh. under the edge of your thong. just barely.

her breath stutters.

you’re wet. not soaked. not dripping. just warm and soft and slightly damp and f*ckf*ck—

she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning. her forehead hits the desk. just for a second. to ground herself.

you look at her finally. say nothing. just smirk. and she knows you know exactly what you’re doing.

she doesn’t say a word. she just keeps stroking.

slow, pathetic, desperate.

and no one can see a thing.

yet, her fingers go still when she feels it. the way your c*nt clenches as she pushes past the edge of your soaked thong.

how easy it is to slip in.

how tight you are. how f*cking warm you are.

like you’ve been waiting.

ellie lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding—shaky, low—and stares at your face like it’s the only thing that matters.

you’re still looking at your notes. like this is nothing.

like her fingers aren’t buried inside you right now, moving slow, dragging against that soft spot she’s imagined so many times her body could do it with her eyes closed.

and it kinda is.

her fingers start working in that perfect rhythm she’s practiced—on herself, in the dark, in the shower, during her breakdowns after seeing you in a mini skirt.

she curls them just right.

presses deep.

slides out slick and slow, then back in, faster.

you twitch.

your thighs shift.

but you don’t look at her.

and that’s what makes her lose it.

“f*ck,” she whispers. her head is down, lips barely moving. “you’re gonna make me cum in my f*ckin’ boxers, sh*t.”

you don’t flinch. you just turn the page in the textbook, lip caught between your teeth.

ellie’s eyes flicker to your mouth.

her fingers thrust deeper. faster. the sound is obscene but muffled by the low hum of the class, the hum of the lights, the buzz of old ac.

“this p*ssy’s so f*ckin’ warm,” she whispers, voice cracked. “you’re gonna—geez—you’re gonna ruin me.”

you pulse around her. her legs shake.

she’s gritting her teeth. trying not to grunt. trying not to moan.

“can’t believe i get to finger you in bio,” she breathes, nose brushing your shoulder. “you’re so mean to me—so f*ckin’ mean—and you’re so wet. you like this? letting the loser do this to you?”

your pencil scratches across the paper like nothing’s happening.

you’re breathing harder now. lips parted. eyes still down.

but your hips start moving—tiny little rocks forward against her fingers—and that’s when ellie knows you’re close.

she curves them deep, presses her palm against your clit, and starts pumping harder.

you clamp your thighs.

grip the edge of your worksheet.

swallow a whimper.

“good f*ckin’ girl,” she mutters, barely audible. “take it. just take it. i’ll make you cum so hard you won’t walk to 5th period.”

and you?

you turn your head just slightly.

lips brush her ear.

“then do it, perv.”

ellie’s gone. she’s imagined this so many times. in her sketchbook. in the shower. in her f*cking dreams.

you sitting on her lap, whispering in her ear, your lip gloss smearing on her neck, your tits bouncing while you ride her neon green strap—

you calling her a freak while grinding on her face—

you licking her fingers while sitting on her bed like a brat—

suddenly, she jerks awake with a sharp inhale, eyes wide, hoodie tangled around her arms, face flushed, sheets kicked off the bed.

her room’s still dark, lit only by the faint glow of her lava lamp and the blinking red light of her PS3. her sketchbook’s open next to her—flipped to a half-finished drawing of you sitting on her lap with your thong around one ankle.

her hand’s still in her boxers.

and yeah… they’re soaked.

disgusting. tragic. predictable.

ellie groans. drags her forearm over her face like it’ll wipe the sin away. mutters to herself.

“f*ck”

her voice cracks. she rolls onto her back, staring at the popcorn textured ceiling. her stomach flips. her hips twitch.

and suddenly she’s grinding her hand into her boxers again—again—because the image won’t leave her brain.

your face when you bit your lip.

your whisper in her ear.

your p*ssy squeezing her fingers like it needed her.

it’s too bad this is one of them. just another one of her pathetic dreams.

taglist : @deliciouslydeviantsatan, @valeisaslut, @dollinrehab, @l0veylace, @velvetinkbym, @liztreez, @elliesgffrfr, @sleepingwasp, @brooks-lin, @lovelessswan, @cherrylipsmakerss, @shookkatofthat, @mars4hellokitty, @jaydonisnothere, @ellieslittleslutt, @pussyeatercunt, @livvietalks, @angelsglitch, @robiceps, @lesb4ellie, @sparkle-jump-rope-queen, @sweet-anonyme, @mylettterstoyou, @pinkpigtailedjoy, @pink7princess, @nahcala, @mascspleasegetmepregnant, @sincerlykelsss

And there he was, in all his glory, Jake laughed out loud with a red cup in his hands, some boys talking to him, and by his side, as always, stood Ellie.

“Y/n!” your brother yelled with a bright smile, opening his arms as you entered the room. His smile suddenly faded though, when Jake saw that you didn't smile back. “Is everything okay?” concern dripped from his furrowed brows.

Jake was an asshole, as all the older brothers usually are, but sometimes – almost never – he showed that he cared for you. When he wasn't showing that he cared, he still did, but in silence, I mean, he couldn't risk his careless bad boy facade.

“I'm tired. This music is fucking with my eardrums and the floor is disgusting and sticky” Your voice was thick like honey, a small pout forming on your mouth.

With the side of your alcohol glossed eyes, you saw Ellie rolling her own.

Jake pushed himself out of the counter looking at his watch “Damn, it's pretty late.” He stated, nodding his head up and down, the alcohol not helping his small brain.

“And mom and dad will be here early in the morning,” you added, doing your part in convincing him to end this nasty party.

“Alright everyone, party's over!” Jake screamed and a big toothed smile opened in your pretty face.

You pushed your back against the counter this time, grabbing the cup your brother had left there and bringing it to your shining lips.

“Spoiled brat.” Ellie murmured under her breath by your side.

“You're just jealous that things don't happen the way you want, when you want.” Your shoulders lift in disdain.

“Yeah, sure” she looked you up and down before pushing herself off the counter and disappearing in the sweaty crowd of people complaining about the end of the party.

Weirdo. A hot weirdo though.

Jake emerges in front of you like magic. “Gonna need ‘ya to do me a favor” his voice came out sweet, just like every other time that he wanted something.

Your brow came up in suspicion.

“What?”

“I need you to start cleaning the house…” You opened your mouth to disagree, but he spoke on top of it “Just the basics, trash on the trash can. I'll call someone to clean it up before our parents come back.”

