krfttin

[krfttin]

okay so i’m crying.

go read this guys, it’s SO worth it.

THE ACT OF DEFROSTING

de ⟡ frost. verb To release from a frozen state; to be freed from ice.

warnings. long ass monologues. graphic depictions of senility & illness. mentions of animal deaths (hunting). brief descriptions of blood. slow ass slowburn. mentions of past death. mentions of past grief & family loss. descriptions of mild injuries & blood. eventual sex. mentions of grief & sorrow. depictions of alcohol & inebriation. drunk sex. descriptions of death.

notes. inspired by CMBYN, POALOF, and any other stories in which they wasted so many days. ──── wc. 22,419

DECEMBER 1ST.

It’s winter again—which means you’ll be seeing her soon.

For the next three months, you will be living alongside Ellie. And, throughout the trip’s duration, you’ll both be acting as though the other does not exist.

In truth, you know of little in regard to her being. You know she doesn't like to make conversation, you know she enjoys drawing in that worn out journal of hers, you know snow sticks to the auburn of her hair, you know she enjoys the crackling sound of a fireplace, and you know she befriended your grandfather when she was fourteen. You don’t know how they met, you don’t know the sound of her voice, and you don’t know her last name. But you know that, ever since he’d first fallen ill, the two of you care for him conjointly during the winter months.

You tip your head back and gaze through the fogged train window, noting the landmarks you’ve come to memorize—the silver lake which is frozen over at this time of year, the willow tree that looks more like a mop with its snowy branches, and then, finally, the large sign reading: Jackson.

You reach under your seat to collect your belongings. First is your duffel bag, stuffed full with winter clothes. Next is your annotated copy of ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’, creased and stained yet indubitably loved. Then, lastly, comes your laptop that harbors the entirety of your work for this past year.

When the train lurches to a halt at Jackson’s ramshackle station, you’re the only one to alight. The platform is coated in such a heavy sheet of ice you nearly slip the moment your boots touch it. With a huff, you pull your bag onto your shoulder and begin the trudge toward your grandfather’s home. It’s roughly a fifteen minute walk from here, but you don’t mind the journey seeing as it’s a rather scenic one. You pass a trickling creek, a boisterous church bell, and more than a few flickering streetlamps.

Before you know it, you’re ascending the wooden steps of your grandfather’s porch. You shift the weight of your bag atop your shoulders as you reach under his window sill for the spare key left for you and Ellie. During the warm months, he hasn’t a need for the key because your great uncle, Tommy, is here to assist him. 

You slot the key into the lock, twist it, then nudge the door open with your knee. It swings wide to reveal a warm, wooden foyer. You place your bag onto the floor before turning around to shut and lock the door behind yourself. As you begin to strip out of your fur coat and heavy boots, the scent of pine reaches your nose and you know, in an instant, that Ellie is already here.

It doesn’t much matter who arrives first so long as they do so prior to Tommy’s departure. That way, he’s able to explain whatever changes have occurred in the past three seasons, which diet your grandfather is currently on, and where to find certain items within the home.

You walk into your grandfather’s room before daring to settle into your own. His room is cozy, decorated with flannel blankets and warmly scented candles. Atop his bed, with a machine located to the left of his bedpost, your grandfather resides with a small smile on his face. That’s when you notice he’s speaking to someone, to Ellie. They both turn, having noticed your presence at the same time.

“Sorry,” you utter, “I hadn’t meant to intrude.”

Ellie inhales deeply, turning away from you. She places a hand atop both of your grandfather’s, leans forward to whisper something in his ear that makes him chuckle, then presses a soft kiss to his hairline. She pushes to her feet, allowing the legs of her wooden chair to scrape loudly across the floorboards. Then she leaves without saying another word.

“Pain in the ass, that one.” Your grandfather says with a weakened laugh. You walk forward, placing your bag on the floor before sitting in the chair Ellie once occupied. He reaches for your hand and you let him take it, rubbing the pad of your thumb along his scarred knuckles. He looks at you with his wizened eyes. “It’s a shame, y’know, that y’all don’t get along. I think you’d really like each other.”

“Maybe one day.” You tell him with a small smile, though you don’t quite believe your own words. He squeezes your hand fondly, returning the smile with one of his own. But he sees right through you; he knows you’re lying.

DECEMBER 7TH.

You’ve long since settled into your room, having turned it into a place more susceptible to being called our own. A thick, indigo duvet lays atop a firm mattress as you slowly awake from a dreamless slumber. The space is warm despite the flurries of snow that can be seen outside your window. 

You toss your legs over the side of the bed, the frigidity of the floorboards beneath your bare feet causing a chill to travel up your spine. You shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself as you walk down the hallway. Tommy has decorated the home with the nick-nacks his brother had once spent countless hours sculpting. From clocks to shelves to small wooden creatures. 

You enter the kitchen and begin to brew your grandfather a mug of coffee, having memorized exactly how he likes it. As the water heats, you saunter into the living room and brace your hands in front of the fireplace so as to warm yourself up. Still crouched down, your ears pick up a muffled thudding sound coming from outside. It’s harsh and repetitive, instantly setting you on edge. You stand to your feet and peer out the nearest window only to find that it’s Ellie chopping wood.

Her hair is tied back into a low bun at the nape of her neck, though two strands have fallen loose and now frame her face delicately. She swings a hatchet high in the air before slamming it down onto a piece of wood, splitting it in two. She’s breathing heavily, puffs of white air coming from her lips. 

Before long, you grow disinterested and walk away. You pour the heated water onto the grinded coffee beans, stirring the two together until it reaches the proper ratio. Then, while blowing gently into the mug, you begin walking toward your grandfather’s room.

You’re passing the foyer when the front door swings open and the coffee is spilled all down your chest. You shriek, staggering backward as pain blooms across your skin. Ellie drops the pile of wood from her arms and comes forward with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Shit,” she breathes. “I didn’t mean to–”

“It burns!” You shout, tugging at your clothes. You remove your shirt, rubbing harshly at your skin in an attempt to rid it of the agonizing sensation that currently adorns it. 

Ellie grabs your wrists, halting your movements. “Just– go take a shower, okay? I’ll make a new coffee for Joel and try to wash the stain out of your shirt.”

You nod, still wincing slightly before hurrying to the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and twist the faucet knob, willing the water to be as cold as possible. While the tub steadily begins to fill, you examine your chest in the mirror. The skin is red and irritated, inflamed by the torridity of your grandfather’s priorly untouched coffee. With a grimace, you remove the rest of your clothing before stepping into the tub. You slide down until the water is lapping around your collarbones, cold yet relaxing as it eases the pain from your body. 

Shutting your eyes, you tip your head back against the tiled wall behind the tub. The backs of your eyelids flash Ellie’s face, her voice ringing through your ears. You open your eyes, opting to instead stare at the ceiling so as to not be haunted by the newfound knowledge of what she looks like up close. But the ceiling is just as blank as the darkness of your shut eyes.

It’s strange—now that you think of it—that you and Ellie have been caring for your grandfather since you were both sixteen and, after all this time, you’ve never spoken to one another. You’d deemed it a simple fact of life, residing on the same level of inevitability as the rising sun and the beat of a heart. But it doesn't have to be like that, does it? Your grandfather said it himself: it’s a shame you don’t get along.

When you exit the bathroom, twisting a towel into your dampened hair, you have a goal in mind. And that goal is to get Ellie to open up, no matter the cost. 

When you find her, she’s sitting at your grandfather’s side, helping him drink his coffee. She has one hand on his back as he struggles to sit up, her other hand wrapped around the mug as she brings it to his shaky lips. When he leans back, only then does her gaze fall onto you—standing in the doorway with a towel in your hair and a thin shirt covering your body.

“Ellie.” You say, stepping forward with an awkward sort of smile. “I didn’t get to thank you earlier for–”

“Don’t worry about it.” She grounds out before pushing to her feet. 

She rounds the bed, heading for the door with a deepened scowl on her face. As she brushes past you, you grab her arm to halt her movements—the same way she’d grabbed your wrist in the kitchen. Ellie whips around, shoulders tense, and stares you directly in the eye. They’re green, you think before she yanks her arm from your grip and storming out of the room in a hasty flurry of chagrin.

In her absence, the room feels vast and empty. Apparently her contempt had been enough to fill the air without needing to exchange any words. You catch your grandfather’s eye, but he’s just grinning as though he knows something that neither of you are yet ready to hear.

With a sigh, you stalk toward the abandoned chair beside his bed. The cushion is velvet, the legs and back are mahogany. Your grandfather built it himself—before he got sick, of course. His hands are scarred from the years spent handling a sharpened chisel, his knuckles and fingertips having taken the brunt. You reach forward, grabbing one of those hands and holding it. You can feel the callouses in his palms that never faded, regardless of how many years passed.

“I told ya.” Your grandfather chuckles lightly. “She’s a pain in the ass, ain’t she?”

“She’s… something.”

He laughs a little louder this time. He rolls his head to the side, staring fondly at the doorway she’s stomped out of. “Ah, if ya think she’s bad now, ya should’ve met her when she was younger. That kid never knew when t’quit. She carried around a book of puns and couldn’t tell how much everyone hated listenin’ to ‘em.”

You shake your head, unable to imagine Ellie in such a way. The girl you know now is as cold as the winter she brings with her. Perhaps if you cared for your grandfather in the summer, your perception of her would be warmer. But, seeing as that’s not the case, it remains icy. Still, you enjoy the mental image of Ellie telling puns and being unable to read social cues.

“How did you two meet, anyway?” 

A question you never dared to ask before, for it felt like an invasion into her privacy. But it isn’t; not really. You’ve known one another for years, it’s about time you get to learn a little about her. Perhaps it’ll explain why she’s so distant toward you yet so kind and gentle toward your grandfather.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d ask me that.” The old man smiles, causing his gray mustache to lift slightly with the upturned corners of his mouth. He exhales a fond sigh, staring up at the ceiling as though he can recall the memory as clear as day. “I was huntin’ in the woods behind my house. It was the only time I’d ever done it without takin’ Tommy with me. A good thing, too. ‘Cause he probably would’ve told me to pull the trigger as soon as I had my gun trained onto a movin’ animal. I almost did. But then its head popped outta the bushes ‘n’ I realized it wasn’t an animal at all. It was a little girl. Her hair was a mess ‘n’ she smelled like cow shit, but she was human.”

“Ellie?” You ask.

