#haphephobia fic

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."

🏷️ @dolleyedfemme @valeisaslut @eriiwaii @ellieshothousewife @piercedome @therealhexstrap @jinxedbambi @heyimrye @rhian88 @g4ys0n @yoosohh @marvelwomenarehot0 @l0veylace @gold-dustwomxn @yashirawr @httpsiluvizzy @areyna

thank you for reading as always ♡

"think it's just a stomach bug, i can handle it."

the wind brushes over you with the force of a thousand men and it doesn't do much of anything to mend the churning of your stomach or the tightness in your throat. your body feels terribly light, floaty, almost.

that's what ellie does to you. she throws your balance off. being around ellie feels like rolling down a hill in your youth. giggling and reeling and shrieking with excitement, only for it to end abruptly and the memory to slip through your fingers. it passes by in fleeting moments, something tristful in the way that you yearn for it back.

ellie feels like nostalgia. she's been there for as long as you can remember. she's grown up alongside you, you've seen her so many times that you can chart each freckle on her face like the stars in the sky.

but she is more like nostalgia in the sense that she is as tangible as those memories themselves; she's untouchable. you have not felt her skin, not even the tickle of her breath. sometimes she feels like a figment of your imagination. you have no tactile sensations of her to remember. it's like when a tree falls in the forest but there is nobody around to witness it—did it ever truly happen?

but, if there is anything that proves her existence to you, it would be the nausea.

"well, let me know. you don't look well," says sebastian, his hand giving you quite the firm pat on the shoulder. "and don't throw up in my car."

"seb, i'm not going to throw up in your goddamn car." you glare at your brother before opening the door, and then, as always, he raises a hand.

"ellie's shotgunning. get in the back."

"you're the worst, to be frank," you mutter. you swing around on the balls of your feet and are soon face-to-face with her, your eyes wide as you pull back. "oh, jesus, sorry ellie."

holy fucking shit. another wave of dizziness overtakes you at the sight of her petrified flinching. her nose scrunches up, her brows pinch at the centre, and she blinks a few times before patting herself down.

"no, no, you're good," ellie says, "you didn't touch me."

you almost did. and there's this hollow feeling in your chest at the idea that you may have been close to even brushing against her clothes—it's purely guilt.

haphephobia: the fear of touching, and being touched. ellie will refuse contact; she will not touch skin, and skin will not touch her. you have seen what arises should this ever happen, and swore you'd never be the reason she panicked like that in your entire life.

you sit alone in the seat behind ellie, clicking the belt into place and watching the seat ahead move as she makes herself comfortable. so close, yet so far, at all times. she chats with seb, and you watch the streets pass you by as the whirring engine throttles you—something about it makes your heart hammer inside of you, a lump building in your throat—but you've never known yourself to be car sick before.

it's ellie.

and maybe it's sebastian's reckless driving, too.

he pulls into a parking lot and the three of you head towards the few vendors set up around the edge of the park. seb is making riveting conversation about what flavour of ice cream he's planning on getting, which neither you or ellie seem to care for.

you hang back. you watch her tug her gloves over her hands, pulling at the fabric like she's worried it's not enough protection. you've wondered if she ever takes them off. if so, what do her hands look like? they must be soft. they must be warm.

"what do you want? the usual?" seb asks, pulling you out of your head.

"i..." you take a gander at the ice cream van, and in the process your eyes catch on ellie's awkward posture. your stomach lurches. "still don't feel well. i think i'll pass."

"really?" he gives you an incredulous look, but shrugs either way. "that's not like you. i'm paying, you know."