“No fucking way. Look at this place! There's trash everywhere”

“It's not negotiable y/n, Ellie's gonna stay here with you while I drive some friends home, alright?”

Ellie appears by your side smiling widely at your disgusted expression.

“She's going to be fine dude, it's just some cleaning, it's not going to kill her. Right princess?” her voice dripped with sarcasm, but Jake was way too much out to notice it.

You stared at her with fake disgust on your face, your eyes rolling back so hard that it was as if they were stuck in the back of your head.

“Alright, take care of her Ellie”

She smiled lazily.

“I'm serious. Don't let any of these drunk dudes near her.

“Sure thing”

Jake yelled at some people out in his wake, giving his fingers at those who complained.

“So…” Ellie said, stretching the word as long as she could while watching you grab trash bags in one of the cabinets.

“Don't start”

“Damn, calm down babe, haven't even said anything.”

You reached down to start cleaning the house, grabbing disgusting red cups off the floor with one hand while holding the trash bag in the other.

“I would like it if it stayed that way” you didn't bother to look at her as you spoke. “It is not like anything that leaves your mouth has some value or something.”

Behind you, Ellie clicked her tongue and stared shamelessly at your body in the awkward position you were in.

“Are you gonna help or not?” Her deep green eyes had started to burn holes in your back, you couldn't pretend not to feel her staring anymore.

Looking over your shoulder, you see that fucking lazy smile over her lips once again, as she started to collect the red cups as well.

“You know, my mouth does more than just say shit that you don't find valuable.”

“Excuse me?” You turned around to look at the auburn-haired girl.

“You said that nothing that leaves my mouth has value, well, my mouth does more than that.”

The way she said that so shamelessly made you want to strangle her. How could she say such things in your own house without even flushing?

Your face and neck burned in flames.

Without responding or looking at her, you went to the living room with the silent excuse to clean there.

You lowered the volume of the music, not turning it off completely, but leaving a comfortable background sound. The living room was empty, besides a pair of girls leaving the house.

Sighting at the sight of the mess in your usually so shiny cleaned living room, you keep collecting red cups and cigarette butts from the floor, the couch, and basically every fucking where.

Your shiny pink nails don't fit this activity, you weren't born to do this, actually, this is probably the first time that you are cleaning anything besides your own bedroom.

“If you keep with that disgusted expression, it will probably burn in your face and stay there forever.” the voice entered the room with her.

“Shut up.”

“You're so spoiled it's actually unbelievable” she let out a low chuckle as you scoffed.

“You're in my fucking house and you think you can tell me shit like this?” You turn around just to find her spread up on the couch lighting what seems like a joint.

The way she acted like this was her house too, always makes you want to punch her in the face. She and Jake were inseparable since kindergarten, that's true, but it doesn't give her the power to own your place.

“What?” she looks up at you from her comfortable position when your eyes don't leave her form.

“What? What do you mean? Come fucking help, Williams, you heard Jake!”

Ellie calmly inhales the smoke

“Yeah I did, I don't believe you did though. He said ‘take care of her’ not ‘help her’, so do your job baby, I'm gonna sit here and enjoy the view while you do so.” That was the last straw.

Without thinking, you grabbed a cup – with whatever liquid was inside it – from the center table and threw it in her face.

Ellie stayed still for a couple of seconds. Eyes closed in shock, the joint was drowned in her hand. You did your best to hold your laugh given the circumstances, but you just couldn't.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” she almost yelled, trying her best to dry her alcohol-wet eyes.

“What is wrong with me? You! That's what's wrong with me! This is my house, so stop acting like I'm your maid or some shit!” You didn't bother to lower your voice as you walked to her pointing your finger at her face.

What you didn't expect was that you would slip on the liquid on the floor and fall on your knees, face on her breasts.

Ellie let out such a loud laugh that you thought she was insane. Shame burned your face when you attempted to get up and stumbled on your feet.

“Oh, now I see. All this attitude simply because you wanted your pretty lips around my nipples? Damn babe, that's insane.” She couldn't stop laughing, and that just made you angrier.

How could this girl be so fucking pervert and shameless?

“You wish, Williams, you fucking wish. Bet your biggest wet dream is something like that.” You finally got up, taking your hair out of your face and trying to look unbordered.

Her face went still for a second, but just a small second, you couldn't catch it if you were distracted, then, she smiled lazily – that damn lazy smile that pissed you off so badly.

“Yes, it is. What are you going to do about it?”

Your face dropped in disbelief.

“What? You said and I confirmed”

“I- i didn't mean it that way- i” you stumbled over your words, not knowing what to say or how to react.

“Well, it looked like you did.” Ellie put her hands on your hips and instantly put you on her lap, your pretty thighs around her, your knees touching her hips.

You didn’t know how to react, so you didn’t. You just stood there, faces so close you could feel her breath on your lips. You could feel everything: your tight dress rolled up and exposing your panties, her firm hands holding you down so hard as if she felt that you could melt onto her fingers – you actually could.

“Ellie, what are you doing?” She didn't answer, she just smiled proud of herself.

When you noticed, Ellie’s lips were brushing yours, not kissing, just silently letting you know that she wouldn’t do anything if you don’t prove that you want it.

Do you want it? You surely do, you want to kiss those pretty plump lips since forever. But you couldn’t just give in like that, could you?

Her face got close – if it was even possible. You breathe caught on your throat in anticipation.

“I’m not doing anything if you don’t take the first step,” Ellie’s lips were so close, it was like heaven millimetres from you.

But those eyes, those lustful eyes, that made you lose it.

“I hate you” was the last thing you said before pulling her by the collar of her hoodie and crashing your lips together so hard that your teeth caught each other, but it didn’t stop you. Nothing could stop you now.

Her hands were gripping and holding you everywhere – thighs, waist, hips, boobs, ass, everything.

The sounds Ellie was making against your lips were driving you insane, your fisted hands on her clothes leaving the place shamelessly to go under it.

Ellie broke the kiss with a small line of spit connecting you two. Her heavily breathing making your pussy clench around nothing.

“That doesn't quite look like hate, you know?” she played it off, as if her pupils weren't blown wide and her hips weren't bucking up against your heated core.

“Let me show how much i hate you then” you said against her neck, leaving lazy kisses on your way as your hands found her nipples free under her hoodie.

Ellie let out a heavy sigh when your fingertips touched her. Her back arching, quivering even more when you got on your knees.

“Oh god” the whisper left her messy kissed lips with desperate dripping from it.

