#kellan hoffman

it had been a stroke of luck that the first job she’d been interested in after nyu had been in somerton; her family had spent countless christmas’ at a nearby ski lodge, and when everyone else was traipsing down the mountain with sticks attached to their feet, merrick had often wandered into the closest town to ice skate or get a hot cocoa. it was how she had a ready made friend when she moved to town : kellan and her had known each other, really, for years - even if contact had been limited to occasional text messages when she was back home in georgia the rest of the time. 

she’d had a crush on him when they were younger - how could you not? - but she was trying to be smarter about relationships and flings now that she was ‘an adult’. and while kellan was just as attractive as he’d been before - more so, really - she had laid down a line. friends. nothing more, and she would deny her interest in him until her last breath. 

it was trying sometimes. 

if you bring me over a burger from the diner, she’d texted, i’ll let you meet my new roommate. the cat was happily purring on her bed across the studio as she stared at the - once again empty - fridge, mulling over possibilities. she was positive kellan would take the bait - they both loved the greasy food from timothy’s, and he would probably be too intrigued about what she meant. it wasn’t like a real human being could survive in her space with her. make sure you get me a milkshake, too, she sent before he could even respond chocolate. i’m having a craving. 

there were very few people who could see the real madison. not that she was fake, necessarily, more that she just didn’t want everyone to know her every thought and emotion. kellan, of course, happened to be one of the very limited people who could actually make madison smile, and begrudgingly, somehow, the two had been best friends for almost a decade. 

it made her brain hurt sometimes. 

he was, however, an incredible wingman. that was her only excuse for dragging him to the only gay bar in town, just on the edge of nowhere and nothing, madison’s eye wandering to find someone cute enough to maybe flirt with for a few hours. “what about her,” she asked, pointing her chin towards a blonde ( it was always blondes, really, madison had A Type ) who was drinking with another couple of girls at the other side of the bar. “do you think she’s actually gay, or just here to avoid being hit on by straight men?” the eternal struggle, madison had learned, was that half the girls in a gay bar were really only there to get complimented on their outfits and not find a girlfriend, a bummer every time. “should i send you in first to see if she responds, or dive right in?”