"yeah, i know," you mumble, crossing your arms and letting out a sigh. you feel so faint suddenly that your knees buckle, and even after you look away from ellie, it remains. it feels worse to look away, almost. you miss her cute face, and it makes your heart tug uncomfortably. "i don't think ice cream is going to be of any assistance to my stomachache, though."

now they both look between themselves strangely. you are queasy sometimes. all you ever needed to say was, 'i think it's just a bit of anxiety. you know how i get'. now nobody but you has ever realised the real trigger behind these nerves, nobody has ever paid attention to the pattern.

disturbing to you, and odd to ellie and sebastian, is that this pattern is unfolding. it isn't changing; it's simply making itself known. it's demanding attention. now, it's 'just some stomach bug' that keeps rattling you every time they attempt at including you in their antics.

it can't be anything more than the increasing severity of feelings, you hypothesise. you thought you needed time away from ellie, to learn how to exist without desiring her.

you threw up the first time you tried to avoid hanging out with ellie and seb. you thought that you needed the distance, but you missed her like a desert misses rain. her lack of concern made you fucking sick. it pulled on your heart until you choked.

something you once had plenty of control over—the butterflies in your stomach whenever ellie is around—is beginning to spiral out of your control. you mustn't let it concern you too much, but it is certainly odd.

when you were small, you admired ellie. she's two years older than you, it was natural that you had a fascination and wanted to hang out with the older, cooler kids at any cost. you aged, and you realised that you liked girls when ellie and seb came back from summer camp and you were totally digging her new grungy style.

that was the day the seed was sown.

you liked her.

three years later, you think that it has grown unmanageable. you've yearned. you've prayed. you've wished on stars, which felt like your best bet at the universe listening to you—you can't get any luckier with ellie than to wish on stars, right? she loves them.

something told you it would never happen. actually, you're positive this is a fact. ellie doesn't look at you like that. hell, she doesn't look at anyone like that. you know that it scares her.

and that is just another thought that makes you ill.

if only she were not afraid of being loved.

she deserves it. something to put a smile on your face is the very act of loving her.

you love to love ellie, providing patience and care at every moment. observing whatever makes her tick, sending her pictures of things—the classic, 'this made me think of you'—even if all she does is send a heart reaction in response. you might watch your smile crack in the mirror when your efforts are met with nonchalance, or sometimes even scepticism. but you love to love her anyway.

you know your place. you aren't at the top of her list. and that's alright. you're sebastian's little sister. you don't take priority over her few genuine friendships or her heartache—said heartache being her fear. it's both a relationship and a war; that's how she described it to you once. it's an attempt to protect herself, and she doesn't know what from, but it's something like safety. but it's also a battle between a fulfilling life and a lonesome one.

you just think, maybe one day something will change. you have waited so many years, what is a few more? you can try to make room for yourself in her life. you try. always, until something reminds you that you are only sebastian's little sister.

ellie would never look at you like you're anything else.

you can't get her off your mind as it stands; auburn tufts and sage green eyes. flushed, freckle-dusted cheeks and chapped lips.

you can try to learn everything there is to know, but you'll never get close enough to know her skin, her scent, her temperature. you wish you knew how tight she'd hug you. you wish you knew how quickly or slowly she'd wipe your tears away.

if there is anything you know perfectly, it is her sillage. it's the feeling left behind when ellie isn't around.

you've developed a nasty cough, so you told them to go ahead without you today.

you sent ellie some stupid tiktok about how the new savage starlight film adaptation sucks. she ranted and raved about how incorrectly they wrote dr. daniela star's character all of last night. you didn't listen; she looks too cute when she's pissed off. her lips held a genuine pout.

seen two hours ago.

she's just busy. she obviously can't watch a whole mini-video-essay while out and about with seb.

or, maybe she's just sick of you inserting yourself into her life.

"holy shit, am i that annoying?" you murmur. you should leave her alone. she doesn't need you. definitely not you.

and suddenly your throat feels rough. an ugly tickle that you attempt to clear casually changes in an instant. your muscles clench and you wheeze into your hands. you can't stop, not for thirty seconds at least.

"ugh, gross," you mutter to yourself, wiping your cheek and getting up to wash your hands. it's your reflection that stops you in the doorway of the bathroom.

a red stripe across your cheek glints in the light.

"fuck?"

a pit forms in your stomach and your gaze drops to your hands, of course splattered with the source.

it's blood.

coughing up fucking blood.

downstairs you hear sebastian's voice booming louder as he unlocks the door and laughs at something ellie said. you try to drown it out by holding your hands beneath the tap and letting your worry run down the drain, but there are two sets of feet climbing the stairs and every step echoes in your ears like a kick drum.

you feel like an idiot as you fumble around and clear the blood off your face, but then you hear her dumb, raspy laugh, and you retch.