“Mhm. Same freckled face and ferocious attitude as today.” He says with a wide grin, but you never noticed that she had freckles. “I shouted at her, like anyone in my position would. I asked why the hell she was doin’ out in the woods all alone. But, instead of answerin’ me like a civilized person, she called me a nosy asshole and tried to steal my quarry. Now, I’d never fight a kid over somethin’ as trivial as that. So I let ‘er have it. Bad idea, apparently. Not because she came back the next day lookin’ for more of my shit t’steal, but because Tommy tagged along. And he was not a fan of my newfound parasite. He told her to fuck off ‘n’ to shoot down her own damn deer. Of course, she argued with the most vulgar language I’d ever heard from the mouth of a child so young. Long story short, she won the deer on the condition that she’d agree to learn how to shoot her own meat from then on out.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah. But only ‘cause she had the best teacher imaginable.” He says with a tinge of pride in his voice. “Every day for the followin’ three months, she’d meet up with Tommy ‘n’ I in the woods. We’d teach her how to hunt and, on the occasion that she’d shoot down her animal, she was allowed to keep its meat. This agreement worked for a while. That is…until she quit showin’ up. Now, I’d gotten t’know that little girl throughout those past few months ‘n’ I was, rather understandably, worried. I barely got any sleep that night, afraid she’d gotten kidnapped due to ‘er lack of survival instincts—for example: meetin’ up with a couple o’strangers in the woods every day like clockwork.”

“But she was fine, of course.”

“Physically, yes. Mentally, not so much.” He replies. “Her momma had gotten deathly ill. She’d been takin’ my deer meat to bring home to her ‘cause they weren’t makin’ any money with her stuck in bed all day. Her momma had a friend, Marlene, who agreed to take ‘er in, but Ellie was rather vocal ‘bout ‘er hatred for the woman. But, as it turns out, a fourteen-year-old’s tantrum doesn't persuade anyone in the court. The judge gave Marlene custody over Ellie ‘n’ she was fully moved in within the week. But, even after everythin’ that’d happened with ‘er family, she continued t’meet me out in the woods for shootin’ practice. She was mournin’ her momma and she was hatin’ her new guardian, yet she found peace in the time we shared. Some days, I’d invite her inside t’make sure she was eatin’. Other days, she’d not utter a single word t’me.”

“And then you got sick, too.”

He nods solemnly. “By the time I’d fallen ill, she’d grown up a bit. She still wasn’t her usual self, but she was doin’ better. My diagnosis was enough t’undo all that’d finally begun to heal in that girl’s heart. Hell, she cried harder than my own daughter. It was like she was already grievin’ a death I hadn’t yet gone through. Can’t blame ‘er, of course, but still…it was rough. Then Tommy moved in t’help me out and the two o’you signed up for the winter months and here we are.”

You don’t know exactly what you expected, but that certainly hadn’t been it. Ellie is quite rough around the edges, so you always assumed there were underlying bruises nestled within her past that you’d never quite be able to discover. But this was worse than you could ever have imagined. Not only did her mother die when she was only fourteen, but she was bed-ridden in the same way your grandfather currently is. It’s like a mirror was placed within her life’s timeline so as to force her into experiencing everything twice over.

Now you’re even more determined to get her to open up.

DECEMBER 20TH.

You’ve been trying to make conversation with Ellie for two weeks now. You wake up earlier in the mornings to make her a mug of coffee before she leaves to chop wood for the fireplace, and you stay awake later so you can make supper after the exhausting day she’s sure to have endured. And, whenever you cross paths, you start talking and don’t stop until she leaves the room—which, honestly, never takes very long.

“How was your day?” You ask her while serving a scoop of pasta onto her paper plate. Ellie looks up at you with a frown from where she’s sitting. You ignore her judgemental expression, leaning forward to scoop a portion of supper onto your grandfather’s plate as well. He thanks you kindly, holding a fork in his shaky hand.

The two of you used to just eat whatever you could find in the cabinets whenever you’d get hungry. Some nights, you’d have eaten a can of beans well past midnight. Others, you’d cook yourself a nice meal and eat it beside your grandfather’s bed. It didn’t matter what you or Ellie ate, so long as he was fed something good and healthy.

During these past two weeks, though, you’ve made sure to spend time cooking up something nice so as to ensure a slice of her day will be spent in your company. So long, it’s worked quite well. That is, if you ignore the fact that she responds in one-word statements.

“Mine was good.” Your grandfather replies once it’s become obvious that Ellie won’t be entertaining this particular conversation. “Same as every other day, though, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I’m glad it was good.” You smile. “Mine was pretty good, too. I went shopping for some—much needed—groceries, picked up a few prescriptions for you, and then came home to cook spaghetti because I remember it being one of your favorites.”

He smiles. “Thanks, honey. You remember quite well.”

“How could I have forgotten?” You ask. “Every single time I visited you as a kid, we would have pasta for supper. And when I would ask why, you’d just say ‘spaghetti is Papa’s favorite’ and then you’d tell me that if I didn’t finish it, you’d finish it for me.”

“And I still will.” He threatens, pointing his fork shakily in your direction.

You laugh, warmth filling your chest as the three of you continue to eat the meal you’d prepared. You cherish this moment, allowing the small details to soak into your mind. Because, though you claimed your day had been good, there were a few points you’d left out of your retelling. 

While shopping, you ran into a distasteful group of people that reminded you of circling predators; the encounter had left a sour taste on your tongue and a heavy weight in your chest. Then, while picking up your grandfather’s prescribed medicines, the clerk treated you like an idiot. She almost gave you the wrong bottle—thrice. Then, after arguing with each other for nigh ten minutes, you came to realize that the confusion emerged because you were giving her the wrong name. Because his prescription changed. His dosage had been raised. When you asked the clerk what this meant, she said his illness was getting worse and he was likely experiencing indescribable pain.

It’s impossible to imagine, though, as you look at him now—smiling and laughing as though nothing is wrong. He looks healthier than ever, his eyes glinting with cheer as his skin flourishes beneath the dull yellow lights of his bedroom. 

And, when you lie awake in bed later that night, the clerk’s words are the only thing you can think about. Her sharp voice having turned gentle at the sound of your franticness, her softened gaze as she kindly explained the reason behind the alteration in your grandfather’s dosage. You turn over underneath the indigo duvet, restless and unable to rid your mind of terrible thoughts regarding your grandfather’s impending demise. What would he want written on his tombstone? Who would even show up to the funeral considering he lives so far out into the countryside? Would you have to give a speech, and what the hell would you even say? Would his house go to Tommy, or would it be sold to a younger family of four? Fuck, you can't stop thinking about it.

When you finally manage to fall asleep, your dreams are just as horribly restless. You shoot awake at least four times, gasping as your grandfather’s slackened jaw and empty eyes haunt your mind. It’s four in the morning when you decide you’ll be unable to fall back asleep.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, no longer shocked by the chilliness of the hardwood flooring beneath your heels. You walk down the hallway until you reach your grandfather’s bedroom door. It’s cracked open, allowing the sound of his soft snoring to pass into the vacant hallway. You push the door lightly with your toe, causing the hinges to creak gently against the quietude of nighttime. 

Your grandfather lies in bed, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. You walk into the dimly lit room, your feet patting lightly across the floor as you approach the velvet and mahogany chair beside his bed. When you sit in it, you make sure to not scrape the legs against the floorboards. 

For a long time, you just sit there and stare at him. You watch his chest move with each breath, you watch his fingers twitch in his sleep, and you watch his eyes shift under their lids. Then, slowly, your fatigue begins to catch up to you. You lean forward, placing your head in his lap as you slowly fall into a restful slumber. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is the feel of his hand coming up to cradle your head like he used to do when you were a toddler.

When you wake again, it’s to the sound of muffled speaking. You lift your head, blinking a few times so as to register what’s happening. Your grandfather is already awake, sitting up against his pillows as he rubs your head absentmindedly. He’s speaking with someone, looking up at them from his place in bed. You roll your head to the side, finding Ellie standing by his nightstand, unaware that you’re awake.

She looks softer like this; warmer. Her eyes are gentle and her hair is dampened from a recent bath. She’s dressed in her pajamas, a pair of thin shorts hanging from her hips beneath an oversized shirt she must have stolen from your grandfather. She’s speaking to him, talking with her hands as her mouth moves with the corners tugged upward. Then you see her freckles, lightly dotted across her skin like stars in the night sky. You wonder if they create constellations, too.

“—Well there ain’t much that can be done ‘bout that, I’m afraid.” Your grandfather is saying to her thoughtfully. “Sometimes rabbits jus’ ain’t dumb enough to take the bait.”

“But I built the trap perfectly.” Ellie insists, her tone a bit childlike.

“Like I said,” he shrugs, “there ain’t much that can be done.”

Ellie frowns, but ultimately accepts this answer. You watch as she bites the inside of her cheek in thought, trying to puzzle out something that can be done. Though, after a few moments, she gives up. Ellie steps forward, leaning in to press a kiss to your grandfather’s hairline, then leaves the room as she says something about needing to change so she can start hunting.

You’re still pretending to be asleep when your grandfather nudges your head and says, “Quit eavesdroppin’, kiddo. Ya ain’t slick.”

You wince, rubbing the back of your skull as you grumble, “I was slick enough for her not to catch me.”

“That was luck, honey, not skill.”

You frown at him, feigning offense. He doesn't fall for it, of course, and instead just laughs at your attempt to make him feel guilty. With a huff, you rise from the chair and promise to return with a warm mug of coffee. That seems to excite him but, just before leaving, you add: “On the condition that you apologize for insulting me.”

Your grandfather, petulant as ever, mumbles his apology under his breath rather than speaking it aloud. But you know it’s the best you’ll get, so you accept it with a warm laugh.

You’re waiting for the water to heat up when a pair of footsteps patters across the wooden flooring. You glance over your shoulder to find that Ellie is sauntering into the foyer. She’s no longer dressed in a stolen shirt and flowy shorts. Instead, she’s wearing multiple layers of jeans and more than three heavy winter coats. She’s crouched down and lacing her boots when you approach her with a grin.

“How did you sleep?” You ask her, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet.

She flicks her gaze upward before frowning and looking back down at her boots. “Fine.”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.” You muse. “Do you remember, two weeks ago, when we bumped into one another and I spilt scalding coffee down my shirt?”

“Yes.” She grunts.

“You were rather talkative in that moment.” You tell her. “How come you don’t talk anymore?”

“Dunno.”

