synopsis: Finals season is approaching, and you’re drowning under the pressure of deadlines, expectations, and a mind that refuses to quiet down. After months away, you find yourself returning to the one place you remember finding temporary peace: Ellie Williams’ apartment.
warnings: College AU, Mental health struggles (stress, anxiety, burnout), Drug use/weed, Emotional vulnerability, Sexual content, Explicit themes, Power dynamics/transactional undertones
The first message sits in your drafts for almost ten minutes before you finally send it.
She leaves you on delivered for twenty-three minutes. Not that you’re counting. You sit hunched over your desk, knee bouncing beneath it hard enough to rattle the cheap particleboard.
Funny. You know who it is.
Half a year since you stood outside the student apartments in the freezing November rain with your hood pulled over your head, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot while Ellie Williams leaned against the entrance, hands buried in the pockets of her worn leather jacket like she’d been waiting for you all day instead of five minutes.
She hadn’t judged you then.
You stare at the stack of notes scattered across your desk. Flashcards. Highlighters. Open textbooks with entire chapters underlined in different colours—as if making the pages prettier somehow made the information stick.
Your lectures blur together. You spend hours at your desk only to realize you’ve reread the same paragraph six times without absorbing a single word. Every time you close your eyes, your brain simply… keeps talking. Lists. Deadlines. What-ifs. Regrets. The future. The past.
Finals are three weeks away, and everyone around campus suddenly seems to have transformed into productivity machines.
Meanwhile, you’ve forgotten what sleeping feels like.
Another buzz almost immediately.
That’s all. No hey. No question about how you’ve been surviving since the last exam season drove you into her apartment three or four nights a week.
You suppose that’s just Ellie.
The walk across campus feels longer than you remember.
The shortcut through the library is packed despite the late hour, every window glowing warm against the darkening sky. Groups of students hunch over laptops, coffee cups piled between them like monuments to poor decisions.
You wonder if any of them feel like they’re drowning too.
Before you realize it, the apartment buildings come into view.
They’re technically student housing, though “housing” feels generous. The brick is faded, balconies lean ever so slightly, and every hallway permanently smells faintly of detergent, old pizza, and someone’s incense trying desperately to cover both.
You remember climbing these stairs with bloodshot eyes after cramming for twelve hours straight.
You remember sitting cross-legged on Ellie’s floor while she counted bills with one hand and rolled a joint with the other. You remember the silence.
She’d never been much for conversation.
It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… sparse.
Ellie never seemed interested in filling empty space with pointless words. If she had something to say, she’d say it. Otherwise, she’d let the quiet settle.
The stairwell creaks beneath your weight.
Second floor. Apartment 87. The number’s still crooked.
Nothing changes. Your heartbeat picks up anyway. Maybe it’s embarrassment. Maybe it’s the fact that the last time you were here this often, you’d promised yourself it’d be temporary.
Just until finals. Just until things calm down. Things never really calmed down.
You stop outside her door. The chipped green paint is exactly as you remember it.
There’s a faded sticker near the bottom corner that’s peeling away from the wood. You don’t remember what it used to say.
You raise your hand. Pause. Drop it again.
This feels pathetic somehow. Like admitting defeat before you’ve even taken the exams.
You blink. Glance toward the window. The blinds are tilted just enough for someone inside to see the walkway. Of course she’d noticed.
Locks click from the other side.
One. Two. The handle turns. She opens the door. “You look awful.”
No hello. No smile. Just those green eyes sweeping over your face with unsettling precision.
She’s wearing an old forest-green hoodie with the sleeves shoved to her elbows, dark jeans, and socks that don’t match. Auburn hair falls messily across her forehead, longer than you remember, like she hasn’t bothered cutting it in months. There are faint shadows beneath her eyes, the kind earned by too many late nights and not enough sleep.
She’s wearing grey sweatpants and an oversized flannel over a faded band tee, auburn hair pulled into a messy bun that’s already falling apart. She looks… surprisingly domestic for someone whose side hustle pays half her tuition.
The apartment smells exactly the way you remember.
Pizza that’s long since gone cold. Paperbacks with their cracked spines piled into uneven towers beside the couch. Laundry that probably should’ve been done yesterday. And beneath it all, lingering in the walls and cushions like it’s seeped into the drywall itself—
It’s a strange combination.