"kid, you in here?" sebastian calls, knocking on the door.

"yeah," you croak. your voice fails like you've never heard before, and when you try to speak up, this time you erupt into a full blown coughing fit. it feels hotter in here suddenly, and you can't see right with all the tears in your eyes but your hands are covered in gore.

"i'm getting mom to book you a doctor's appointment," seb yells out, and he doesn't sound pleased at all with what he's just heard. "you sound like shit."

yeah, you're not pleased to be experiencing it right now either—he doesn't even know the half of it.

ellie pulls the woollen blanket over her legs and leans against the side of the couch with a sigh. there's a fair bit of distance between you both, conquering the far sides of the couch like there's a chasm in the middle. she pushes hair out of her face before looking at the floor. "you know, we don't ever talk about life much."

"huh?" your eyes, as desperate as they are, move slowly to ellie and her relaxed figure. it's nice when she relaxes. you know it's because there's no place like home for ellie other than your own, she knows that your family are the most accommodating to her fear.

"yeah, i mean, we don't really get to talk about the serious stuff." ellie shrugs one shoulder and grins slightly. "like.. you got a crush on anyone?"

heat rushes into your face immediately and you quickly shake your head. if only she could know.

"c'mon, seb isn't getting back for a while. you can tell me..."

"there's nobody," you say quickly. it's mousy. it gives away far more than it shuts down, and ellie just snorts.

"yeah, same, i guess." she observes you, the way you pull your knees up to your chest and the way that you glare at the couch cushions. "i accepted it for myself. i don't know if i could ever just push past my anxiety. i don't know if any girl out there gets it."

you sigh. that sigh almost sparks a coughing fit, which you're quickly pushing down. sometimes you can try to clear your throat instead, and it might work. it still feels like something needs to come out. it doesn't feel like it's just blood anymore. there's something in the air your body is rejecting.

"does that make you sad?" you ask. say no—please, say no—maybe this would be easier if ellie were content with the silence in her bedroom.

"well, i guess it sucks," ellie answers. "if i weren't such a pussy, i'd definitely want to be with someone. my overall life, it'd just be better if i could get over it. i like to think about an alternate universe where i wouldn't need these stupid gloves. but nobody wants someone this weak."

that's wrong.

because you want her. you want her no matter if she is strong or if she is weak. you want her in every universe, touch be damned.

"i think there's someone out there for you," you whisper after a small pause. "you deserve it plenty."

"so do you," ellie replies. "you'll find someone soon. i know you will. you're, like, the shiniest star in the sky. but whoever it is will have to go through me and seb first, obviously. you know, we'll make sure they're good enough for you. and seb will punch their damn lights out if they ever hurt you, as all good brothers do."

"that won't happen," you murmur, resting your chin over your knees.

ellie snorts. "yes it will. seb would die for you. he's actually a sappy little bitch sometimes. huuuuge soft spot for his baby sister."

you can only find it in you to raise the corners of your lips just slightly. that wasn't what you were referring to. of course it wasn't. but ellie's conversation is enough to back you up. you will not find somebody soon.

because the person you want is sitting here, telling you that whoever you'll find will not be her.

because she thinks she is unworthy of love. that, and you are once again being reminded that you are nothing but her friend's little sister.

you don't feel like eating dinner anymore. your heart is beating so fast, and struggling to do so—as if there's some kind of rope squeezing it tight. your stomach churns.

you had never seen her so afraid. it hurt you almost as though you were the one experiencing it. how you wish you could take the pain from her and battle it yourself, even if just to understand exactly what she's going through.

you've seen ellie have small scares. you've seen her be knocked in public and how it winded her, you've seen her grimace as her gloved hands brushed against a stranger's when something is passed to her. but you hadn't ever seen what ellie looks like at her worst until today.

it is so vivid, playing back in your mind like a song on loop.

she said she'd been feeling off that morning.

she was hyper-vigilant all day.