Then she’s pushing to her feet and exiting through the front door. You watch her leave through the side windows. She walks down the sidewalk to the backyard, likely intending to chop some wood for the dying fireplace. It’s funny, though, knowing that she’s the only one who truly pays any attention to the fire yet she’s willing to spend hours at a time tending to it.

Prior years spent here, you remember catching her sitting in front of the fire late at night, just listening to the way it crackles and hisses. Perhaps there’s a story to explain this infatuation of hers. Or perhaps she simply enjoys waking up early to chop wood and then stays up late watching all of her hard work burn into a pile of ash, just so she can wake up and do it all over again. Probably not the latter.

You carry the mug of coffee to your grandfather's bedroom, sitting at his side while you help him drink it. He tries to hold it, but is far too shaky to do so for very long. Eventually, he gives in and allows you to hold it for him, placing it to his lips as he tips his head back. It’s a rather long and awkward process, but you fill the time with conversation and you fill the space with laughter. So, after a few moments, the stilted feeling has long since vacated the room.

When he’s done drinking, you bring the mug back to the kitchen to wash it for tomorrow morning. It’s his favorite mug, after all—the outline of an owl etched into its face. You handwash it daily for him to reuse each day, uncaring for the chore so long as he appreciates the effort, which he always does.

You’re standing in front of the sink, your hands wrapped in bubbles, when the front door opens and closes. Ellie walks into the foyer covered in icy chill and irritation. She stomps over to the fireplace, loading the newly chopped logs into the hearth. Then she stomps back over to the foyer and begins peeling off her layers. Her boots come off first, then her knitted hat, then her multitude of coats.

You place your grandfather’s mug upside down on the countertop to dry, then you reach into the cabinet for a new one. Not for yourself, but for Ellie—because she appears rather irritated today despite the gentility of her aspect earlier in the morning.

You’re rinsing the mug in the sink when you call over your shoulder, “Don’t run off just yet, Ellie, I’m making you a coffee!”

She frowns at you, but doesn’t argue. She hooks her final coat on his hanger before walking into the living area to start the fire. And, within a few minutes, she manages to spark a flame and create a small inferno within the furnace. Ellie is sitting at the island when you turn around to grab the coffee beans from the other counter. However, due to the mug having just been rinsed, it’s wet and slips easily from your hands. It falls to the floor and shatters instantly, glass shards splaying all across the kitchen.

Ellie instantly moves to get up, but you tell her not to. Begrudgingly, she obliges and agrees to stay seated. Your grandfather is yelling from his bedroom, asking what happened. You call out a response, explaining that you’d dropped a mug and you’re both alright.

Almost immediately after you finish assuring him of your wellbeing, you step on a piece of glass. The sharp wedges instantly within the soft flesh of your foot. You inhale a sharp gasp, yanking your foot off the floor as bolts of pain shoot up your leg.

“What–” Ellie stares at you in disbelief. “Why the fuck do you try so hard, anyway?”

You snap your head up to meet her gaze and, due to the current agony in your foot, you’re just as irritable as she. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You!” She shouts. “You just won’t stop!”

“Me!?” You shoot back, hands shaking as you cradle your foot. “All I’ve done in this past month is cater to you and your selfish ass attitude! I’m not going to apologize for being a decent person, though I can see why you’re shocked that someone actually gives a shit about you. I’m sure not many people do that.”

Ellie clenches her jaw tightly before pushing to her feet. The stool scrapes against the floor loudly, sending a shiver up your spine. She scowls at you. “Quit acting as though you know what’s best for everyone. Stop obsessing over me and figure out your own shit. You obviously need to.”

Then she’s storming out of the kitchen and slamming her bedroom door closed. You hear the lock click into place behind her, though your attention has already been diverted back to your foot and the piece of glass lodged into it.

Fuck her. You think to yourself as you pull the bloodied glass from your skin. And, as you lift your head to gaze down the hallway, you wonder why you even tried.

JANUARY 2ND.

The ten days foregoing your argument with Ellie are torture. The two of you spend the entirety of this juncture ignoring one another, basking the home in an unnerving silence. Honestly, considering this quietude was once all you’d ever known with Ellie, it shouldn’t be difficult to tolerate. But it is. Because the air is thick with unspoken words that are certain to hurt. 

When she enters a room, you make haste to exit it; when you’re speaking with your grandfather, she opts to do so at a later time. You no longer make an effort to connect with her and she no longer endures such an agonizing form of torment.

Most days, Ellie just sits in front of the fireplace and draws in that worn-out leather journal of hers. Others, she busies herself with work—chopping firewood, hunting deer, trapping rabbits, and shovelling snow from the sidewalk. The only times you ever see her is when you’re both accidentally in the same place. Like when you pass through the living room with a pile of blankets in your arms to find Ellie feeding the flames of the fire with newly chopped wood. Or like when you arrive home earlier than expected to find her sitting beside your grandfather with tears in her eyes. Or like when you wake in the middle of the night to fill a glass of water to find her sitting at the island while scribbling messy notes into her journal.

The examples are endless, but as is your loathing for her. You tried—so hard—to befriend Ellie. Not because you wanted to, but because your grandfather claimed the two of you would get along. A bad idea, albeit a valiant one. You should have known there was a reason that you two had never spoken prior to this winter despite having known one another since the age of sixteen. You should have known she’d end up being an asshole.

In fact, the height of her vileness resided within that final dreadful week of December. See, because you’d stepped on glass, your foot had to be wrapped in a bandage that made it rather difficult to travel long distances. Due to this, you were unable to walk to the grocer or to the pharmacy, causing this responsibility to fall onto Ellie’s shoulders. This arrangement lasted only a few days, though it felt like an eternity. 

You spent most of your time at your grandfather’s side, explaining the situation to him with the smallest amount of bias possible—though you were unable to help yourself when it came to using vulgar words when describing Ellie’s attitude. Your grandfather just chuckled, claiming that story made his day. You rolled your eyes with a huff, forever unable to understand the mind of a man so senile. He allowed you to prop your wounded foot up on his bed while you read ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ aloud to him. When Ellie returned from the store, her presence was made very clear via her stomping feet and grumbled cursing. Of course, your grandfather found this all hilarious.

But, thankfully, your foot healed within a few days and you were back to work in no time. You mopped the floors and scrubbed the dishes and tended to the limbless plants in the back yard. All the while, you refused to meet Ellie’s gaze. Sometimes, you could swear you felt her staring. But you never dared to turn—just in case she was, you cared naught to reveal your acknowledgement of her existence. Sure, you could be deemed childish for such petty behaviour, but you didn’t really give a shit.

Today marks the tenth breakfast you’ve eaten since Ellie put that glass in your foot. Indirectly, of course, but you still tell yourself the entire thing had been her fault.

You push your indigo duvet from your body with a yawn, stretching your arms over your head. The icy bedroom window opposite the bed reveals the thick blanket of snow resting atop its sill. It must have snowed a lot last night, thus covering the driveway you just shovelled. Perhaps, if you ignore the snow’s existence, Ellie will become irritated enough to do the shoveling herself. Yes. That is your plan.

You stand from the bed and approach the window, wrapping your arms around yourself. That’s when you spot a small butterfly perched atop the grille, its black wings moving languidly through the icy air. You stare at it for a moment longer, recalling a book that’d mentioned how seldom butterflies are found in the wintertime. This one in particular—if you remember correctly—is a Mourning Cloak butterfly. 

Even twenty minutes later, while you’re making your grandfather a mug of coffee, you cannot seem to rid your mind of thoughts pertaining to the Mourning Cloak. Was it a sign that something will happen to your grandfather today? Or are you overthinking things and it was just a damn insect? You can’t tell. 

Ellie enters the foyer with an armful of firewood. As she walks past the kitchen toward the living area, your eyes meet. Only for a second. Then you’re turning the faucet off and carrying the torrid mug to your grandfather’s room. Still, a heavy weight of superstition beats at your ribcage.

“Mornin’.” He grunts as you enter the room. The strong scents of pepper and saffron assault your nose as soon as you walk inside. You blink, looking around for any new candles Ellie may have put on his shelves. But, alas, there are none. Your grandfather takes quick notice of your expression. He chuckles before saying, “You must be smellin’ the stew Ellie made for me last night. She was nervous as a cat when she asked me to taste it. Said she’d never cooked anythin’ before, but wanted to try out somethin’ new.”

“And?” You inquire while approaching his bed with a warm smile. He sits up, grunting as he reclines his aching spine into his plush pillows. You hand him his mug of coffee, sitting down in the velvet and mahogany chair. “Was it any good?”

“‘Course it was.” He says firmly. “Even if it was tasteless ‘n’ cold, it would still be one o’my favorite meals ‘cause she made it for me. That’s what matters, after all. Not the end result, but the memories made along the way. She spent hours tryin’ t’get every ingredient perfect. And, even when it was as good as she could possibly get it, she gave it t’me with a frown.”

He’s been doing this thing lately where, no matter what’s happening, he’ll somehow make every conversation about Ellie. He speaks of her in a fond tone, mentioning only her best qualities. You know what he’s doing, though, and it’s not going to work. 

When you were attempting to befriend Ellie, your grandfather was at his happiest. He enjoyed eating every meal with you both and he enjoyed watching the two of you interact—albiet scarcely. And, now that you’re no longer speaking to each other, your grandfather speaks about you both to the other in hopes of rebuilding that prior acquaintance.

“Ellie is a wonderful girl. She has passions, hobbies, ‘n’ she cares for her loved ones so deeply that it’s almost painful t’watch.” He says with a sigh. “And you’re the same exact way. ”

“Thank you.” You reply, leaning forward to gently press a kiss to his wrinkled cheek. He smiles when you pull away, his gray eyes memorizing the features of your face. He’s still nursing his coffee mug, holding it firmly between his hands. You place a hand atop one of his, giving him a saddened smile. “Thank you, but I’m not sure she and I are capable of getting along in the way you’re hoping.”

Your grandfather nods with a quiet understanding, shutting his eyes as he accepts this response. You squeeze his hand gently before pushing to your feet and walking toward the door. You’re about to reach the doorway, when he speaks up.

“She reminds me of your mother.” 

Oh. 

Oh, that was an agonizing combination of words to hear falling from your grandfather’s lips. He hasn’t mentioned your mother since she passed away five years ago. Sarah Miller was a lovely woman with an even lovelier soul. She was the embodiment of summer, carrying all of its warmth and brilliance within her heart wherever she went. Your mother wasn’t bed ridden when she died, nor was she ill. No, she just– died. She went in her sleep, which is what most people hope for, but that hadn’t exactly made the process easier. 