The apartment isn’t particularly clean, but it isn’t dirty either. It’s lived in. Lecture notes are spread across the coffee table beside an ashtray and three highlighters without their caps. A hoodie is draped over the arm of the couch, and someone’s biology textbook lies open on the floor with a pen tucked between its pages.
Ellie nudges the door shut with the heel of her shoe before walking past you. “You can sit.”
You don’t need telling twice.
The couch sinks beneath your weight with the same familiar groan you remember, and for a brief moment, it almost feels like six months never happened.
“So.” She drops onto the couch, stretching one arm across the backrest. “Six months.”
You sigh dramatically before collapsing into the armchair opposite her. “It’s exams.”
“My brain won’t shut up.”
That gets her attention. The teasing slips from her expression. You don’t mean to keep talking, but once you start, the words tumble out on their own.
“I sit down to study and suddenly I’m thinking about assignments from last semester, then groceries, then whether my professor secretly hates me, then I remember I forgot to answer my mom’s text three days ago…” You rub your eyes. “It’s just… loud.”
Ellie listens. Really listens. No interruptions. No jokes. When you’re finished, the room settles into a quiet that doesn’t feel awkward. Just… still.
She raises an eyebrow. “You sleeping?”
She exhales through her nose and chuckles. “Jesus.”
“You don’t need weed.” Your heart sinks a little.
“You need a fucking therapist.”
You bark out a laugh. “Yeah?”
Silence. Then Ellie stands. “Hold on.”
She disappears into her room, footsteps muffled against the old carpet.
You lean back into the couch, listening absentmindedly to a faucet running somewhere deeper in the apartment before it clicks off again.
A minute later, she returns with a small silver tin in one hand.
She sets it on the coffee table, pops it open with practiced ease, and begins gathering papers and filters without so much as looking. “Guess you still can’t roll for shit?”
“I do.” She pinches a little weed between her fingers, spreading it evenly across the paper. “Was hoping maybe half a year would’ve taught you.”
You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees.“I used to be your best customer.”
Ellie’s eyes stay on the joint she’s rolling, but one corner of her mouth twitches upward.
“That’s not the flex you think it is.”
“You’re saying I shouldn’t complain.”
She seals the paper with practiced precision, holding it up between two fingers.
The realization hits somewhere between Ellie setting the joint down and reaching for the lighter.
Your stomach drops. Your hand moves automatically. Pocket. Empty. Other pocket.
You unzip it quickly, fingers digging through notebooks, pens, old receipts, anything that might explain where the hell you put it.
Nothing. Your wallet isn’t there. For a second, you just stare. No, no, no.
Your mind immediately starts running. You left it.
Because apparently remembering twelve different deadlines, exam dates, and entire chapters of information was possible, but remembering the one thing you actually needed to bring with you wasn’t.
Your chest tightens. It isn’t even about the money.
It’s about the fact that you’re here. You’re finally here. The one place where your brain feels like it might go quiet for a few hours.
And now you’re going to have to leave empty-handed.
The thought alone makes your thoughts start piling on top of each other again. The exams. The studying. The endless noise.
The feeling that you’ve been drowning for months and this is the one thing you know will give you a break. And suddenly the room feels smaller.
Because you need that joint.
Not in the dramatic way you know people say they need things. Not like you’re convinced it’s some magical solution that’s going to fix everything wrong with your life.
But right now? Right now your mind has been unbearable. Especially today.
Every thought has been louder than the last. Every little mistake replaying itself over and over until you can’t tell what’s real and what’s just anxiety finding new ways to hurt you.
The idea of walking all the way back across campus empty-handed makes your chest tighten. No.
You can’t. You won’t. Ellie is a good person. You know that. But she’s not a charity.
She’s a student too. She has rent. Food. Bills. Her own problems. And she has never once pretended that what she does isn’t a business.
You can’t just take it. Your eyes drift back to the tin sitting on the table. Then to Ellie.
It’s quiet. But Ellie hears it. Of course she does.
Her eyes lift from the lighter in her hand.
You hesitate. You could lie. You could say nothing and leave. But the panic is probably written all over your face.
Ellie looks at you. Then at the table. Then back at you. Not annoyed. Not angry. Just… thinking.