it was small and simple. you were at the grocery store. a lady needed to get past, so she thought to politely catch ellie's attention by tapping her shoulder.

ellie shut down. seb took you both outside immediately, and she cried. you hadn't seen that before.

she cried. she looked a little bit like you do right now. the air suspended from her lungs, her face streaked with tears and, the worst part—her eyes, looking at the ground and filled with shame.

she puts up a front all of the time. she feels capable. she looks like she isn't bothered by the reality she's facing given her phobia.

but you know better.

ellie feels unlovable, and she won't even let herself be proven otherwise. she can't be saved. not by you. not by your brother. no amounts of patience and care would save ellie; it would be up to herself.

maybe she doesn't even want it.

sometimes, people have their work cut out for them in life. that's it for ellie, you think. you know too well the war-zone of a mind whirring and turning with anxiety and hate. you know what it's like to be too thoughtful. is that what it's like for her, maybe? you obsess over the best way to word your support. she obsesses over the best way to avoid people entirely.

you will never take priority over the hustle and bustle of haphephobia.

she doesn't love you.

she won't.

slowly, your stomach rumbles like boots creaking on a floorboard. slowly, shame pools in your eyes. slowly, you feel like your feet are lifting off the ground, something slithering around your heart and constricting until you gasp. like a vine or something; something alive, with a mind of its own.

so fucking sick.

your feet carry you to the bathroom with lightning speed and you just make it before you cough, retch, gag, without control. your body fights with itself, you start to choke.

five minutes later, and your throat burns. you rise to your feet and spot the contents you emptied into the toilet. the sight elicits a sound of pure fear, shaken and hoarse.

if you felt like you were floating before, now, you feel like you have sunk.

amidst bile and blood lies a rosebud.

small, but not imperceptible by any means. you are doubtless, that is a goddamn piece of flower you just vomited.

"oh, fuck!"

you wipe your forehead and your arm comes back hot and wet. the world is turning upside down, it's trying to throw you off balance, but all you can do is stare at the rotten rose.

"hey siri, what does it mean if i'm throwing up fucking flowers?"

lovesick? hanahaki; the world's rarest disease.

"what the hell does this fucking mean?" you talk through your teeth, scanning article after article, desperate for any answer besides this.

there is none.

the disease may be removed through surgery, along with it however, the love.

you begin to cry—you think about her all over again. your breath stutters and shakes when you picture her holding your hair back. that will only ever exist in reverie.

ellie does not love you, and she never will. ellie cannot touch you, and she never will.

there are flowers in your lungs. the vines will proceed to grow, and however beautiful they may be, they will tighten. they will spread to your heart.

one day, thorns will pierce it.

it isn't about if, it's about when.

this is the beginning of the end.

because she has given you these flowers, and if they are the only thing she will ever give you, so be it. surgery is not in the question and it never fucking will be. ellie needs somebody who loves her.

"bronchitis? it's been like, two months since she first got sick. are you sure?" ellie asks.

sebastian nods. "yeah, no, she'll be fine. can you quit bitching and lock in? or i'm gonna take that controller and do it myself."

ellie simply raises her eyebrows and glances from seb to the controller in her hands. "dude, is there something going on? you can tell me, like, i do care. you can't seriously not be worried about her."

of course sebastian is far from content with your state of health at the moment. ellie can tell that it is worrying him, and when someone who is usually an open book starts deflecting and dodging questions, there is always something awry.

"she's fine," he says quietly.

ellie sighs softly, and continues at trying to beat this level of crash bandicoot that she and seb have been stuck on for a while. her mind walks astray, all the way back to you.

you never hang out anymore. when ellie sees you, you move with a lethargy she's never seen before. your druxy complexion made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. it's like you're rotting away. you're weak and bruising and tired.

she hasn't seen much of you lately, but every time she does, it is worse than the last. she feels that she is starting to forget your voice and your posture and your little habits. it's like something is missing. your sillage is stronger than you think. ellie feels it intensely these days.

there's an abrupt cluster of noises outside of seb's room suddenly—doors slamming and footsteps barreling towards the bathroom. two seconds later, you were heaving.