Your grandfather was already stuck in bed by the time the news reached him. He reacted rather horribly, to be honest, demanding that he must be present for the funeral and that no parent should ever have to outlive their child. Thankfully, your mother passed in the summer, meaning you and Ellie weren’t present for the horridity of your grandfather’s grief. Still, that winter was a tough one.

He refused to eat, seldom got any sleep, and would lash out whenever you mentioned her. But you knew how he felt because you’d lost her, too. You were experiencing the same feeling of loss that he was. So, after a few weeks of failing miserably at taking care of him, you just gave up. Ellie picked up the slack—wordlessly, of course—and made sure your grandfather’s grief wouldn’t eat him alive. She’d check up on you, too. She would knock on your bedroom door to wake you in the mornings and would knock when it was time to eat lunch. Nothing else passed between you. Well, not until this winter.

“She reminds me of your mother.” It plays on a loop in your head as you go about your day, swirling around in your skull like water swirls around a drain—ceaselessly heading toward that imperceptible finish line. Though, in this case, you’re not sure if there even is a finish line.

You’re lying across the couch cushions with ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ clasped between your hands. You’ve read this novel at least five times now, long since having grown bored of Lord Henry’s manipulative dialogues. It’s entirely your own fault, though, considering you’d only brought one book with you for the entity of this trip. 

Your grandfather has bookshelves, sure, but you learned the hard way that your tastes in entertainment are vastly different. While you prefer outdated literature, he prefers self-help books. So, yes, you’ll put up with reading about Dorian’s moral deprecation for another two months. If you grow too bored, you can always watch TV, though your grandfather only has three channels—which are the news, the history channel, and an endless loop of Tom and Jerry’s best episodes.

“You’re not bored of that shit, yet?”

The sound of a voice coming from behind you makes you jolt, dropping your book on the floor with a light thud. You abandon all thoughts pertaining to Oscar Wilde, though, as you whip your head around to face Ellie. She saunters into the living room with her journal tucked under her arm.

You narrow your eyes at her, snatching your book from the floor with a huff. “You can’t speak of boredom when you spend hours each morning tending to the same damn fireplace.”

Ellie hums in response before sitting at the opposite end of the couch. She’s close enough to you that the heels of your socked feet graze the skin of her bare thigh. It’s oddly intimate, sending a discomforted chill down your spine. Though Ellie doesn’t seem to notice—or care—as she flips her journal open and begins to scratch her pencil across the parchment.

She lifts one leg so as to prop her journal on her knee but, other than that, there’s minimal movement from her end of the couch. On your end, there’s naught aside from deepened scowling and curious expressions. You don’t trust this; not one bit.

But, as the minutes tick by and the fireplace crackles gently in the background, you begin to ponder on the possibility that you’re the problem. Ellie hasn’t spoken, nor has she done anything to cause suspicion. At the thought you, slowly, lift your book to your chest and begin to continue reading from its worn-out pages. Ellie remains unmoved as her wrist twists with each shape she writes down.

A long moment of time stretches between you.

“Okay, this is terrible.” Ellie blurts out after half an hour of tense silence. She snaps her journal closed, drawing your attention toward her. You peek your eyes over the edge of your book, a brow raising. She turns to you, frowning. “I want to apologize.”

You lower your book completely, placing it atop your chest. You don’t say anything as you stare at her expectantly.

“I should never have gotten pissed at you for breaking the mug. The entire reason you were grabbing the damn thing is because you wanted to make me coffee. I didn’t ask you to, but you did. Because you’re a good fucking person, even to assholes like me. And, when you got glass in your foot, I should have helped you pull it out. But I didn’t because, like I said, I’m an asshole” She pauses. Then, “It was wrong and I was wrong and I am sorry.”

You sigh through your nose, pushing up on your palms until you’re sitting upright. Your feet press into her thigh as you shift your weight around, but neither of you move. Then, slowly, a smile creeps onto your lips. “At least you’re self-aware.”

She lets out an airy chuckle, the sound laced with something akin to relief. “Fuck off.”

You laugh before lying back against the cushion. And, when she resumes journaling and you resume reading, the atmosphere is no longer tense and coiled. It’s comfortable and soft. And, as you listen to the crackling fireplace and the scratch of her pencil, you’re able to puzzle out why the butterfly appeared at your window this morning—growth.

JANUARY 17TH.

Living with Ellie has become far more tolerable when compared to that of before. She is no longer the cold woman you once deemed her to be. She’s—albiet slowly—begun to thaw through that icy facade of hers, thus revealing the warm interior that she’d been harboring all along.

Your relationship is still a bit stilted, though it’s not nearly as strained as it had been before. She talks now, which is a massive improvement despite how small of an accomplishment it may seem to be. Her voice is no longer a foreign terrain, but instead something as familiar as the prose of Oscar Wilde. You’ve been taking mental notes on it, as well, creating bullet points regarding the small details you notice in her tune. 

First, she sounds far more gruff and intimidating when she’s shouting at you for having stepped on broken glass. Second, she uses curse words like a writer uses a pen: incessantly. Third, she rambles when she’s nervous or when she knows she fucked something up—like when she forgot to put the fire out one night and woke to a simmering heap of coals. Fourth, she pauses a lot when she wants to make sure her words are precise and perfect, such as when she gives instructions or when she’s telling a detailed story. Lastly, she says your name as though it’s something divine to behold. There’s a sort of breathiness to her tone when she utters it, a sort of reverence.

Your grandfather, for one, has been indescribably pleased by your guys’ newfound friendship. He hasn’t stopped smiling since the third day of January when he first witnessed evidence of it. In truth, it’d been accidental. You were reading a page of your novel to him when Ellie sauntered down the hallway and, as she passed his bedroom, smiled at you. Instantly, your grandfather was overjoyed and demanded that he always knew you could get along. 

He now demands to eat supper with all three of you present, to play card games at least once a week, and to be told every detail of Ellie’s apology over and over until you’re both sick of repeating the story. A few times, Ellie simply refused to reiterate it, calling him annoying and decrepit. You tried to keep a straight face, though you failed and ended up laughing for five minutes as the two of them began bickering over meaningless topics.

You cook most of the meals as of late, making sure to use Ellie’s rabbits and deer for supper. Some days, however, you allow her to take control of the kitchen—watching from the island as she struggles to make sense of a random recipe she’d found in one of your grandfather’s old cook books. 

That’s what she’s doing now, in fact. 

The kitchen is currently shrouded in smoke as Ellie attempts to juggle three different recipes. She’s making pasta, though the water has long since boiled over the edge of her pot. Not only that, but she’s gone out of her comfort zone and begun to make salad and garlic bread to accompany it. Needless to say, this endeavor has not been going well thus far. 

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” You ask as she finally notices the overflowing pot.

“No!” She shouts, though it’s clear she hadn’t meant to. She’s just overwhelmed and struggling. Ellie is quick to retract her exclamation, too, once she realizes how harshly she’d snapped at you. “Sorry, I just– No thank you. I want to do this on my own.”

“Okay.” You nod. “But my offer still stands.”

She places napkins around the pot in an attempt to dry the spilt water—which is rather ineffective seeing as she still hasn’t turned down the heat. You rest your chin in your palm, leaning forward as you watch Ellie bustle around the kitchen like a bull in a china shop. 

Then the oven is beeping and Ellie rushes open it. You’ve just opened your mouth to remind her how hot the pan is when she grabs it with her bare hands. She intends to place it on the island, though only manages to move a foot before she’s dropping the pan with a loud clatter and blowing at her reddened palms with a loud, “Shit!”

You’re laughing as you hop down from your wooden stool. You round the island and walk over to the sink, twisting the knob so as to make the faucet spew icy water. Ellie is quick to rush to your side, placing her hands under the steadily streaming water. She exhales a relieved sigh, shutting her eyes blissfully. You watch her with an amused gaze. 

“Still don’t want my help?”

She cracks her eyes open before narrowing them at you. “Fine. But I still get to tell Joel I made dinner.”

“That sounds fine, I don’t–”

“Without help.”

You instantly scowl at her before reaching over her shoulder to turn the faucet off. Then, with a tightened frown, you give in. “Fine.”

The first few minutes of carrying out this arrangement are terrible. The first thing you do is turn down the heat of the stove, which instantly causes the boiling pot to recede into itself. Then you’re forced to throw away most of the garlic bread that’d fallen on the floor, leaving the three of you with only one piece to share. Ellie calls it without hesitation, but you insist your grandfather should be the one to eat it. With a childish sulk, she agrees.

You put Ellie in charge of making the salad, though she still struggles to chop the vegetables without them rolling away from her cutting board. You offer to help but, of course, she refuses it. 

The two of you move about the space with a soft semblance of naturality. Because, despite never having spoken prior to last month, you’ve known one another for years—which is easy to forget when everything about Ellie feels new. Her voice, her irritability, her green eyes. But other things feel familiar, such as the act of being in her presence and moving alongside one another like two fish in the same school.

The sound of her footsteps patting across the wooden floorboards, the gentle scent of pine still clinging to her skin after spending all day in the woods, the feel of her body brushing across yours when she reaches for something across the counter, the sight of her fingers wrapping around the coveted spice. All of these things make you feel as though you’d known Ellie throughout the entirety of your life.

When you finish making the pasta and have scooped three servings onto each of your plates, Ellie does the same while adding her salad to a small glass bowl. Then, with a wide grin, she begins walking toward your grandfather's bedroom. And, as she enters it, her grin only grows wider. 

“I made dinner tonight!” She exclaims as she places his dishes atop his lap, sitting at the foot of his bed so as to watch him closely when he takes the first bite. 

Your grandfather smiles at her warmly. “I already know it’ll be great, kiddo.”

“Thank y– Joel, eat the salad first.” She orders when he begins to twirl his fork in his pasta. He raises a brow at her attitude, but obliges wordlessly. He removes his utensil from its prior placement and instead moves it to the bowl of salad. Ellie leans forward, excitement flooding her body as the sustenance enters his mouth. The food hasn’t even had time to touch his tongue when she’s asking, “Is it good? Do you like it? Did I add too much ranch? I think I did, but I like ranch so I couldn’t really tell what’s considered too much, you kn–”

“Ellie.” He interrupts her softly. “It’s wonderful.”

Her tensed shoulders instantly relax at the reassurance. She leans back, nodding gently as the affirmation soaks into her mind. Then she turns to find that you’re placing her own plate and bowl on her lap. She thanks you quietly, still riding out the high of being validated in regards to her cooking.