“I'm not god babe, it's not him who's making you feel this way, it's me. Call my name, not his.” Your voice dripped with thick desire.

You fluttered your lashes at her, not minding the puddle of alcohol under your knees. Your hands pulling at her hoodie, eyes hungrily looking at her as if Ellie were the god here.

“Can you take these off for me? Pretty please?” Your forced pout resulted in a desperate Ellie ripping her top out in no time.

Your mouth salivated at the sight. Hard brownish nipples centimeters from your pretty smeared lipgloss lips.

“Y/n please baby, please…” You couldn't hold the small chuckle you let out at her breathless voice before attaching your lips to her nipple. It fitted perfectly inside your mouth, like it was made to be there.

You sucked and licked, taking your time while watching her back arched off the couch, hearing her heavy breathes and the pleads of your name leaving her mouth. It was a sight for sore eyes.

Ellie brought her hand to your hair, making a messed up ponytail to hold your head in place. Her free hand came to your face, pressing your cheeks so your mouth would suck harder against her. You did not complain though, the feeling of her inside your mouth was heavenly.

It was delicate, if it were a person who weren't paying attention to Ellie, they would not notice the slight movements her hips were making against the sewing of her jeans.

Before you know it, Ellie's moans are growing high pitched, her hands holding you harder, and her hips moving faster and faster, until it finally comes to an end.

Your lips let out of her with a loud and wet pop and you look up at her, just to have the most delicious vision of your life: Ellie Williams catching her breath after an orgasm.

“Did you just came in your pants?” you ask already knowing the answer, but you just couldn't lose the opportunity to mess with her.

“Can you not?” she murmured with a raspy voice and closed eyes, pushing you to lay on her lap and just be there while she catches her breath.

Breathing lightly onto her neck sweetly, you get yourself comfortable on her lap and circle your arms around her naked torso.

And then, the doorknob clicks.

and when your brother isn’t looking—when he’s too deep in the kind of high that turns people into statues, his eyes fixed on something distant, unreadable—she presses her knuckles against your back, slow, deliberate. a touch meant to ground, to soothe, but all it does is send you drifting. the warmth of her lingers longer than it should, more than it has to, drowning out the edges of your thoughts until there is nothing left but the feeling of her there. you get drugged out too, those days. on her.

your brother’s back in his room now, drinking gallons of water like he’s convinced he’ll dry out without it, half-believing he’s a fish from a bad batch he thankfully didn’t share. ellie laughs, loud and sudden, the kind of laughter that takes up space, that fills the whole room. it’s bolder than before, more her than what she she does with only you, raw and raspy, something unpolished, something that might cut if you got too close. and you are too close, aren’t you? because you’re looking again.

she’s half-smiling, and in the moonlight, it catches like a smirk, sharp in the right places, softened by the dark. she tilts her head, eyes gleaming. caught you.

“you wanna try something real this time?” she asks, the blunt extended between you.

you only ever knew how to nod towards her.

she watches as you take it, settling back on her palms like she’s waiting for a show. something in the way she grins makes your hands unsteady, but you bring it to your lips anyway. inhale. hold. the burn is immediate, a slow creep of warmth unfurling from your chest outward. ellie huffs out a laugh through her nose. “oh, you’re about to cough so hard, dude.”

you shake your head, stubborn, the smoke curling behind your teeth. she raises her brows, waiting. and then it hits. it claws up your throat, rips out of you in a fit of coughing so violent your eyes water. ellie all but folds in half, laughing. “holy shit, i called it,” she wheezes, knocking her fist against your shoulder. “should’ve put money on that.”

you try to glare at her, but it’s hard to do when you’re still catching your breath. “shut up.”

“nah, this is great,” she says, still laughing, voice all scratchy delight. “your face right now—jesus.” she mimics your expression, eyes wide, mouth parted in dramatic horror, and you groan, shoving at her arm. she lets you. doesn’t move away. you don’t know if it’s the weed or the way the air between you has always felt charged, but when you look at her again, she’s already looking back. head tilted. amused. eyes heavy-lidded in the dark.

“not bad, huh?” she murmurs.

the weed or her? you don’t ask. just shake your head. just take another hit, a safer smaller one this time, like you should take everything ellie gives you in homeopathic doses. from the pressure of her watching you take another hit, you do it better—slow, steady, the way she does. her smirk twitches like she wants to make another joke, but it dissolves against her tongue like sugar. instead ellie just watches, just leans in, just tilts her head like she’s examining something she hasn’t quite figured out yet and it burns stronger than your throat.

“look at you,” she says, soft, teasing. “all grown up.”

you exhale slow, the smoke slipping from your lips in a lazy curl, and it’s impossible to ignore the way her gaze catches on your mouth.

“shut up,” it seems to be all you know how to say when you’re with her, but it doesn’t land the way it should, ever. though especially not when her face is this close, when the warmth of her laughter still hangs in the air between you, something heady, something thick. honeysuckle.

ellie hums, tilting her chin, considering. “nah, i don’t think i will.” and then she’s reaching out. fingers grazing your wrist, tracing up, up, until they hook gentle around the blunt between your fingers. she doesn’t take it right away. just lets her touch linger, a question she doesn’t ask out loud.

you swallow. “you gonna take it or just hold my hand?”

her smirk sharpens, but there’s a flicker of something else beneath it. something that makes your breath hitch.

“dunno,” she murmurs. “you want me to hold your hand?”

you scoff, roll your eyes, but your pulse betrays you, hammering loud in your ears. she’s still close. too close. her fingers brush yours as she finally takes the blunt, as she brings it to her lips, and you should look away, you really should, but you don’t. can’t. she exhales, slow, and the smoke drifts between you, warm and hazy.