"what the hell is that, is that your sister?"

"move."

seb rushes past ellie and into the bathroom where he finds you kneeling, tears gleaming on your cheeks as you gurgle and gag over the toilet. he closes the door and quickly the revolting scent of sick is elevated. it's almost cloying. overpowering. like a perfume.

"what's going on, huh?" a clammy hand pushes your hair back for you, another rubbing your back in circles. he's not looking, of course he's not looking. the blank wall is far more enticing than the toilet. but that smell is putrid enough to make seb sick too.

"it— it hurts." you clutch at your stomach, sitting against the wall and attempting to get some air in again. it feels like you're clawing at your own throat, it keeps constricting and tightening, and your lungs can barely expand enough without irritating the vines that confine them.

you cough, and out comes two little petals. faded and rusty maroon, the edges fraying. you cough again, and they are covered in blood.

you look up and sebastian is looking into the bowl with despair. "what the fuck is that? what the fuck is that?"

"just, calm down, i'll explain."

"does the doctor know about this? the fuck did you do, eat seeds?"

"i wish." you choke on your own breath again, it is this never-ending barrage of coughing and spluttering right now.

"you tell me why there's a whole flower head in the fucking toilet."

"seb," you protest, "it's just—"

"why'd you fucking keep this from me? what's wrong with you?" he talks rough but he means well, ripping off a piece of toilet paper to wipe your mouth.

"i'm dying, seb. it's hanahaki."

your big brother looks at you like you have disgraced him. his eyes are wide and you've never seen them so shiny. you've never seen him look scared.

"what?"

ellie looks up when seb enters the room again. she opens her mouth to speak, to ask if you are alright, but he looks grim. he looks older.

he looks pissed.

"you need to get out."

"what?"

"leave. now, ellie. get out."

ellie feels her heart sink into her stomach and she gets up immediately, pulling on her chucks and stuffing the untied laces in as she rushes to gather her things.

"what'd i do? what's going on?" she asks. "is your sister okay—"

"don't. just get out."

fuck?

"okay, okay, shit, i'm going."

ellie hurries down the hallway and in doing so she crosses paths with you stepping out of the bathroom.

she bumps into you.

"oh—" you both hit the walls opposite each other and ellie places a palm over her chest to steady her heart. it beats like it wants out. "f-fuck."

"are you okay?" you ask, looking up to see ellie. you never meant to walk into her. you never meant to touch her. you touched. for two seconds, you got to feel her. she was warm, impossibly so. it's the same warmth in the feeling you get when you think of her already.

"shit, yea."

but you never meant to be the cause of her quivering lips and fluttering eyes.

and when she looks at you, ellie sees your knees buckling under your weight. she sees the bags beneath your eyes. she sees that you didn't mean to touch her.

"ellie, i said get the fuck out of our house," sebastian barks.

the last ellie saw of you was how rotten you have become. she's never seen somebody so sick in her life.

streaks of honey sunlight filter through the window like stained glass as you sit by the toilet. you're shaking and humming to yourself some awful song to relieve the tension in your heart every time you breathe in. you have been here all afternoon since ellie left. it's getting dark.

you don't know if it was because you finally have some memory of what she feels like, or if it is because she's gone. but you are sitting like the unfortunate host to some terrible parasite ravaging your body. nothing that you can do but bask in your love.

"she's your best friend," you croak, looking up at seb. "i told you not to blame her. you shouldn't have been so mean."

"i don't care. i'm supposed to protect you. you're my baby sister." he shakes his head as memories spanning years pour through his mind. he's done now. "i am never letting her into our home ever again."

you play with a petal in your hand. it's so soft and squishy, it falls apart the moment you roll it up. a teardrop, thick and glittering, lands in the centre of your palm.