You sit down in the velvet and mahogany chair, using your knees as a makeshift table. The glass plate is hot and burns your skin, but not enough to cause pain so you leave it. You take a bite of the salad and can instantly tell Ellie added too much ranch. Hell, there’s more ranch than lettuce. But then you lift your head and find that she’s watching your expression very closely. So you nod, smiling, and take another huge bite. Ellie instantly grins, hues of red tinting the skin of her ears. 

Supper is eaten with laughter in the air and warmth in your chest. Your grandfather asks what the fuck was going on in the kitchen and, when you begin to explain, Ellie cuts you off to say she’d not done anything wrong. He laughs, turning to you before asking what she’d done. You tell the story of the garlic bread, making sure to end it by saying Ellie managed to cook the rest all on her own. Your grandfather congratulates her but, when he looks away, she wears an appreciative expression when your eyes meet.

Even after everyone has long since finished eating, the three of you stay awake late into the night. You exchange random stories, laughing together as the moon rises higher in the night sky. Then, slowly, exhaustion begins to weigh heavy on all of your shoulders. Your grandfather—predictably—is the first to announce his fatigue and claim that it’s nearing his time for slumber. 

Ellie begins to take the dirtied dishes to the kitchen while you tuck him into bed. You fluff his pillows before easing him into them. He relaxes instantly, his eyes shutting with relief. Then you pull his duvet to his chin and ask if he needs anything else. Of course, he claims to be content, so you press a kiss to his hairline and leave the room. You flick the light off before slowly shutting the door.

When the latch clicks into place and you turn around to walk down the hallway, you’re instantly shocked to find Ellie already standing two inches away from you. You gasp, startled by her sudden proximity. She clears her throat, apologizing. And, just by the sound of her voice, you can tell there’s something she’s itching to say. 

“What’s on your mind?” You ask her softly. 

She thins her lips, fidgeting with her fingers. “Nothing, really, I just– I was wondering if you were doing anything tomorrow.”

“What?” You let out a breathy chuckle, visibly confused by her strange behavior. “I’d assume that you know my schedule quite well, by now.”

“Well, yeah, but– Y’know, I was just thinking…” She averts her gaze, staring down the hallway so as to avoid eye contact with you. Her next words come out of her mouth in a long string, all jumbled together. “I noticed you’ve been rereading the same book over and over. Then, on my way to the store– I was buying another shovel ‘cause I left the other one in the road and it got run over. Uh, anyway. On my way to the store, I passed a bookshop and was wondering if, maybe, you’d want to go? You don’t have to go with me, of course, I just thought I could show you where it was. If you want, I could wait outside and–”

“Ellie,” you breathe. “Of course I want to go with you.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes!” You exclaim with a laugh. “I intended on bringing more than one book with me on this trip but, evidently, forgot. So now I’m stuck reading about Dorian fucking Gray on an endless loop. I’d love to go to a bookstore. And don’t be foolish, of course you’re coming inside with me.”

Ellie exhales a heavy breath, her expression slackening instantly. She appears relieved but, more importantly, she appears domestic and comfortable. All the muscles in her body are relaxed and she’s dressed in her pajamas and her hair is slightly mussed. The sight is naught short of endearing, honestly. And, looking at her now, you’re unsure how you ever managed to hate her.

JANUARY 18TH.

You wake with excitement already bubbling over in your chest. It floods your lungs and weaves between your ribs, making a home of your body. And you let it because, well, you’re going to a bookstore. 

Despite always having taken the responsibility of doing the weekly shopping, you never truly explored Jackson. You’ve waved at a few neighbors and passed a couple landmarks, but you never properly explored it per se. In fact, the vast majority of this small town is completely foreign to you.

When you enter the kitchen, Ellie has already returned from chopping wood and is now crouched in front of the furnace, feeding the flames. Her features are highlighted warmly by the fire’s gentle glow—which only further melts that prior iciness from her body. You walk into the kitchen and begin making your grandfather’s coffee. You make yourself and Ellie one, as well, just for the fuck of it.

You’re leaning against the counter, watching the snow fall into the grass outside, when Ellie enters the kitchen. You don’t even hear her footsteps approach—likely a trait picked up from hunting so frequently—which causes you to jolt when her voice is suddenly behind you.

“What book do you–”

“Shit!” You exclaim, whipping around to face her with wild eyes. She holds her hands up in defense, chuckling under her breath at your reaction. You roll your eyes at her, pressing a hand to your thumping heart. “Holy fuck, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” she giggles. “I was just asking which book you want to buy. Y’know, if you have any in mind that you hope to find.”

“Not really.” You shrug. “Just anything that’s not Oscar Wilde.”

Her head tilts to the side. “I thought the book was about Donovan Green.”

“Dorian Gray.” You correct her. “And, yes, it is. Oscar Wilde is the author.”

“Ohh.”

You then turn back around to finish making the coffees. You leave yours on the countertop, hand Ellie’s mug to her, then carry your grandfather’s to his bedroom. She follows behind you, blowing into her cup, as you push the door open. 

Inside, he can be seen sitting up in bed with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He’s reading the ingredients of a chip bag, holding it away from his face. He looks up at the sound of your guys’ approach, discarding the snack in favor of the drink in your hands. You sit on the edge of his bed, passing the mug to him kindly. Then he’s taking a sip despite the way it’s certain to scald his tongue. He smacks his lips, raising his gaze to thank you for the coffee.

“Joel,” Ellie steps forward with her mug clasped between her hands. “We were talking last night and, well, we were wondering if you’d mind us leaving for an hour or so. I found an old bookstore that I want to take her to, but I didn’t know if you would–”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Go on ahead, kiddos. I’ll be fine for one hour, don’t let me hold ya up.”

“Really?” You ask, tone teetering on uncertainty. Admittedly, you hadn't even considered the fact that doing this would render your grandfather alone at home for an extended amount of time. You were just so excited that the thought had slipped your mind. You suddenly feel indescribably grateful for Ellie and her recollection of this fact.

“Really.” He insists. “Now get outta here.”

Despite your residual doubts, you leave the room. Your grandfather assures you he’ll be okay and explains that he’ll likely spend the entire hour trying to read the back of his chip bag. Ellie tells him that if he needs anything, to call her using the landline—which she spends a few minutes setting up on his bedside table. While she does this, you go to your bedroom to change.

You layer your jeans and put on three coats atop your shirt. Then, perched at the foot of your bed, you pull four pairs of socks onto your feet. By the time you reach the foyer, you’re sweaty and wondering why the hell snow exists. You reach over to put on your shoes, but you struggle to tie them considering how limited your movements are due to the layering.

As if on cue, Ellie rounds the corner to the foyer, only to find you annoyed with yourself. She chuckles under her breath before walking over. Then, without a word, she crouches in front of you and begins to lace your boots. Her fingers move with a steady precision that had been completely absent last night when she struggled to chop vegetables for her salad.

“Thanks.” You say.

She shakes her head, not responding. The lack of words reminds you of the beginning of the trip; of all the years spent in unsettling silence. You stare at the top of her hair as she continues to move. The crown of her head reflects light and, due to its auburn color, it almost appears golden. Like a halo. Then she’s lifting her chin and meeting your gaze.

Her skin is adorned with gentle freckles, only a few hues darker than her pigmentation. Her eyes meet yours in a sea of mossy green, her pupils darting between both of yours. She parts her lips, exhaling through her mouth softly. And, for a moment, you’re lost—unsure where you are or what you’re doing—as your entire world orbits Ellie and her indescribable resemblance to sublimity. 

Her head is between your spread knees, which is a rather intimate position for two people of your being. One of her hands is still brushing your ankle. Rather, the thick fabric that covers your ankle, but still. You’re not sure how long the two of you reside like that but you do know you were willing to stay.

Ellie blinks a few times, clearing her throat before standing from the floor. She swallows harshly before grabbing her knitted hat from its hanger and pulling it onto her head. She pushes the front door open and allows you to exit first. Instantly, the frigidity of the winter air bites at your cheeks and the tip of your nose. You shudder.

“It’s not a very far walk.” Ellie assures you. “Only a few blocks north.”

You nod as your teeth begin to chatter. “Yeah, okay.”

The snow crunches under your boots with each step, leaving a trail of passage behind. Some of the sidewalks are shoveled while others aren’t. Joel Miller’s, however, is definitely shoveled. In truth, his house looks like it belongs to a young pair of people who cannot seem to stop moving around. 

You walk with Ellie toward the bookstore in silence. But it’s not awkward, it’s comfortable. She breathes through her mouth, leaving puffs of air behind her. You copy her, making the clouds join together behind you. She laughs, the corners of her mouth tugging upward strikingly. You smile at the sight, focused solely on her instead of the bookstore in your near future.

When you arrive, the interior of the shop is so warm that you peel your coats off without hesitation. Ellie does the same, folding hers over her arm. She offers to take yours, but you refuse—not wanting to burden her after already making her walk all this way.

The gentle ambiance of the shop is warm and welcoming with its sounds of soft chatter and quiet footsteps. The floor is carpeted and the walls are taupe. It’s cozy, homely. And, before long, you’re heading toward the literary section. Ellie trails behind you, watching as your fingertips lightly graze the spines of certain books. You can feel her eyes on you the entire time.

And, as the minutes tick by, you grow increasingly more impulsive. You grab one book, then another, then another, then, before long, you’re struggling to hold them all. Ellie offers to take a few and, this time, you accept. You place the novels in her arms and relish in the lack of weight placed upon your own limbs.

“These all look boring.” She comments as you add yet another paperback to the pile. 

“They do not.” You frown.

“They’re old.” She says. “They were written in the tenth century, there’s no way they’re entertaining.”

“Yeah? Well what do you prefer to read?”

“Uh–” She frowns, the tips of her ears turning red. “You’ll make fun of me.”

You’re instantly intrigued by this. You raise a brow at her behaviour, tilting your head. Your voice is soft when you speak next because, really, listening to her is like watching a sad puppy hurt itself.  “I won’t make fun of you, Ellie, I promise.”

“Well, I prefer comic books.” She admits before rambling a bit. “They’re easier to read and easier to understand. I know it’s a bit childish– which is why I didn’t want to tell you, at first. Because you’re reading these big huge philosophical novels and I just– I like comics.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed of that.” You tell her gently. Then you nod your head to the left, saying, “Also, I think I saw a comic section over there.”

Ellie instantly perks up, turning toward the direction that you nodded. You watch the way her eyes light up as she reads the genre sign. She, with a tone tinged with excitement, asks if she could visit the section once you’re done shopping. You laugh, telling her that she can do anything she wants and that you’re not her keeper. Her ears redden a bit before she nods.