“open your mouth,” she says, quiet.

your stomach flips. “what?”

she huffs a laugh, amused, but there’s something different in her eyes now, something intent. “just—trust me.”

you do. you always have.

so you part your lips, and ellie leans in, even closer, until you can see the tiny scar on her eyebrow, the way her pupils are blown wide. she tilts her head just so and exhales, slow and warm, right into your waiting mouth. your eyes flutter shut. her hand—god, when did she touch your face?—is warm against your jaw, fingers pressing just lightly enough to keep you still, to keep you here, breathing her in.

the smoke fades, but she doesn’t pull away. neither do you. there’s no space left between you now, just the heat of her palm, the ghost of her breath against your lips. your pulse stutters, waiting, waiting. and then she moves, just barely, just enough and her lips are on yours.

her lips are chapped against the soft press of yours, rough in a way that makes you shiver. her tongue is wet against your own lips, slipping past them like a question she already knows the answer to. her hands are on your cheekbones, fingertips digging in, dragging at your skin like she’s trying to make sure you’re real—like she’s kneading you into something pliant, something hers. like you’re bread dough under her touch, like she’s shaping you to fit into her.

and oh, you do. you do, you do, you do.

you don’t know who moves first after that, only that suddenly it’s all heat, all urgency, her hands slipping to your jaw, your neck, the collar of your shirt like she doesn’t know where to hold you best, like she wants all of you at once. you tilt into her, part your lips wider, let her take what she wants because god, you want it too. want her breath in your mouth, her hands on your skin, the taste of her in your lungs. she exhales into you, a quiet, shaky thing, and you swear you feel it everywhere. in your chest, in your fingertips, in the space between your ribs where something tight and aching has been sitting for too long. her nose nudges yours when she finally pulls back, just enough to look at you, her pupils blown wide, lips pinker than before, shining in the dim light. her breath fans warm over your skin.

and then she grins. lazy, dazed. cocky.

a constant itch irritating your arm, a monotonous beeping that grates your ears, a soulless room. it's gloomy, the only light granted by an overcast sky through the window.

you're waiting for a different kind of natural light. waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and it's taking its sweet time.

this is supposed to be comfortable. this was intended to be a comfortable few days. end of life care.

it's been one month. there's nothing comfortable about this.

morphine flows through your veins, it masks the aches only for a little. you barely notice how your breath stutters and shakes anymore, it's easier with the aid of the drug, but you're just not sure that it's better than being at home, conscious of every impairment.

you try not to look at the iv as much as it begs your attention. it will only make you feel sick.

the clock ticks away every second until dark. every hour blends into one another, each nurse flowing through the room seeming like they are simply the same words in a different font. you think you remember receiving another dose of morphine, but it doesn't feel like it.

your phone screen lights your face as you check the time. ten.

your eyes close and you think of her. it isn't like it used to be. it's not that you wonder what she is doing or if she is thinking of you. it's that she promised a visit soon.

if you get through this night, you'll be able to see her sooner.

you own a stuffed animal named hope. you couldn't touch the poor thing as your descent into ill-health turned dangerously fast. you'd look at the bear and think about how ridiculous the name is.

you've clung to hope for years and it's as if reality has slapped you in the face for it; a punishment for your wistfulness, served in rose scented bile.

hope was futile.

but now, it doesn't feel that way; ellie made progress.

so, hope sits in your lap day in and day out. she shares this gurney with you, and you squeeze and play and fidget with her. a piece of home, youth, and a reminder to fight what once seemed like a losing battle.

another hour passes. turning over and lying on your side takes the breath out of you for a moment, a hoarse gasp following after the action. it is never this hard, usually.

you squeeze onto hope. those browned curls warm your chest, the fluff soft on your fingertips, but you don't feel any less alone.

being a special case sucks.

they needed to give you a room away from other patients. from the moment you were wheeled into the emergency room you were treated like a risk. some people have allergies, you know. it made you bitter. your flowers are something beautiful.

you may be overly attached to something that harms you more than it does care for you. but ellie gave you these flowers. she's turned you into a walking perfume. maybe if those people knew who she was, they'd understand rather than turn up a nose and cringe at the scent.

sebastian sees you for a few minutes each day. he wears a mask—he told you the smell of florals puts him in a bad mood these days. he answers the phone slower these days.

your mother has been busy with work.

something tells you that's bullshit.

the nurses lack in personality. they're all bubbly and kind and at first, they seemed to look over you with pity. now, they seem eager to get your bed empty and ready for the next unfortunate patient.

are they getting careless? with time racing toward you until you meet your fate, perhaps they think it wiser to save resources? something about the dose you received earlier just wasn't right. it's not supposed to wear off this fast, right?

you're not supposed to be feeling like this anymore. that flicker of hurt inside your ribcage every time you take in a breath is back. the embrace of silence isn't supposed to be this goddamn loud. your ears ring as you glance around the dark room, something eerie in the way that cars and sirens yell and screech in the city outside.

the symphony of chaos out there is overarching at this point, you cannot even hear your pulse. but you can feel your feet tapping against the end of the bed like a metronome out of time.

you search your brain for lyrics that make sense and nothing of the sort erupts. it's all blurred—it's all panic. i don't wanna be alone anymore. you just want out, every thought pointing towards the door. if you had the strength to rip off all these needles and wires and march out there, take your life back, you might've done it already.

you tenderly brush a petal from the top of hope's head after coughing, reaching towards the side table for your phone. however late it may be now doesn't matter, you need noise; something that won't make you feel so small.

ellie put together a pretty good playlist for you. that'll do.

you underestimate the effort it requires to get your phone at this very moment, an audible whine leaving your lips as you stutter and struggle for breath. it pulls something. some neglected muscle in your back lashes out and you draw back into the bed.

hope tumbles out of your hold and onto the floor.

so you're not even allowed the solace of material comfort today, huh?

you have a hundred 'last straw's every day. this was the last of the last. you're in pain.

her fingers move along the fretboard with a practised passion, the joints tired out after hours of rehearsal and perfecting. sometimes ellie writes, but nights like these, she remembers why she doesn't do it often.

it doesn't come right the first time around. not ever.

she stops and watches the window. the sky is a blank canvas tonight, no stars nor flashing lights, just blackness and fog. her eyes follow the usual path around her room, twinkling string lights and old polaroids on the wall. those ones were her first happier memories.

ellie sighs, her fingers resorting to picking a random, comfortable pattern on the strings of her guitar as she stares down at the words scrawled into her journal. the acoustic rests in her lap and the pen hooked into the strap of her top.

she decides it's time to quit for the night. rearranging this bridge a fourteenth time is fruitless, because still, nothing could describe the feeling she had when she finally had the courage to hold your hand.

and still, nothing can describe how pathetic she feels for being afraid to do it again.

ellie liked it. she really, truly did. she cradled your hand with the same gentleness present in the way she holds the neck of her guitar. she took care and warmed every bone in your fingers, rubbed her thumb across the back of your palm to help you breathe.

she wasn't only doing something good for herself, but for you—she was admitting to you her blindness. she was taking the first step in the right direction.

now, ellie can't seem to replicate the same bravery she walked into your bedroom with. she's just a coward.

the first step is supposed to be the hardest—why did it feel so easy?

why doesn't anything feel as easy since?

she lets out a sigh, deep and slow, rubbing her face and moving her guitar to the bed. she's closing the blinds when her phone begins to vibrate and she squints a bit, fishing through her pockets. probably some scammer, she doesn't have anyone to call her these days—

okay, definitely not a scammer.

it's you.

answering feels just as easy as holding your hand felt. maybe it's the spontaneity. she doesn't have a chance to think about it, really. all ellie knows is that it's past midnight and you've called her.

no hello, no joking around—none of that, simply her voice rushing to beat yours. 