Your fingers tap anxiously against your knee. “I still kind of need it.” Your embarrassment burns hotter.
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.
Because you don’t know. Your next paycheck from your exhausting nine to five isn’t for another week. Your exams are before then. Your brain is already convincing you this is a disaster bigger than it actually is.
Ellie leans back slightly.
A small look. You sigh. “Okay. I don’t know when.”
The silence stretches. Your mind starts filling it with every possible outcome. She’s going to say no.
She’s going to tell you to leave. You’re going to walk back across campus with nothing.
You’re going to spend another night staring at your ceiling, unable to sleep, thinking about everything you should’ve done differently.
Then the worst idea comes.
The one that makes your face heat before you even say it. “Could I…” You stop.
Ellie tilts her head. “Could you what?”
You look down at your hands. You know she’s into girls. You know she’s dated girls before.
And you know there’s something you could offer that doesn’t involve money.
Something that would probably get you what you want. Something that feels easier than admitting you need help.
“I could pay you another way.”
The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Ellie pauses. Not dramatically. Just enough.
Her fingers still for a second over the rolling paper, and her eyes lift to yours.
Your face immediately feels warm. Because now that you’ve said it out loud, it sounds even more ridiculous. “I mean—” You clear your throat. “Not like—”
Ellie’s eyebrow lifts. You immediately know you’re making this worse. “I just mean, you know…” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “You’re into girls.”
A small, amused smile begins to form.
The problem is that she actually is. Which somehow makes it harder. You shift on the couch, suddenly aware of every single word coming out of your mouth.
“I just thought maybe if you wanted to, I don’t know…” You trail off, then force yourself to finish. “Maybe that could count as payment.”
For a moment, Ellie only stares. Then she laughs.
Not loudly. Just a quiet, surprised chuckle that makes her shake her head.
“I don’t know.” She looks down at the joint in her hands, still smiling slightly. “You’re really just… offering yourself up for a joint.”
You immediately get defensive.
“I’m saying I wouldn’t hate it.”
That catches her attention. The amusement doesn’t disappear, exactly. It just shifts. Ellie looks at you differently. And suddenly you feel it. Her gaze.
Slow. Curious. Not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. Just enough that you notice.
Her eyes move over you, taking in the tired expression, the messy hair, the way you’re sitting there trying so hard to pretend you aren’t nervous.
For a second, you genuinely think she’s considering it. Actually considering it. And maybe she is.
Because Ellie doesn’t look disgusted. She doesn’t look offended.
If anything, she looks a little intrigued.
Then she leans back into the chair, a quiet laugh escaping her.
The answer is immediate. You blink.
You stare at her. She’s still smiling. Not cruelly.
You sigh, sinking back into the couch. The joint sits between her fingers, unfinished.
You look at it. Then at her.
And the thought refuses to leave. Because it’s not just about the weed. Not entirely. The truth is, you’ve wondered before. Not about Ellie specifically.
Not at first. Just… What it would be like. To be with a girl. To know what it felt like. To stop wondering.
“I have thought about it before.”
That wipes the amusement from her face. Not completely. But enough. “What?”
You immediately regret opening your mouth.
“I mean…” You look away. “Being with a girl.”
Ellie stays quiet. So you keep going.
“I’ve just never done anything like that.”
You look back at her. Her expression has changed.
She’s not laughing anymore. She’s listening.
“I’ve just always wondered what it would be like,” you admit. “What it would feel like.”
Something in Ellie’s face shifts. Interest.
Not just amusement anymore.
“You’ve never been with a girl?”
Then Ellie glances down at the joint, then back at you. “Huh.”
She is quiet for a moment. Then she sets the lighter down beside the tin and leans back.
“I usually don’t do stuff like this.”
Your eyes immediately move to her. The words shouldn’t make your heart jump. They should probably make you feel relieved.
Because there’s something in the way she says it.
Not a rejection. Not exactly. More like she’s thinking out loud.
Ellie looks at you. The corner of her mouth lifts slightly. Your cheeks warm.
For a second, neither of you says anything.
Not quickly. Not accidentally. Just enough that you notice.
Your breath catches as her eyes move over you, taking in the way you’re sitting on her couch, the nervous way your hands keep fidgeting, the tension you haven’t been able to hide since you walked through her door.