You end up adding one more book to the pile before you’re both heading toward the comic section. You take the stack of books from her, allowing her to add her own choices to the heap. Honestly, the moment you enter the aisle, you notice a difference in her demeanor. Her eyes are brighter and her lips are tugged upward—passion. The exact kind that your grandfather mentioned when he compared the two of you. 

You end up spending ten minutes with her in this section, walking behind her through the shelves as she rambles about the different authors she does and doesn’t enjoy reading. At one point, she gets on a tangent about a series called Savage Starlight that she doesn't stop talking about even once you’re both at the register.

You place the pile of books onto the counter. And, when you begin to sort them into two sections, Ellie stops you and says she’ll pay for them all.

“What?” You blurt out. “No, no, no. You’re here because of me, I’ll pay.”

“I’m here because I wanted to take you here.” She corrects you. “This was a gift, now let me pay.”

“No.” You insist as you reach into your back pocket for your wallet. But then, as soon as you have it in front of you, Ellie swipes it from your hands. You gape at her. “What the fuck?”

“I told you to let me pay.” She replies simply before handing a wad of cash to the woman behind the desk.

You complain about this all the way back to the house, scowling at her as you walk down snowy sidewalks and ascend the stairs of your grandfather’s porch. You only drop it once you’re in the foyer and she’s unlacing your shoes before you even have the chance to shut the door fully. Then her hand is on the back of your calf, easing your foot upward to remove the boot fully. Then the other one.

Later that night, when you’re eating supper with your grandfather around his bed, you tell him about her insufferable insistence on paying. He laughs, deeming that to be an issue common among couples—neither of you catch on. Because, in retaliation, Ellie is quick to tell him about how pretentious your taste in books is. To this, your grandfather laughs heartily while agreeing. You gasp dramatically, pointing out that he’d once claimed to enjoy ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’. More laughter, of course, which lacks a genuine response.

Then, when you’re lying in bed at night, reading your new novels in the lamplight of your bedroom, your mind keeps returning to that moment with Ellie in the foyer. When she’d held your gaze whilst knelt in front of you like your body was an altar.

Your stomach churns at the memory.

JANUARY 28TH.

You spend almost every second with Ellie. Her voice is music and her soul is sunshine. You’d be a fool to feel anything aside from awe in regards to her change—from an icy woman bereft of  charm, to a warm girl whose laughter sounds akin to the call of angels. 

You make her coffee each morning and, when you know her to be feeling morose, you wake early so as to deliver it prior to her daily tasks. One time, you knew she’d be in a foul mood but woke later than you’d intended. So, clad in thin pajamas, you ran out into the yard where she was chopping wood to deliver the coffee. She turned, startled, but instantly broke into a shocked laugh. Your entire body was aching from the frigidity, but she was happy and that’s what mattered. When she came inside a half hour later with the firewood, a smile was still splayed across her lips. She made fun of you for a week.

At noon, Ellie is in charge of making lunch because she’s become increasingly passionate about cooking—rather, the compliments she receives after cooking. At first the meals were terrible, ridden with too much spice or too little char. But, as time crawled onward, her ability got better and she learned how to balance the ingredients. Now, in fact, noon is your second favorite time of the day. Because, while Ellie floats around the kitchen, you sit at the island and read aloud your book to her. Sometimes you can tell she’s not listening but, if you dare to stop, she instantly turns to ask why you’d gone quiet—it’s a bit endearing, really. Other times, you know she’s listening because she makes a comment on every fucking paragraph.

Nighttime is nice, too, because you both spend it in the company of your grandfather. He still smiles whenever the two of you interact, as though he cannot believe the scene before him. He smiles when Ellie says your name, half groaning it as she insists that this is the best meal she’d ever eaten. He smiles when you ask her to pass the pepper, your fingers brushing as it’s exchanged. He smiles when you enter the room together, holding three plates and three cups, while bickering over something meaningless. He smiles a lot, of late, and you’re glad to see it.

After supper, once your grandfather has fallen asleep, the two of you sometimes opt to stay awake. As the moon arches into the sky and the stars dot the darkness and the fireplace crackles in the living room, you sit together on the sofa. Some nights, you read while she journals. Other nights, you both read different books, enveloped in gentle quietude. Most nights, though, she watches the fire silently while you read your books aloud to her. These are your favorite nights, because it feels like a conversation without having to go through the endeavour of materializing topics to discuss. But, no matter what you’re doing, this is your absolute favorite part of the day. With the scent of pine in the air, the solid feel of her body beside yours, and the warm glow of the fire, you’re certain you’ve never been more at ease.

“Hang on,” she whispers one night, halting your reading.

You’re lying on your stomach, novel in front of you, as your ankles rest on Ellie’s lap. She sits with her legs criss-cross while massaging your calf and watching the fire hum from within its furnace. You turn, peering at her from over your shoulder. “What is it?”

“Do you wanna do something fun tomorrow?” She asks with a pair of green eyes glinting with interest. She places both hands on your calf, biting the inside of her cheek as she anxiously awaits your reply. She should know by now, though, that your answer will always be an assertive ‘yes’. 

“When have I ever declined an offer to do something fun with you?” You ask with a breath of laughter. Then you place your book face-down on the cushion, removing your legs from her lap so as to sit up to fully face her. Your eyes narrow playfully. “What do you have in mind?”

“After eight years of annually taking a train to Jackson, I’m sure you’ve noticed the frozen lake just outside of the town.” She muses. You nod, unsure where she’s going with this. “Well, what if I said I saw a shop down the road that sells ice skates?”

“I’d love to, but–” You frown. “I’ve never skated before.”

Ellie shrugs. “I can teach you.”

“What about my grandpa? A trip like that would take all day.”

“Already thought of it.” She says with a grin. “There’s a neighbor down the street who’s our age and willing to watch over him for the day. I made sure she wasn’t a psycho, don’t worry.”

You try to conjure up other things that could possibly hold you back from taking this trip. Not because you don’t want to go—you do—but because it simply sounds too good to come to fruition. You love your grandfather, truly, but spending every single day in this little home can easily become repetitive and cause a severe case of boredom. This year, since befriending Ellie, you have someone to talk to which makes the cabin fever less prominent. Prior years, however, became rather miserable whilst nearing the end of January.

So, when you’re unable to think of any other possible reasons to not take the trip, a wide smile crawls upon your face and settles there. Then you nod, thus giving Ellie the needed confirmation regarding her plan. She smiles as well, visibly becoming quite giddy with the excitement of what’s impending.

JANUARY 29TH.

“And his lunchtime medicine is–”

“In the bathroom cabinet above the sink.” Dina finishes with a light laugh. “Yes, I know. You’ve told me eighteen times.”

You wring your hands, your heart thumping anxiously beneath your ribs. You’re not sure if it’s due to the fear of something happening to your grandfather in your absence or due to the excitement of getting out of this god forsaken town for the first time in two months.

Dina is a kind woman. She is wearing a casual outfit and speaks as though you’ve been friends for years. You and Ellie sat across from her in the kitchen, explaining to her everything that Tommy once explained to the two of you—which medicines he should take and at which times, where to find his glasses when he inevitably loses them, and what time he should be in bed to ensure he won’t be in a sour mood come morning. Dina absorbs all of the information like a sponge, asking questions and offering comments.

But, even after she has repeated it back to you ten times now, you’re still worried something will go wrong. Dina assured you that she knows your grandfather quite well after living beside him for ten years. She told a story of how they first met: she’d just moved in with her fiance when your grandfather knocked on her door with Tommy at his side and a plate of cookies in his hands. He welcomed them to the neighborhood with a kind smile, explaining which people to stay away from and which stores to shop at for lower prices. She speaks of him fondly, recounting times he’d asked for her help with gardening or cooking a certain meal. 

Then, after an hour or so of discussion regarding your grandfather, Ellie is reminding you that it’s nearing time to leave. You give Dina two more instructions—which she was already made aware of—before following Ellie to the foyer. 

While you voice your worries, she kneels before you and begins to lace your boots. This has become a rather habit of hers, always making sure to be there whenever you’re about to leave the house. Even when you’re just leaving for a few minutes, she rushes to your side so as to be the one to tie your shoes. You’ve assured her countless times that you can do it on your own, but she insists on helping. So, after a while, you’ve just given up and now allow her to do it without complaint.

“What if he chokes on something while she’s using the bathroom? Or– I dunno, what if he tries to sit up and pulls a muscle in his back?” You’re rambling at this point, leaned back onto your palms as you stare up at the wooden ceiling. “What if she gives him too many pills or, oh god, what if she gives him the wrong one? We can’t go. Ellie, we have to–”

But when you look down at her face, she’s smiling. Almost as though she’s holding back a laugh. You instantly stop talking, frowning at her as she finishes tying your boot. When she lifts her head and meets your gaze, she can no longer hold it in and bursts out laughing. “Joel will be fine. That guy has survived worse fates than one measly day of solitude.”

“But what if he’s not?” You continue to fret as she uses your knees to push herself to her feet. Ellie holds a hand out and you take it, allowing her to pull you from the bench. Your mind continues to swirl around thoughts of distress. “What if–”

“What if he’s perfectly fine and Dina is a lovely woman and we have a lot of fun?” Ellie suggests. You turn to her, eyes frantic as you tighten your lips into a thin line. She grins, nudging your shoulder. “C’mon. He’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You can’t promise something like that.” You scoff.

“I can if I know it’s true.”

“But you don’t.”

“But I do.”

Ellie then swings the front door open, holding it as you walk outside onto the porch. She follows behind you, twisting the lock before turning to meet your unsure expression. She chuckles, placing a hand on each of your shoulders before asking, furtively, “Do you trust me?” Dazedly, you nod. She smiles, “Then trust that my promise isn’t hollow.”

With a huff and one last gaze over your shoulder, you accept this. And, as you follow Ellie to the shop, you tell yourself over and over that your grandfather will be fine. Because Ellie was right—he has survived worse than this, what with his passion for hunting; Dina is a lovely woman and possibly is the best person Ellie could have asked; and you will have fun skating, because it’ll be with someone you trust.

The shop is small, more like a trading post than an actual store. The entirety of the building is made of wood, warmed almost too much by the burning coals within a dying fireplace. A bell chimes as Ellie pushes the door open to reveal the messy interior. The burly man behind the counter smiles as you both enter, welcoming you like an old friend. Ellie places a hand on your lower back as she guides you to the shelf that harbors the ice skates. The man behind the counter makes comments on their durability and why you should buy them.