"are you okay? it's late."

"ellie, i just wanna hear your voice." nothing could prepare ellie for the way your voice sounds. she's never felt such a strong punch to the gut, but your voice—wavering and weak, quite clearly in the throes of tears—it has the impact of a hard fist. "please. i'm scared."

and she softens quickly, holding her breath so that she can hear all of you. how your own breath hitches, your tone runs pitchy around the edges, you sniffle. she can picture you in a hospital bed with teary eyes, and fuck. it's not right.

"i'm here." ellie sits at the edge of her bed, lip drawing between her teeth. she won't draw attention to your cries. it's not what you need.

"everything hurts," you say through a gasp. there's no need for convincing, ellie believes you from just the sound of your pain alone. there's a familiarity in the heartache, it's something ellie knows too, now.

"i'm here," she repeats. she feels so stupidly capable right now, her shoulder pressing the phone to her ear as she holds her hands together, rubbing the skin so gently as though it is your softness she caresses. she's losing herself to the thought of what she thinks she'd do in your presence at this moment. "i'm always here, don't panic. do you need me to be here when you go to sleep?"

without hesitance, you respond. "yes." and something of it makes ellie feel as though she's neglected you. she needs to hear your voice now, and not just muted by the peaking and crackling static of a call; she needs to be at your bedside. 

and there's no questioning that you need it too. she doesn't need to see you to know what you need. you need to see her courage once more.

"okay, baby— i—" she buries her face into her hand and suppresses a groan, rubbing out her temple. vulnerability is clawing its way out of her throat and yet, something in her still tries to stop it before it becomes too much. calling you that, ugh… it felt like second nature. "okay, i'm gonna stay on the line."

"everything hurts, it's too much," you say. you tried to speak, anyway—it comes out in a whisper, as though that's all you can manage. "can't breathe."

"i need you to try," ellie encourages. "but just slowly. think, maybe it hurts because you need to slow down, yeah?"

slow or fast, light or deep, breathing feels as though it's twisting each thorn, piercing your heart and your lungs. ellie may be right. maybe, it's your fear that does it. after all, these flowers have what seems to be their own intuition, and they prey on your anxiety.

and ellie's just as lost, trying to talk you down—god, if she could hold you right now…

you hear your name and it startles you to attention once more. "just need you to make it through this night, okay?" she asks. "if you get some sleep, yeah, i'll come hang out with you tomorrow?"

"yes, yeah," you reply shortly, sniffling. "please."

it's quieter after that. ellie coaxes you into silence, she promises you there will be warmth tomorrow. whatever that means, it brings you the slightest hope once more.

going through the motions of the morning was difficult for ellie. 

the shower burnt her skin red and raw yet she swore the water was lukewarm, her breakfast took its time going down, and when she sat in her car and turned the heater on, the air leaving the vents felt icy. she had not the patience for anything, her mind askance.

more like, she was waging war with herself—i got this. i'm gonna march into that room and take back what i lost. of course, the situation is not 'all or nothing', even if that's how she treats it. there are baby steps necessary for her recovery, but she'd rather not give herself flowers for those. and ellie's well aware that she's setting herself up for disappointment by rejecting the small wins. it's like trying to knock down a stone wall with a wrecking ball made of cardboard. it doesn't work.

she just wants to be normal; she just wants to be what you need.

and walking into that gloomy room, scanning every wire hooked up to your body, and, frankly, her ears assaulted by all kinds of beeping, it raises her hackles. hospitals are quiet, until they're not. they're all hushed voices and whispered reassurances, only for that to be combated by monitors and machines ellie has no idea the purpose of. they feel malicious.

"hey." 

the word startles you. but ellie sees nothing but relief in the softness of your gaze.

"hi."

ellie takes a seat, and she feels like she's accidentally just glued herself to this spot— it's something she'd liken to a duty of care. like she can't leave. "so, you're feeling better after last night? i wish i could've done more, you know, but…"

"the nurse gave me a lighter dose by mistake," you reply. "that's why i was in so much pain." your voice sounds more distant, more uncaring of what words come out—your eyes run ovals around her. it's as if you can barely believe she's sitting here. it's the fairest sight you've had since your last day at home, and you thank heavens she's not changed. every freckle is where you last pictured it, the corners of her lips curl up with awkward hesitance, that one strand of hair that never sat with the rest is still antagonising her.

her hands are bare. no gloves.

"shit, for real? that's fuckin'..." ellie trails off, replacing what would have been a protective rant with a simple sigh.

she doesn't like this. nobody does, seeing you weak and scared, perishing in the coldest place imaginable. but that doesn't make it fair to avoid you.

it doesn't make her want to be here any less. ellie's almost shocked by herself when her eyes lay upon your hand and she feels this absurd, unconscious jolt in her own hand with the instinct to reach out.

"how's your mom? and seb..?" she asks, her eyes set on your hands as much as yours are on hers.

"uh… next question?" you murmur, flashing a lopsided grin.

"oh." ellie blinks, and again, she feels that tightening in her wrist, this urge she's barely able to restrain. "you haven't seen them?"

"not for a few weeks," you say, shaking your head. "they're really busy lately." 

ellie can tell you believe that excuse as much as she does. and what does it make her feel? it's unusual for her. it targets something tucked away inside of her, blanketed by confusion and tears; the inner child.

she finds herself wanting to whine. that's not fair. 