You try not to react. You fail.
Your thighs press together before you can stop them.
And the worst part is that Ellie notices. Of course she does. Ellie notices everything. She looks back up at your face, amused.
“Look.” Her voice is quieter now.
“I’m not just going to use you because you came here stressed and desperate for a way to shut your brain off.”
The words hit differently than you expect. Because that’s exactly what you were afraid of admitting.
That maybe this wasn’t about Ellie. Maybe it was about escaping.
She watches your expression change. You nod slowly. A pause. Then Ellie tilts her head.
Your eyes lift back to hers. There it is again.
That little shift. That almost-smile.
She lets out a quiet laugh. “I don’t think I’m the only one who likes the idea.”
The words sit between you. And somehow, somehow, they make your heartbeat pick up faster than anything else she’s said tonight.
Her eyes flick over your face, catching the way your confidence disappears the second the attention turns back on you. The way you suddenly don’t know what to do with your hands. “You okay?”
A small smile tugs at her mouth.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
You open your mouth to argue, but nothing convincing comes out. Ellie doesn’t push.
Instead, she reaches for the lighter.
The little click of the flame fills the quiet room.
She lights the joint like it’s the most normal thing in the world, completely unbothered by the way you’re watching her. She takes a slow breath, letting the smoke disappear into the air before looking back at you.
For some reason, that calmness makes you even more aware of yourself. Of the fact that you’re sitting in her apartment after months of not seeing her.
She exhales, smoke curling away as she looks back at you.
Your eyes flick down. Then back up.
Simple. Direct. You swallow. Your body moves before your brain catches up. Slowly, you stand.
You feel ridiculous. Too aware of every movement.
You’re much less graceful than you’d like to be.
You lower yourself carefully, almost stiffly, like you’re afraid the wrong move will make the entire moment disappear.
Ellie feels it immediately. Of course she does.
Her hand settles on your hip before you can fully sit, steadying you.
The word is quiet. You freeze.
Then slowly let out the breath you were holding.
You nod, still a little hesitant.
“There you go.” Her hand stays there for another moment, grounding you more than anything else has all day.
Then she lifts the joint again.
You lean forward and take a small hit. The effect isn’t instant, but it’s close. The tension you’ve been carrying in your shoulders begins to loosen.
Your thoughts don’t vanish. They just stop screaming.
For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s space between them.
You sigh softly before you can stop yourself. A real sigh. One that comes from somewhere deep.
A small smirk appears on Ellies lips.
She’s noticing the exact moment you start coming back to yourself.
Then she takes another pull. You expect her to hand it over. Instead, she shifts slightly.
Before you can ask what she means, she leans closer and guides you in. Your brain barely catches up before her lips meet yours.
The surprise alone is enough to make you freeze.
You go completely still, caught between confusion and the sudden realization that this is actually happening.
A quiet, amused sound escapes her before she lightly catches your bottom lip between her teeth.
The surprise of it makes you react instinctively, your mouth parting.
And that’s when she exhales.
The smoke passes between you, warm and unfamiliar, and suddenly everything feels softer around the edges. Your thoughts lose their sharpness. Your eyes flutter shut.
A dizzy feeling washes over you almost immediately, your thoughts turning soft and hazy at the edges.
But you know it isn’t just the weed.
It’s the fact that Ellie Williams, the girl you used to cross campus for every other night during exam season, is suddenly the reason your mind has gone quiet.
You don’t even realize you’ve started kissing her back until you’re already doing it.
For once, there’s no list of everything you’re behind on. No panic. No endless noise. Just this. The kiss doesn’t last forever. A few seconds. Maybe less.
But long enough that when you finally pull back, you’re left blinking at her like you’ve forgotten what you were supposed to say.
Ellie doesn’t look nearly as affected. If anything, she looks entertained. A little smug.
Her eyes flick over your face, taking in the dazed expression you’re trying and failing to hide.
The second your lips leave hers, she shoves the joint back into your hand without breaking eye contact.
Then she’s on you again, her mouth finds the curve of your neck first, teeth grazing lightly before her tongue follows. It’s not soft; it's hungry, impatient.
Her free hand grips your waist to pull you closer against her while the other keeps the joint balanced precariously near both of you. She exhales smoke right against your skin between kisses.