Ellie picks out a pair for herself, checking the size thrice before she helps you. You murmur under your breath that you like the green ones, but you know the black ones will fit better. She suggests that you could always try them both on, but you decide to settle for the black ones.

“Good choices.” The man smiles as Ellie places both pairs atop the counter while pulling out her wallet. The man’s hair is bright orange and his shirt is plaid, looking like a lumberjack from a child’s film. He takes Ellie’s cash before putting the shoes in two separate boxes and sliding them across the countertop. Ellie grabs them both, not giving you the chance to pick them up yourself. “Have a lovely day, ladies! And make sure to be careful on the ice!”

“Thanks, you too!” You call over your shoulder as Ellie holds the door open for you. When you exit the shop and descend the porch stairs, you turn to her with a frown. “I can hold my own back, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” She responds. “But I wanted to hold it for you.”

Despite wanting to argue, you know it will have been futile, so you—begrudgingly—accept her terms. 

The town rises with the sun, people exiting their homes as they head off to work. You pass one house where a pair of twin toddlers can be seen playing in the front yard. Their mother watches from the porch with a fond smile as they waddle in tandem through the snow. You kindly wave at them as you pass, causing one of the kids to topple over her own feet. Instantly feeling guilty, you rush forward to help. You grab the child under the arms and haul her back upright. She giggles, flashing a gummy smile with only two teeth in her mouth. The mother waves at you, calling out an appreciative ‘thank you’. 

Then you keep walking. Ellie tells you not to feel obligated to help people, but you brush her off and claim you wanted to—like how she wanted to carry your shoe box for you. To that, she hasn’t an argument. She simply nudges your shoulder, calling you an asshole under her breath. You laugh.

It takes fifteen minutes to reach the edge of town. When you do, you’re welcomed with a line of bare trees and naked shrubs. Ellie grins widely before picking up speed, walking with haste into the woods. You jog after her, passing the ‘Welcome to Jackson’ sign that you’ve priorly only ever seen through a train window. It’s much taller close up.

You catch up with Ellie, a smile tugging at your lips, as she leads you through the woods as though she’s been here countless times. She hasn’t, of course, she just has an indelible connection to forestry as a whole. The foliage calls to her like the voice of a deity. She knows the trees like an astronomer knows the stars or a sailor knows the tides—irrevocably. 

The two of you walk side-by-side for five minutes more, basking in the atmosphere. Sunlight, golden and gentle, filters through the naked limbs of overhead trees. It paints Ellie in hues of warmth that you’d once deemed impossible. 

She was once the embodiment of reserve, cold and icy in all but name. She met the snow like an old friend, bathed in the flakes like she was already made of their dendrites. But, as you get to know her, you’ve come to realize she’s not as bitter as you’d once believed her to be. No. An hour each morning is allotted to tending to the fireplace, honing its flames and feeding its coals. She’s not frigid simply because she’s used to the cold. She’s warm because she cherishes the heat of fire, no matter the time of day nor the fatigue in her bones.

“Here we are!” She beams with a widened smile. 

You lift your head to find a small decline in the snow leading to a frozen-over lake. It’s large and stretches past the trees, farther than you can see. 

Then you turn to find Ellie sitting on an oversized rock, slipping the skates onto her feet. You walk over to her, watching over her shoulder as she laces them easily. When she stands, she wobbles a bit and is forced to grab onto the rock for balance. You laugh at her, offering your arm to help her to the lake. She shakes her head, claiming that she still needs to tie your shoes and, for that, she cannot leave.

With a fond huff of air, you plop down onto the rock and hold your foot out to her. She crouches down, struggling a tad considering the huge blades on the bottoms of her shoes. She tugs at the knot she tied for you only this morning. Then she’s reaching for the box she’d carried all this way for you, removing the lid, and pulling two ice skates from within it. She removes your boot, sending a chill up your spine from the sudden coldness that seeps through the fabric of your socks. Then she slips the skate onto your foot, working with deft steadiness that can only be defined as devotion; as reverence. 

Once both skates are on your feet, she stands—albiet unsteadily. Her movements are similar to that of a baby deer and, before too long, she’s slipping and falling onto where you’re still sitting atop the rock. Her hand falls onto your shoulder, fingers digging into your skin as she catches her breath. 

Ellie, with parted lips and wild eyes, raises her head to meet your gaze. Your faces are inches apart, her hips between your knees. Your brow twitches with curiosity, unable to register the feeling that suddenly floods your chest. You’re close enough to count the freckles on her skin and name every color within her irises. You exhale a soft breath through your mouth, gaze darting across her face. 

“I thought you said you were good at this.” You whisper.

Her gaze flicks from your eyes down to your mouth, then back up again. “It’s been a while.”

You huff a laugh. She does too, and the sound reaches your ears like a melody you’d been longing for since birth. Then your expression is slackening and you’re leaning closer, just by an inch. Ellie’s breath hitches. She blinks rapidly before loosening  her hold on your shoulders and pushing to her wobbly feet with a thinned mouth. 

For a long moment, you don’t move. Then she’s turning to you with a smile that makes it feel like everything that just—almost—happened, never did. She holds out a hand, kind and friendly, for you to take. So you do, allowing her to pull you to your feet. Then you’re both wobbly. You more so, of course.

Once you reach the ice, it’s much easier to stand yet also much easier to slip. Your balance wavers and you’re suddenly gripping onto both of Ellie’s forearms, using her body like a pair of crutches to hold yourself upright. She laughs under her breath, twisting her wrists to hold you steady. 

“Bend your knees.” She whispers. Her voice is so quiet and so close to your ear that a chill goes down your spine—and not from the cold. Your heart pounds within your chest but you oblige, bending your knees slightly as she instructed. Instantly, it’s easier to move with fluidity than when your legs were locked. “Good.” 

Her lips caress the shell of your ear. It startles you, enough so that you snap your head upward and lose your balance. Suddenly, you’re tumbling toward the ice with her coming down with you. You hadn't meant to pull her, but you don’t feel bad for it. Not when she’s hovering over you, breathing heavily, with her hands propped on either side of your head and her body slotted between your legs.

She blinks, brows furrowing. Her cheeks turn pink, though you suppose it could be due to the cold. Her lashes flutter, just for a second, before she lowers her head. Your noses touch and you swear she can hear how fast your heart is beating. She pauses, allowing you to take the next step. And—without hesitation—you do. 

You crane your head upward, meeting her halfway as your mouths meet. She tastes of firewood and solicitude. Her lips are soft and pillowy with a gentle semblance of warmth, not an inch of her soul rendered cold. You lift your arms from the ice to her back, snaking them around her shoulders so as to pull her even closer. She obliges, bending her propped arms to rest on her elbows in place of her palms.

When she pulls away, you’re both breathing heavily and a bit shakily. Ellie blinks once, twice, thrice before she’s suddenly pushing to her feet and shaking her head fervently. You watch her, mind swirling, as she struggles to collect herself.

“I didn’t mean to–” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as she squeezes her eyes shut. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Maybe not,” you offer softly, “but it did happen.”

She turns to you, looking down to where you’re still sitting on the ice—partly because you don’t want to startle her and partly because you don’t know how to get up by yourself. She frowns. “You’re Joel’s granddaughter, this is like– super fucked. I don’t know what I was thinking. This isn’t–”

“Ellie.” You snap, grabbing her attention. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

She exhales a sharp breath, nodding, “we’re fine.”

JANUARY 31ST.

Since the kiss at the frozen lake, it’s been quite awkward whenever you’re in the same room as Ellie. It’s not bad, necessarily, it’s just… off. She’s quiescent, lacking in her usual loquaciousness. A few times, you’ve wondered if she regrets it. In truth, you hadn’t thought of her in a sensual light until the lake. But, since then, you’ve not been able to stop.

When her gaze catches yours, you wonder what her eyes would look like in a dimly lit room. When her hands wrap around a mug, you wonder what they’d feel like on your body. When she speaks, low and gruff, you wonder what kinds of things she’d say when sharing a bed. When she bites on her bottom lip, you wonder what her teeth would feel like if they were to graze the bare skin of your hip bone.

It makes you feel dirty, actually. Like you’re in desperate need of a bath despite having already taken one today. Your hair is still damp and your skin is still adorned with the scent of soap. And yet your thoughts make you yearn for another and another so as to wash your mind clean of such filth.

You’ve just finished eating dinner with your grandfather. He noticed the change in your guys’ relationship instantly, though he seems to know better than to say anything about it. You all still eat dinner together, but the conversations that arise are a bit stifled and awkward. Ellie refuses to meet your eye and won’t even speak to your grandfather when he addresses her. She wears a blank stare and stiff shoulders, eating from her plate whilst enveloped in absolute quietude.

“So,” your grandfather muses. “What’d you girls do today?”

Ellie does not respond, instead turning her head into a downcast position, thus toward her plate. She almost appears… ashamed. With a soft clearing of your throat, you decide to fill her silence. “I started a new book today.”

“Really? Oh, lemme guess. Is it another borin’ one?” Your grandfather teases, raising his brows in inquiry as he bites on his fork.

“It’s a classic, yes.” You frown. “Macbeth.”

“You’re reading Shakespeare now? Like, actual Shakespeare?”

At this, you nudge his shoulder with a gape. He laughs, apologizing halfheartedly for insulting your taste in novels. He does, however, insist that he’s never met a person younger than eighty who enjoys reading Shakespeare for fun. But, after that, the conversation on books is dropped and thereby moves onto a new topic regarding laundry and the nuisances it evokes.

Before long, Ellie finishes her meal and takes her leave without a word. You watch her leave, frowning at the back of her head as she exits the bedroom with her dirty dishes. Your grandfather’s voice falls silent as he observes the scene before him. The negligence in Ellie’s gait; the longing in your gaze. 

“Somethin’ happened.” Your grandfather says. You turn at the sound of his old and wizened tone—through it, you’re able to predict that he’s going to be giving you a long piece of advice that you hadn’t asked for. With a sigh, you turn in your chair to face him fully, preparing yourself for his rigmarole. “I dunno what occurred between you two. In truth, I don’t care t’hear it. What I do care to hear is an apology. I know Ellie pretty damn well enough to make a few guesses as t’what occurred. Somethin’ happened between you that crossed a very thin line between friends and lovers, right?”

You don’t reply.