"that's— but they're— you're their baby. they can't make some time?"

you brush it off with a croaky voice, taking the cup of water at your bedside and having a small sip. "i'm not sure. it's fine though."

her eyes flick from your hands to your lips, the skin no longer as soft as it used to be, instead dry. it reminds her of that post-crying feeling, and even worse is the barely restrained hurt in your eyes that she catches. 

ellie knows it isn't fine. it isn't fair. she's been lonely. she's been the black sheep in every herd she was passed between, she's been the skeleton hidden in tiny closets. she was young, and innocent, and so easily forgotten. passed from family to family, no stay intended to be permanent, she suffered—she was deprived of attention.

it was always the warmer families that couldn't keep her, and the colder ones that she had to endure for longer. she was replaced, she was ignored, she was neglected, so long that touch soon felt like a foreign luxury. 

and soon, it became not a luxury, but something to fear. for a while the only touch ellie felt would be a push or shove on the playground, and of course, she'd push back and scoff (and perhaps use some language too vulgar for her age). it became something to cry over when she'd leave detention and whomever she was under the care of would be waiting for her. arriving to an address that was not hers, different homes that never felt like home, where human mistakes left bruises on her body.

touch became something worth flinching over. she learned to see kicks and punches coming before they left their impact.

and now that it's all over, ellie never unlearned that.

inside, there's still a little girl who aches for love. it stung, but she craved it. and to ellie, looking at you, withering and wilting by the lack of her affections, it feels like looking at that little girl.

so she feels that she is being pulled, suddenly, the legs of her chair screeching across the floor so she may sit as close as possible. it's no conscious effort, just her limbs working in tandem with what her heart needs at this moment.

ellie reaches, and then pauses, breathing in through her nose. "can i—?"

your lips work into a small, but reassuring smile, pursed tight to contain excitement. you don't want to be overwhelming, or intimidating, or too desperate, or whatever else—doesn't matter if your entire predicament is the overwhelming result of a desperate yearning, you tense like a statue just in case. "of course."

from their frozen position in the air, her hands finally move. you weren't sure where she was going for, but ellie has been telling herself this is what she would do to ever since the last time she saw you. 

she cups your face, palms meeting your cheeks slowly, as though she holds a piece of her very soul in her hands.

your two sets of slow breathing mingle in the silence of the room, and for seconds ellie just holds your face. then, her thumbs caress the high points; they run along your cheekbones, her callouses press into the curve of your jawline, as though mapping out every depth or crevice in your face. analysing the structure, appreciating the curves and the softness, not only with her skin, but her eyes. it feels like she can see through you, and it's not even an invasive feeling. in fact, it's not been this easy for you to breathe in a long time.

ellie thinks of her half-written poetry from last night. her mind is fresh with ideas, the passion reborn. she's realising it now, that unless she turns this into a habit, she won't be able to remember how it feels to touch your skin. she'll be back tomorrow, or maybe she won't even leave. it would be alright to hold your hand as you sleep.

your cheeks, once lifelessly icy, now warmed by ellie, rest in the palm of her hands like they are a bed. her face is rose-flushed, but more calm than earlier. inside, there's fire spreading from heart to hands. it doesn't burn like she thought it would. sure, the initial connection was scorching, but now it's comfortable, healing.

something beautiful happened. you would describe ellie's touch like some kind of healing power, in fact, so might she, in a different way; things that used to feel impossible for the both of you are quite easier.

you can breathe on your own, without medical interference—no drugs, no machines. your voice is clearer, food stays down, you can stay awake. ellie wasn't aware of it herself until you stood for the first time in weeks. it was like she had seen a ghost rise from the grave.

of course, it wasn't like you'd taken any miracle cure. you were frail and failing to maintain your balance. it was okay, though, because ellie darted over to catch you. she walked you to the café downstairs.

she could see herself quickly becoming nothing short of an addict to the feeling of your skin beneath her fingertips. when once she was uncomfortable by the feeling of another's shirt, she now feels like it isn't enough to dig her fingers into your pyjamas.

doctors who were certain you were perishing before were now bemused. tests and scans were ordered.

not only was there a clearer picture and tidier result, but the specialists found that what little was left of your flowers were charred. it aligned with what nurses had been reporting as well—a higher body temperature, and black, dried petals leaving your system. 

the hanahaki was dying, and you were blossoming. eyes brighter and face rounder, fuller, softer.

you could go home.

and it could've been better—perhaps it would've felt nicer if your room had been cleaned before you got home, and if things weren't so awkward between you and your family—you can't help looking with bitter eyes at them for how they had acted. it was like you were disposable. 

but getting to see ellie for the first time since you got home makes up for it all. strategically planned so that your mother and sebastian won't be around, of course.

you open the door before she can knock. it's like the tables have turned, and ellie is the one who struggles to breathe when you're near, looking so alive and so comfortable like this, with a smile on your face that knocks the wind out of her lungs, and a recovered lust for life. 

"hi," you say with a small nod, and you inch closer almost hesitantly, which she notices, of course. to save you the trouble of asking for it, she wraps her arms around your middle and holds you. 

but you don't miss the hitch in her breath. still, every time you touch, she stiffens or holds her breath. what would you take it for, if not discomfort? this time, though, when you try to pull away, ellie snorts a little and tightens her grip, nosing into your neck.

"you're fine, baby."

the look on her face when she pulls away is reverent and somewhat sheepish, the corner of her lips curled up and eyelids heavy. if there's one thing ellie hates about this, it's the process. why can't she snap her fingers and be rid of the side effects of her past? why must she sit through all of the messy feelings, the awkwardness, the way that touch still makes her skin blister even when she likes it?

and how, still, are you so patient with her?

"listen, so, uh… i wasn't sure if you ever wanna see another damn flower again, but, i figured you deserve something nice, right?" ellie pushes the single tulip forward, shrugging one shoulder. "s'not a rose, at least. think you might hate them now. that would be reasonable, yeah.."

you nod, that same grin on your face as always, plucking the flower from her grip. "this is okay. but— can i have another hug..? just one more?"

"oh—" ellie's throat tightens, arms opening before her mouth. "sweet girl, you don't even need to ask. c'mere."

this time, you sink into her. it's like being doused in fire, her body warming yours on the way to the car, all because she couldn't bring herself to let go. and that brings another one of those half smiles to her face that she always tries to hide. a hint of pride. progress.

she thinks about resting a hand over your thigh on the drive—it would be even better progress, but something makes her hesitate. something of a debate takes place in her mind before she finally does it, and once more, she feels that sense of pride. the pride of each move forward burns every doubt as though they're pages in an old diary.

plus, ellie truly enjoys the way your leg tenses beneath her hand and how you're quick to gaze out the window with the hint of a smile on your lips.

the drive is empty of conversation, the space filled by the stereo, and it should be that everything about this is already familiar to you. the route, the person, the intention. you're heading to the park, but this time you sit in the passenger seat, you actually trust that the driver will keep you safe (you'd never tell your brother this, but ellie is a far calmer driver than him), and your stomach isn't tying itself into knots. your breathing isn't stifled by stems and thorns and petals.

sometimes you still struggle with chasing for her touch now you've had your samples of it, but it battles with the need to make her comfortable. and so, you grip onto her sleeve as you walk to the old ice cream van stationed in its typical spot. your fingers cling to the fabric, pulling it taut, in the hopes that it won't hurt her, but soothe your need. 