"it's not her fault," you whisper.

that night you think about ellie. she's alone.

is she crying? is she wondering what she did?

you're glad, on some level, that she has no idea. you don't want to imagine a world where she is apologetic for existing.

your mother is as furious as sebastian. maybe there is some imaginary scenario in their minds where ellie cruelly rejected you. that is the only possible reasoning for their hate that you can think of.

if you don't hate her, why should they?

they want you to get the surgery.

it was the quickest no you've said in your life. because ellie deserves to be loved, and you'll do it until it kills you.

ellie drove. she went as far as the gas in her tank would allow. she stopped in a remote parking lot just to scream. what the hell happened? in half an hour, she lost the only people she ever really trusted in her life.

she punched the horn on her wheel. she sobbed. she threw her gloves into the backseat and tried not to scratch her eyes out as she rubbed tears away.

what the fuck did i do? what did i do? why don't they trust me anymore? why are you so fucking sick?

she lies in bed, tossing and turning. she rubs over her arm, feeling the sillage of your touch. she tells herself it's okay. it was only you, after all. but she knows it was the softest collision, it didn't harm her—definitely couldn't have harmed her more than it did you. you looked so frail.

she knows you didn't mean to, and she saw guilt flash in your eyes. she wanted to tell you it wasn't anything to stress about, but the words were caught in her throat.

no wonder seb is tired of her. she's a pussy. a coward who freaked out over an accidental touch.

she didn't get any sleep that night, and neither did you—both terrified, both aching.

seb means well, you know he does. you know he is just angry at the world. he thinks that he is protecting you by cutting contact with ellie.

it's only speeding up your decline. it was always going to happen. your death is inevitable. it has been agonisingly slow, but this is all part of the cards you have been dealt. it's a waiting game.

missing ellie is the most painful thing you could be forced to do right now.

your brittle body can barely sustain enough energy to dry yourself down post-shower. you sit on the bathmat and drag the towel along your cool skin, trembling and shivering. your head pounds. there is a tremendous amount of mess left in the wake of your presence. wherever you go remains the fragrance of rose and rotting petals scattered like muddy footsteps.

you reach up and grab your phone off the counter once dressed, knowing you haven't the strength to pick yourself up and get to bed. you've needed to do this a few times, texting seb so he can come and help you back to your room.

on your lock screen your eyes are drawn to a notification from a name that makes you tense.

ellie: hey sweet girl i know it's been a while, i just wanted to know if you're doing okay. or if you knew why your big bro hates me. i miss you a lot, both of you. please talk to me. <3

oh, shit. it hurts more than anything you've ever felt. it knocks the wind out of your lungs, and in your head flashes memories so bright that a whimper leaves your mouth.

it used to feel magical. loving ellie used to feel like nostalgia. memories that ended abruptly because you couldn't get a grasp on her tangibility.

memories of ellie now feel like tumbling down a high hill, your stomach flipping and butterflies swarming the flowers she gave you. it couldn't end abruptly enough.

you aren't sure what to say—if you should say anything at all. sebastian wouldn't be happy with you for it.

but it would hurt her to ignore her. fuck, it would hurt you too.

it does hurt.

you crawl your way to the toilet, each step heavier than the last—it feels so far away that you almost give up.

every letter you attempt to type pains you. you gag as you rack your brain for any word you could use to soothe ellie. but all you feel is an immeasurable amount of guilt.

she can feel you slipping through her fingers and now you know it.

lying would be wrong. but the truth—the gruesome, inescapable truth—it won't do any favours here.

in a dingy work break room, ellie's knee bounces and she watches the little bubble appear and disappear cyclically as you find the words to respond to her. she doesn't even blink. not until the typing bubble goes away for good.

no response.

ellie has never felt this kind of isolation before. she knows silence. she knows what it's like to be alone. she was orphaned terrifyingly young and put through the foster system. she doesn't know how to make physical contact with other people without erupting like a volcano of molten tears.

somewhere down the line she made a friend, and he was great. so was his family.

you were the only one ellie had ever been unconditionally welcomed by. in the time that she has been resigned to quiet, ellie has been able to think. who are you?

well, you were never just his little sister. you were kind and shy and observant. sometimes ellie could ask questions about her own life and you'd remember the answer before she could. you were thoughtful.

ever since she was thrown out and made a spectacle of, ellie has felt as if someone dug a whole through her earth and into the void. she's missing something.