"You good?" she mumbles against you, not stopping for an actual answer.
“Yes” you try to say but the sharp sting of her teeth makes you gasp instead. Ellie smirks against your skin, feeling the way your body reacts. She doesn’t let up. If anything, she bites down just a little harder this time before soothing it with her tongue.
Her hands are everywhere, one tangled in your hair to tilt your head further back for better access, the other sliding under the hem of whatever is in the way of touching your skin.
She takes another drag off the joint without pulling away fully, blowing smoke out through her nose while still marking up your neck like she owns it.
"You taste good," she mutters, "like fucking strawberry body wash or some shit."
The second your hips move on instinct, Ellie’s breath hitches, her whole body tenses for half a second like she wasn’t expecting that. Then her grip tightens.
She grinds back up against you almost immediately, using the friction to her advantage. The joint gets abandoned in the ashtray on the coffee table with a careless flick of her wrist.
"Fuck," she growls low before crashing her lips onto yours again, this time messier, hungrier.
Her thigh presses harder between yours as she kisses you deep, a little sloppy from weed and want, but it works.
One hand slips under your shirt while the other cups your jaw to keep kissing you stupid.
Ellie can tell by the way you move, hesitant, unsure, that this is all new for you. Normally, she’d rush through something like this… but something about your clumsy eagerness makes her wanna guide you.
Her hands slide down to grip your hips firmly, not rough, just there, steadying. She starts rolling her own hips up against yours in slow circles first, showing you the rhythm without words.
Then she nudges with a little more pressure, her thigh becomes an anchor as she moves it up against you with a little more pressure. Her breathing gets heavier; even though she’s trying to be patient for once… it’s affecting her too.
"That’s it," she murmurs against your lips between kisses, "just like that."
The second that whimper leaves your lips, Ellie loses whatever control she was clinging to. Her hands are under your shirt before you can even blink, cold palms skimming up your back as she yanks the fabric upward.
She breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it off completely, tossing it somewhere behind the couch without looking. The moment skin meets air, cool for a split second before her touch burns again, she’s diving back in.
Her mouth finds yours once more, but now there’s nothing between you two, no barriers. One hand splays across your bare stomach while the other tangles into your hair.
"God," she breathes against you, "you’re so fucking pretty."
A breathy whimper escapes you, “fuck.”
The second her mouth closes over your nipple, teeth and tongue working on you, your whole body jerks. Ellie doesn’t let up, sucking lightly while her thigh presses up with deliberate friction right where it counts.
You can’t believe what you’d gotten yourself into.
She’s relentless now, all patience gone. Every flick of her tongue, every roll of her hips is calculated to drive you crazy and needles to say it’s working.
Her free hand pins your waist down onto the couch so you can’t squirm away (not that you would), keeping the pressure exactly where she wants it as she alternates between gentle bites and soothing licks on your chest.
"You feel that?" she mutters against your skin, "That good?"
You’d nod desperately as all pure thoughts leave your mind. “Ellie,” you can’t seem to stop whimpering her name.
Ellie’s eyes darken at your desperate nod, she loves the way you sound right now, all shaky and needy just for her. It goes straight to her head.
She doesn’t tease. Doesn’t slow down. Instead, she doubles down, her thigh grinds up harder against you while her mouth moves to your other nipple, treating it the same way: biting gently before soothing with a swirl of her tongue.
Her hand that was on your waist slides up suddenly, fingertips brushing over the swell of your breast before squeezing lightly, just enough pressure to make you gasp.
"Tell me," she demands between kisses, "tell me what feels good."
You’re unable to form a thought.
“F-fuck,” you stutter and throw your head back instinctively as you realize your answer didn’t satisfy her.
Ellie huffs, almost annoyed at how incoherent you are, but more than incredibly turned on by it. She doesn’t waste time; her hands slide under the waistband of your pants in one smooth motion, fingers skimming over bare skin.
The second her fingertips brush lower, teasingly close to where you really want them, she pauses. Just for a heartbeat. To watch your face twist with need.
Then she’s there: palm cupping you through thin fabric first, testing the heat before dipping lower…
The second Ellie’s fingers glide through your slick heat, her breath catches, she wasn’t expecting you to be this ready. But she doesn’t comment; just smirks, dark and pleased.