"cookies and cream?" ellie asks, glancing down. your heart lurches when she starts pulling her arm back, only to replace her sleeve with her hand.

you search her for fear from the corner of your eye, but there's no wide eyes or bitten lips. "uh, yeah. i miss it."

"i'll have it too," she says, giving you a fond grin. "you don't know how much of the stuff i've been pigging out on these past few months. it makes me think of you."

you let out an involuntary giggle, squeezing her hand. "i extended my comfort food to you?"

"pretty much, yeah." ellie nods. "i started gorging myself the second i got kicked out of your house."

"well, i'll take that as though you were doing so in my honour," you reply, a cheesy grin on your face. "i missed having an appetite."

soon enough, with a cone in each of your hands, you sit beside ellie on a bench and share a comfortable silence. birds sing in the distance, trees shielding you from the summer fever.

ellie is so unusually quiet that it's powerful, and you turn your head towards her at the very moment that she is, apparently, leaning closer, and the sudden contact makes her jump back this time—something about the unpredictability of it frightened her.

"jesus, you almost killed me."

"oh—! sorry. payback, i guess, because you almost k—"

once ellie closes her mouth (that comment rattled her a bit too hard), she gives you a light pinch on the arm. "don't say that kinda stuff, that's morbid as fuck. i didn't try to—"

"sorry," you repeat, laughing softly. "it's a little bit funny though."

"it's not funny." ellie's words are betrayed by her own chuckle, however. "that's a sore spot still."

"alright, i won't say that again. you have my word." you give ellie a tiny salute, then nod your head to the ice cream sitting idle in her hand. she's barely touched it, if at all. "are you okay? just.. thinking a lot?"

ellie glances down at her hand, a stream of melted ice cream dripping down her skin. "uh… yeah. just…"

she takes a pause, eyes flitting back to you, landing on your lips. she realises she must look like a deer in the headlights, and forces herself to look away with a halfhearted shrug of her shoulders.

"i'm just happy we're here."

why can't i just kiss her? ellie wracks her brain on the way home, so distracted she's driving on autopilot. the world passes by in blurs of colour, her heavy huffs of breath the only sound in the car. the scent of your perfume still lingers in your wake, and when she's idling at a red light, ellie looks over to the empty passenger seat. the sight of a little black petal clinging to the seat makes her smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

it's like you leave a little trail, the occasional remains of scorched flowers following you wherever you've been. maybe she'll pop this one into her journal tonight.

ellie takes the long way home. it's filled with deep sighs and her white-knuckling the steering wheel, her inner monologue rather unhelpful. if only she could explain why she halts right on the edge every time she is about to meet a goal.

she tries. she really thought she could do it today. she felt so ready to grasp your chin and press a little kiss on your smile, but she faltered at the last second, when you turned and caught her staring. fucking faltering. she always does it.why am i so fucking scared? she grits her teeth, willing herself not to pull over when tears start to pool. she's nearly home, anyway. yeah, she narrowly avoided death trying to merge with blurry vision and some asshole in her blind spot. but she just wants to be home.

it's like drowning in shallow waters; she should be fine, but something is holding her hostage. something keeps her holding her breath, something's weighing so heavy on her that she can't pull herself out. there's always something ugly working behind the scenes to keep her from living. whether she's conscious of it or not, there's a memory or an instinct that rears its head. nightmares, flinches, even a small gasp—it's as if her body remembers it more than her mind.

a hand near her head, it makes her think her hair will be yanked.

a movement too sudden, it makes her want to brace for impact, only for it to be the gentlest embrace.

ellie hates it. she hates the way you pull back with a crease worrying your brows and that cloying tone of voice ringing in her ears, the apologies and the check-ins. because she loves the touch. it felt so freeing to admit such a thing for the first time. ellie loves to touch you, but she's so scared, still, and what's worse is that pit of guilt that forms in her stomach every time she fails.

she needs this—to no longer be so alone, and to take up space, and to touch. for the little girl she once was, who was not given the grace to do those things. 

if healing was measurable, that would make this simpler. but it's easy to get lost in the wishes and the goals. it's not so easy to think about the journey it takes to meet those goals.

"ellie? ellie. did you mean to call? or did you butt dial?"

"no…" ellie murmurs. she holds her phone against her ear and closes her eyes. she definitely made somewhat of a spectacle by calling and saying absolutely nothing in return when you answered. "i wanted to call. just… want you to talk to me."

"oh… okay," you reply. she can hear the pleasant surprise in your voice, that and something like fondness. "that's kinda cute, els. you dropped me off two hours ago."

"yeah, i, uh— i miss you." the phone doesn't catch her sniffling, but it carries the shaking current in her words. "can you start talking my ear off now?"

"what— well, yes, but what's wrong?" 

"nothing, what do you mean?"

"come on, ellie," you groan, and she can picture you pinching the bridge of your nose like you always do when she's said something silly. but really, it's far from that. you're pushing your phone up to your ear and spamming the volume button so that you can hear her over the sound of your own increasing heartbeat, fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt. "you're being all standoffish and stuff. like you've got something you need to get off your chest."

"uh… no." she clears her throat quite roughly, her free hand swiping at her eyes. "i just wanna hear your voice."

you know you shouldn't push. ellie will come to you when she's ready, like she always does, but this gnaws at you. it's hard to find a new topic when your brain drifts into all the possible explanations for ellie's hurt.

you never want to be the reason she's hurting. and if you are? what if you are? if you pushed boundaries today, or if you're just moving too fast? 

"okay, well, i miss you too," you begin. "i really like it when we hug. it's so warm and, like, comforting."

"i like it too," she says slowly. "you left a lil petal in my car."

"oh, right, that was probably from that coughing fit i had," you muse. "it really hurt, actually."

"you were very loud about that."

"how am i supposed to be quiet about choking?" you snort, but the moment is short lived. you're getting to the bottom of this. "can you please tell me what's wrong? we don't even have to dwell on it. just let me know."

"ah, it's just…" she lets out a flustered sigh, then starts to mumble. "just feeling generally shitty. that's all. i'm stressed. it's nothing you need to be worrying about."