it cannot just be connection—that, she always felt was lost—but now more than ever, ellie is able to notice the role you played.

she was at the store. she couldn't decide what flavour of ice cream to eat her sorrows into. her eyes landed on your favourite. she walked out with a big tub of cookies and cream.

she was buying a new pack of superhero cards and her intuition failed her—she couldn't tell what would have had the most rares. not like you always could. she got home, tore away the packaging, and every card was one she already owned.

she was getting dressed and noticed a missing button on her shirt. she could've taken it to you. you'd've fixed it for her in a heartbeat.

she was given a weird look for her gloves. you would've assured her that her habits were okay as long as they made her okay, no matter if some stranger thought it was odd.

nobody to call a nerd. she was missing her sweet girl. her really, really sweet girl. that nickname was always fitting. you'd give her a classic half smile. god, she misses those.

ellie couldn't ever tell why you seemed so reluctant to accept verbal affection. she couldn't tell why someone like you would have any reason to be so insecure.

now it's all suspended somewhere she can't reach. the last thing she wants is to let it rest; to kill it, bury it, forget it, or to remain bereft and confused.

it has been three months.

ellie's been isolated for three months.

she hasn't laughed since she last saw you. she hasn't relaxed since she last knew if you were well. she hasn't spoken a word that wasn't mandatory since then.

she's felt her life lacking in light. every day is cold black and white, missing the sepia warmth that days spent with her best friends felt like.

maybe somewhere down the line things got lost in translation; somewhere in the blockade between her phobia and her connections to others, the meanings of ellie's friendships were crushed.

the realisation felt cold. it felt like a pit opening. and then it became out of control.

it started as this seed of doubt. you always did laugh a little too hard at the jokes she made.

malaise crept in. you never smiled until she looked at you.

guilt flooded her veins. you went forgotten so often but you never seemed to anger.

you were patient. too patient—so much that it may have worn you down. you were the shiniest star in the sky, she would do anything to protect you. so would seb.

and that was when it clicked. it wasn't a grand self discovery, it didn't inspire her some journey to valiantly storm over and fix things.

it made her scream.

he is protecting you.

and she hasn't known what to think, or even do, since realising.

it makes her feel small. ellie has only known avoidance since she was born. she's been complacent in the disregarding of her people because of haphephobia.

sebastian, and most importantly, you, were insignificant. her mind only had room for irrational or intrusive thoughts. and she knows it because when she tries to think back to those days and how she responded to your behaviour, she can only remember needing to be two feet away and pulling at her gloves.

she wasn't present. she inadvertently pushed you away.

now she thinks about what she would do if she could see you again. if she should see you again. if she were free of fear? maybe she'd try to hold you.

if only she weren't hopeless enough that the idea of that made her start to tremble.

you can tell the end is nigh because your soul hurts less than your body. it has deteriorated to the point of being bedridden, your eyelids heavier than ever, and a constant scent of sick and flowers lingers in your room.

you try to beg for a moment alone, but your illness is enough cause for concern that your mother and brother think you need their constant surveillance.

breathing hurts.

every breath is spent thinking of her.

the most unrealistic of dreams and visions flow through your mind to cope. in one of them, she let you die in her arms. it was all you thought about for days. would she let you?

would she pity you enough to put aside her trepidations and hold you? not to give you the memory you lust for, but only to let you show her the love she has been ignorant of?

would she let you die at all, if she knew?

isolation is your only option—contention has risen between you and your family because you refused the surgery. you've cried rivers and they could only understand so much of your pain. they tried to reason with you. let her go. remove it. she wouldn't even touch you. how could you possibly still want her?

but you can't stand it—it's far from as simple as letting go. you think ellie deserves someone's unconditional devotion, even if she has been blind to it; maybe one day she will learn from what she's missing, and she'll find someone who can give her what you wish you could have.

you wake in the late afternoon to a room dark and sepulchral, shivers rattling your body. lifting your head, you hear what you think might be yelling downstairs, but you're never sure these days what's real or fake.

you move upright and sit, stomach lurching with the motion. your ears prick, you catch the indisputable voice of someone you have missed, pleading, downstairs. no mental battle, no stopping to question yourself—it's like something possesses you. like a princess to a spindle, you make your way down the hall. little by little, you descend the stairs.

ellie. ellie, standing in the doorway, pleading with a stern sebastian.

you fucking retch at the mere sight of her, and you really hope she isn't insulted by that.

the few seconds where your eyes capture hers takes you out of your trance. your knees buckle beneath your weight and you yelp, but sebastian catches you before you hit anything hard enough to bruise.