Her thumb circles your clit slowly at first, testing how sensitive you are. The pad of her finger spreads the wetness carefully, making sure every touch is deliberate… not too much pressure yet.
She watches your face like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, the way your lips part when she brushes a certain spot, how your hips twitch trying to chase her hand.
"Fuck," she exhales, "you're so fucking wet."
Ellie loves how wrecked you are how every brush of her fingers turns your brain to static. She doesn’t let up, alternating between soft circles and firmer presses on your clit while guiding your hips with the hand still gripping them.
Her thigh becomes a relentless piston beneath you, thrusting up in time with her finger movements. It’s like she’s playing an instrument, you’re the song, and she knows exactly how to make it sound pretty.
The couch creaks faintly under the movement; Ellie leans down suddenly to capture one of your whimpers with her mouth again, a messy kiss full of teeth because she can’t help herself.
"C'mon," she breathes against your lips, "let me hear you, pretty girl”
The second those words leave her lips a loud, uncontrollable moan leaves you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck”
When that moan leaves your lips, Ellie feels the shift, the way your body tenses right before something big happens. Her fingers don’t stop; if anything, they get bolder, pressing down with more purpose now.
She recognizes that coiled feeling in your stomach—the telltale sign you’re right on the edge, and her own breath quickens. She’s never been great at patience… but this? This she wants to watch.
Her thigh keeps moving under you like a metronome set to ruin, while her other hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you close as she murmurs: "That's it... fucking come for me princess"
And just like that, your body snaps. The knot in your stomach unravels all at once, a wave of white-hot pleasure crashing through you as you clench around Ellie’s fingers.
She feels it, the way your thighs stutter, how your back arches off the couch, and for a second, she freezes too. Not out of hesitation… but because shit, watching you come apart is hotter than she expected.
Your fingers are twisting into Ellie’s shirt as your hips jerk against her thigh on instinct, fascinated eyes watching you.
She doesn’t slow down immediately, she rides out the aftershocks with gentle circles until you squirm from oversensitivity.
Her touch softens immediately after; gentler now as she rides it out with slow circles until the tremors stop. Then, without warning, she kisses you again: deep and slow this time.
"My good fucking girl," she murmurs against your lips.
For a while, you can’t do much more than breathe.
Everything feels distant. Not gone. Just softened.
Your mind, for once, has finally stopped clawing at you for attention.
Ellie catches you before you can even think about moving, pulling you back into her lap with an ease that makes you realize just how little strength you have left. You don’t fight it.
Your forehead finds her shoulder, your arms loosely wrapping around her as you try to remember how breathing normally works.
It’s the exhaustion of finally letting go after carrying too much for too long. The exams, the panic, the constant pressure building in your chest for months, it all feels like it’s been set down somewhere outside the room.
Ellie stays quiet for a moment.
Her hand moves slowly, absentmindedly, fingers gliding through the aftermath of it all. You’re incredibly wet and sensitive, body twitching every once in a while when her fingers meet your clit.
And for once, she looks like she doesn’t know what to say. Which is rare.
Because Ellie always seems like she has something ready. A sarcastic comment. A dry observation. Some little remark to make you roll your eyes.
But now? She’s just watching you. Not because she’s never seen someone lose themselves in a moment like this.
She has. It’s not that. It’s you. The way you’re completely unguarded.
The same person who walked into her apartment looking like she hadn’t slept properly in weeks, apologizing for everything and carrying the weight of every thought in her head.
Now you’re quiet. Calm. Trusting. And something about that catches her off guard.
The question is so very Ellie that you almost laugh.
Almost. Your response comes out barely above a whisper. “Shut up.”
A small grin pulls at her mouth.
You make a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a complaint, but you don’t lift your head.
“I didn’t know you could get this quiet.”
“Shut up” Your fingers lightly curl into the fabric of her hoodie.
You try to glare at her, but you don’t have the energy to make it convincing. Ellie laughs softly.
There’s no teasing edge to it. Just warmth.
You want to tell her off. The problem is, your brain is moving approximately three seconds behind your mouth. Nothing comes out.
You sigh against her shoulder.
And as embarrassing as it is to admit, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be right now.