"it's you, els, i do need to worry about it." you choose your words carefully but they flow easily. loving ellie has never required effort. you've spent years waiting for her to see it, and now it's the easiest it's ever been to show her. "i care. and i will always be here. i'm never going to vanish. i think i've made it very fucking clear i don't plan on doing that. i'm stubborn."

"yeah…" ellie swallows thickly and rests her chin in the palm of her hand, eyeing her lonely bedroom. "it's guilt. for… i dunno… just…"

you let ellie fall into silence. she's gathering the words to explain herself with—at least, you hope she is—and that is something you do not want to be pushy with.

"i hate how long this is taking," she says finally. "i want it. i'm ready for it. but my mind is just— it's like it's on a completely different track. i love you. but i'm so pathetic. i've made you wait so long."

"this isn't about me," you say. "i waited for you because i wanted to, and i'll wait as long as it takes. actually, i'm really impressed by you. you're making progress."

"but it's not fair. i hate that you have to be cautious. i wish— i mean, i wish i was normal. i wish i could snap out of it."

you stop her before she spirals further into a self deprecating rant, hushing her very gently. "you are normal. you're learning how to react to things that happened to you that should have never happened. and you're taking huge steps towards healing. and i am so proud of you. i really am."

"i'm scared, but it's not even about touch anymore," ellie murmurs, this time her sniffles sounding clear down the line. "i don't want to be too much. i don't want you to leave."

"i'm never leaving," you reply, voice softening like a blanket. "i love you, ellie. you couldn't get rid of me even if you tried."

by all means, you should be dead right now. you were knee deep in the grave when ellie came back and she battled her way into pulling you out. brute force and fear and love combined had made a new version of ellie, one who was determined to walk you out of that hospital.

"i just… can't.. accept myself," ellie says.

"you can't accept the journey," you correct, "look at the bigger picture, els. you are able to live life now in a way you could never have imagined one year ago. i haven't seen you wearing gloves in a while. that's incredible."

"i figured they were holding me back," she mumbles sheepishly. "i try not to wear them unless i really have to."

"see? that's amazing." you smile. "when i think about the past year, i think about all the milestones. i think about the first time we held hands, then when you traced my face, then when you sat in the hospital bed with me. i think you forget that this is a process and that you're gonna struggle with it sometimes, but that's just realistic. you can't make any progress at all if you won't allow yourself to fail."

"yeah," ellie whispers. she's resorted to fiddling with the little black petal she took home, her heart swelling as she listens to your voice. the calm of it all, the patience that never dies. she blinks back tears, and then speaks up. "thanks baby."

"do you feel a little bit less like the entire world is about to crush you into tiny pieces?"

"yes." ellie lets out a halfhearted laugh, smiling. "can you please start yapping about random shit now?"

"ugh, alright. you're gonna make me lose my voice again. actually, that might be a good thing. then i won't be so annoying."

ellie lets you continue without interruption. she holds that petal up to her chest, balled into her fist, and mulls over the conversation.

she's got to keep trying.

burnt flowers became few and far between, your coughing spells less frequent than ever. ellie noticed this before you did, and it was the biggest encouragement to her conquering her fears. she was healing, finally, and so were you—all because of her. 

life has this sense of normalcy now. she doesn't bristle at the feeling of a stranger passing by, she goes without her gloves more often. she gets less stares in public. ellie can see her old best friend without him looking as though she did something bad anymore; she just isn't alone.

she can wake from terrors in the middle of the night and no longer does she have to face them alone, crying in the dark and curling into balls. you're there to bring her back down when fear shoots up her spine. you, and hope—the teddy bear, that is, but the figurative idea as well. the unwavering patience, the trust, the optimism. 

ellie can hold your hand. she can hold you. she can snuggle and play with your hair, and she likes hers to be touched too. she can feel herself never wanting to let go of you. things she only ever heard of in tales of romance and vows, that she never thought she'd get to have. things she didn't think she even deserved. 

she thought she'd die alone, and now she's drawing pictures of you in her journal and scribbling promises beneath them; forever, sweet girl.

"this is a lot of touching and not a lot of drawing," you say, laughing softly at her distraction. you don't mind one bit, of course.

when you were in hospital, and ellie had caressed every inch of surface on your face, she had tried to take it all into her memory. now, she makes a habit of it, and insists it makes it easier to draw. you think she's simply sheepish about how much she enjoys it after all these years of avoidance.

"then don't be so pretty," ellie murmurs, swiping her thumb over your lashes. your eyes flutter and she catches her lip between her teeth, stifling a sigh.

there is one goal she hasn't met yet. 

still, she hasn't kissed you. 

she comes so close and every time something stops her. at first it was her own reluctance, now, it's like life won't give her the chance. last time she tried, it felt like there was some divine being fucking with her—the sky started pouring over the both of you as soon as the moment stood still enough for her to lean in.

this time, ellie's going to seize the moment. it starts with the light urge to kiss every individual lash, then your browbone, then of course, her eyes flick to your lips as though it's instinct.

she wonders if you think she's going to chicken out again, but you're none the wiser to her intentions in the first place right now. she thinks she's putting signals out with her eyes so heavy on yours, but she hasn't seen what you see. she hasn't seen the way she looks at you on a daily basis—this is no different; her eyes are practically hearts. you feel her gazing upon your every move, never to judge, but instead to possess.

her thumb now moves to your lower lip, shaky but sure as she gently parts your smile. and your lips, no longer dry or sore, but now pillowy and smooth, are the catalyst for what she is about to do. it reminds her how long you have waited, how much you have suffered, and her the same. the neglect, the rejections, the simmering anxieties.

the final push is thanks to the shared progress translated by your lips, the healing on both ends of a love that stays ignited, crackling, and refuses to burn no matter how long it stays lit.

ellie closes her eyes and at last, her soul feels whole, lips meeting yours for the very first time. she knows it is the first of many, because even as she runs out of breath, she can't pull away. it's much like a standoff, neither of you urgent to let go of the other after all this time.

and it pains you to be the one who pulls away first, but you were beginning to feel increasingly faint. you open your eyes but ellie is sat still as a pole, her eyes sewn shut for seconds after the kiss, her cheeks ablaze.

"you nearly killed me," you mumble, giggling at the way that she glares at you after.

"you are not allowed to say that, remember?"

"it was too good not to say right now!" you erupt into laughter as she grunts and tackles you without a moment's waste, your back hitting the bed and face attacked in the softest way imaginable; her lips scouting every area, a kiss planted in each spot like a claim. "okay, easy, easy. i love you too."

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