"what are you doing up? it's bedtime."

"no," you try to say. "i heard yelling."

ellie feels a lump in her throat as she watches your brother scoop you up and carry you back up the stairs—you look at her over his shoulder, eyes sunken and half-lidded. the softness in your gaze is louder than your voice. she missed that look.

ellie follows. she feels sick even looking at you like this. like her lungs are tight and her heart is beating faster than as if she had ran a marathon.

you're laid down and the pillow is adjusted beneath your head. you make some noise between a wheeze and a sob, wishing to claim independence again.

"you're not up for walking around," seb mutters. he smooths your hair back and closes the blinds, and when he takes a step back and looks at you, he sighs shakily. you look small; not precisely in the physical sense, but in the nostalgic. this reminds him of when you were little. "you just need to rest."

"i want ellie," you whisper, looking up through tears. "i just wanna see her."

said girl is peeking into your room and alarmed to say the least—arrangements of stray petals covering the floor, their aroma barely covering the thickest fragrance of blood and bile.

what has she done to you?

she knew something was wrong. but did it have to be this?

ellie watches sebastian tuck the comforter up to your chin and turn the lamp off through the crack of the door. she doesn't have any time left. he'll make her leave. this will be her last glimpse of love.

"go to sleep, kiddo."

the door clicks shut behind him and you whimper soft cries in the dark, each sob with a sting worse than the last.

your eyes feel anchored shut. you roll to the side and the comforter falls, goosebumps spreading across the skin of your bare shoulder.

you try to wait around for sleep to take you. soon, a whisper fills the room, and you almost think it is unreal, simply because it rivals those in your dreams.

"sweet girl."

you peel your eyes open as much as you can, and watch as a pair of army green gloves are placed on your nightstand. pale skin then catches your eye; hands, crossing quaintly in her lap as she pulls your desk chair forward to sit.

her hands are shaking like leaves.

she can see your eyes straining to stay awake, glassy and unfocused. she can see your hand twitching with how much it wants her. she can see the slowness of your chest's rise and fall.

you try to speak, but she hushes you.

"i know," she murmurs. "save your energy."

your eyes rake over her again. that familiar strand has fallen wayward and is resting on her cheekbone. the rest of her hair is pulled back loosely. she's pouting again.

"is this real?" you gasp.

ellie's breath stutters and she glances between you and your outstretched, limp hand. closer she leans, and with precision, she wraps your hand in her own.

the contact is brutal.

you flinch—not ellie, you. for seconds, ellie tries to ignore the deafening sound of her heartbeat and takes in your temperature. your skin, soft and bitten, starts to warm as she squeezes your fingers. it's all light, as your hand feels like dead weight. she knows you're weak.

her hand isn't soft like you always thought. but it is warm, and it does make you feel safe. it feels homely. it rouses a chapped smile onto your face.

"i'm so proud of you," you say.

and ellie smiles back. do you ever grow tired of being so kind, she wonders?

aren't you upset with her?

she misses the way you try to squeeze her hand back, your body too fragile to make the effort count.

"i'm sorry," ellie says lowly.

she came back to you.

"i know."

and you know exactly why.

"i love you."

🏷️ @abbysdollie @valeisaslut @eriiwaii @emmap3rkins @ellieshothousewife @piercedome @therealhexstrap @jinxedbambi @heyimrye @rhian88 @g4ys0n @yoosohh @marvelwomenarehot0 @l0veylace

thank you for reading, likes + reblogs are really appreciated ♡ or comments if you want to make a girl cry happy tears. love you !! happy pride month guys !! (not me saying that like i didn't just post the most anti-sapphic angst fic.)