“Thought so.” He nods solemnly. “Somethin’ you should know is that Ellie has been through hell ‘n’ back. In every aspect of livin’, she’s experienced pain. Family, friends, lovers. She lost her mother to the same form of illness that has taken hold o’me. She lost her best friend, Riley, to another sort of illness that resulted in her life endin’ when she was only thirteen. And, when she finally began to heal from it all, she fell in love with a girl named Cat—who ended up breakin’ her heart into a million fragments.” Your grandfather frowns deeply, reaching out to grab hold of your hand. He runs the pad of his thumb across your knuckles. “Now, I dunno what exactly happened between y’two. And, maybe, Cat ain’t the reason she’s behavin’ this way. But I thought you deserved to know ‘cause I doubt she’d tell ya herself.”

Once again, responding to him feels too big of an endeavor for you to overcome. You feel conflicted whenever your grandfather tells you tales of Ellie’s past. On one hand, you’re appreciative of his words because you’re aware that he is likely to be your only source of information regarding her past. On the other hand, you wish Ellie would be the one to tell you these things. You wish she trusted you deeper so as to confide in you about things of this sort. But alas, that is not the case.

Your grandfather releases your hand and, with a small smile, he rolls his head to the side—thus conveying the fatigue lodged within his muscles. You stand from the chair, pull his duvet up to his collarbone, and press a kiss to his wrinkled and bearded cheek. Then, with a whispered ‘goodnight’, you take your leave.

The hallway is vacant and silent, shrouded in the absence of the girl who once would leave this room by your side. You remember the way you’d both have to stifle your voices at night while getting water. You remember tripping over a floorboard and catching yourself on her shoulder, causing her to burst out laughing. You remember reading to her in front of the fireplace—which is already snuffed out and cold.

You turn around, leaving the living room and heading back down the hall. You’re unsure why you even tried; of course she wouldn’t be here. Why would she? With a huffed sigh, you saunter down the hallway toward your bedroom. A few feet from your door, you pass Ellie’s. You halt.

It’s silent inside but, within, you know she resides. You stand outside of the door for only a moment, only long enough to hear that familiar gentility of her pencil scratching the page of her journal. She’s awake. It shouldn’t surprise you, really, considering she’d been spending every night for the past month staying up late with you. Her mind cannot rest just yet, for it’s gotten accustomed to your company.

Just as you’re about to continue your trek to the bedroom, your grandfather’s priorly spoken words ring through your skull. “What I do care to hear is an apology. I know Ellie pretty damn well enough to make a few guesses as t’what occurred. Somethin’ happened between you that crossed a very thin line between friends and lovers, right?” 

Then you’re knocking on her door

The scratching of her pencil suddenly stops at the sound of your knuckles meeting the wooden door. You listen closely as her pencil clatters atop her desk and her journal snaps shut. Then the legs of her chair are scraping across the floor and her feet are approaching the doorway. The knob twists. The latch clicks. The door swings open.

Ellie’s standing there with dampened hair and an oversized shirt—the face of domesticity. The room behind her is bathed in the soft orange glow of candles, allowing the scent of citrus to absorb the space. She blinks, brows creasing. Then her voice, smooth and quiet, glides through the tense air between you. 

“Do you need something?” The words are a bit harsh and blunt, though the softness to her tone is enough to prove she doesn’t mean for them to sound as so.

“I want to apologize.” You say. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I mean– well, to be honest, I thought the feelings were reciprocated. But I see now that wasn’t true and that I shouldn’t have assumed such a thing. I’m sorry. Or, to quote a woman I once knew… it was wrong and I was wrong and I am sorry.”

For a moment, Ellie does not reply. Then there’s a shift in her body. Her eyes glint something akin to ardor and her shoulders relax a little in the presence of you. Then, before you’re able to react, she’s taking a step forward and cupping your jaw in one of her hands. She leans forward, brushing her nose against yours, and whispers, “You weren’t wrong.”

Then she kisses you—soft and reverent. Her fingers flex against your skin, the tips of them pushing slightly into the side of your neck. She breaks for air, cheating heaving slightly. You halfway expect her to recluse in the way she had back at the frozen lake. But, instead, she dives right back in. And, this time, she kisses you with more ferocity than before—hungry and rapacious.

Her other hand finds the dip of your waist before she tugs you into her room. You follow, like a fish on a hook, as she shuts the door behind you with a light thud. Citrus fills your lungs, sharp and tangy and devout. 

Ellie’s mouth never leaves yours as she stumbles toward her bed, your feet tripping over one another. Then the back of your knees is hitting the side of her mattress, drawing her hand to cup the back of your head as you fall onto it. The mattress dips under your guys’ amalgamated weights. 

Breath leaves your lips heavily yet unhurried. Your lashes flutter, just enough to catch the sight of her like this: close and intimate and pious to the act of redamancy. Her pupils are blown and her lips are wet. She lifts her gaze to meet yours and, for a moment, you think you’re drowning in a sea of green hues. 

Then she tips her head to the side and leans back in for more—more of you, more of this. Her mouth, open and shaky, presses into the soft spot behind your ear. She places kisses along the line of your jaw. Your head falls back, eyes lidded as you stare up at her wooden ceiling. She kisses down the column of your throat until she finds the pulse between your collarbones. Her teeth graze the skin there, drawing a gasp from your mouth. 

Your hands find her head, half cradling it and hand yanking it. She chuckles against your skin, low and amused, before she comes back up to your face. Ellie hovers over you for a second, eyes darting across your features. Then she begins tracing her hands down the length of your body. Slowly does she move, fingers caressing each dip and waver of your skin. 

Then she finds the hem of your waistband, running the pad of her thumb across the elastic. She hesitates, searching your face for any semblance of refusal. But, instead, she finds only awe and the willingness to allow her anything; everything. So long as she’s the one doing it. 

With an avid nod, you grant her the permission to cross yet another thinly inscribed line within your relationship. Ellie is slow, savoury, as she dips her hand under the fabric of your pants. Almost instantly, you’re squeezing your eyes and breathing heavily. Ellie sinks forward, lowering her mouth onto yours. It’s not necessarily a kiss, but rather a fusion of devotion. She whispers your name, breathless and shaky, into your mouth as you breathe, heavy and shaky, into hers.

She stellifies you, turning your mind to mush and your body to pomace.

Before long, you’re on your back as your mind slowly comes back to you—emerging from the shadows of bliss as a shapeless creature that hasn’t the care to stay long. Ellie holds you through it all, whispering into your ear and peppering kisses across your face. From your nose to your chin to your cheeks, she kisses you. Then, once you’re present enough to do so, you snake your arms around her neck and pull her into a heated kiss. It doesn’t last long considering your lack of breath, but it’s enough.

Her hand is drawn out of your pants and presses into the mattress as she hovers over you, awestruck as she takes in the sight of your blissed-out face. You stare up at her, fond and vehement, before a small grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. Then you’re laughing, chest shaking as your eyes shut.

“What?” Ellie asks, genuinely confused.

“Nothing, nothing.” You say through your fit of laughter. “It’s just– I was expecting the exact opposite of this when I came to apologize. I thought you’d just ignore me, brush it off, or something.”

“Wanna hear a secret?” She inquires, rolling onto her side next to you. You narrow your eyes at her, nodding slowly as though you’re not sure if you trust this or not. Then she says, “I’ve been in love with you since we first met. Sixteen years old and shaking your hand at that snowy train station, I instantly knew I was doomed. That’s why I never talked to you. I was scared of fucking up my words or– I dunno, saying something stupid, I guess. But when you burned yourself with Joel’s coffee, I couldn’t help it. It was my fault that you spilled it at all but, also, I couldn’t stand seeing you in pain.”

You stare at her, lips parted and eyes widened. Ellie’s face is tinted in hues of red, blotching her pale skin in a display of chagrin. You turn onto your side as well, the mattress squeaking as your weight adjusts, facing her with that shocked expression. 

“Eight years?” You ask. 

Ellie nods, still blushing. “Eight years.”

“You could have told me! Or, if you didn’t want to admit it just yet, you could have said something to me!” You blurt out. “I thought you hated me!”

“Hated you?” She lets out a laugh. “I don’t think there’s a world in which I could ever hate you. You’re too well fused into my soul.”

You tilt your head, smiling. “Awe. That was shockingly poetic.”

“Oh, fuck off.” She turns onto her back, frowning at the ceiling. She has one arm propped under her head so as to act as a makeshift pillow. “I was being honest and you’re making fun of me.”

You giggle, rolling over so your chest is against hers. You’re practically on top of her, your face less than a foot away from her own. She blinks up at you, her cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. You press a short kiss to her lips. “I’m not making fun of you, El. I was just surprised to hear something so eloquent coming from you.”

“You don’t think I can be eloquent?” She asks, furrowing her brows playfully.  You hum, feigning thought as if this is something needing a long moment of consideration. Ellie gapes at you, feigning shock. “Sorry I don’t read Shakespeare, but that doesn't make me illiterate.”

“You heard that?” You smile. “I thought you weren’t listening to our conversation at supper.”

“I’m always listening when you talk.”

FEBRUARY 11TH.

You know what your grandfather meant when he compared Ellie to your fallen mother. He hadn’t intended to suggest that Ellie could ever replace Sarah’s role as his daughter, he simply meant to say that they both withhold the same amount of sunny brilliance within them.

Despite priorly believing Ellie to be cold and bitter, you’ve since shoveled away her coat of snow to find nothing but warmth and kindness. She’s funny and gentle and caring and, honestly, you should have spilled coffee on yourself far sooner than you had.

Eight years, it was, that Ellie spent loving you whilst believing it to be one-sided. She’s told you stories from her perspective on all of which occurred since first meeting one another. When you were kids, she avoided you like the plague because she thought it would make her feelings go away. And, when she was seventeen and started dating Cat, all she could think of was you—which indirectly caused the end of their relationship. And, at eighteen, she knew for certain that these feelings would never go away. At twenty, she promised herself that she’d never utter them aloud to you because she didn’t want to infringe on your visitations with your dying grandpa. And, from there, she simply carried on her goal of staying away from you so as to protect you from the burden of knowing her.

She also recounted her thoughts regarding these past two months. When you spilled your grandfather’s coffee, she rushed to your aid due to feelings of guilt and devotion to you. Then, when you tried to befriend her, she continued to ignore you—not because she wanted to, but because she felt that she had to—which you told her was a silly reason. But, after a week or so, she was unable to take it any longer. All of the frustrations with herself that’d been accumulating for the past eight years were suddenly let loose when that mug broke. She was worried and she hated that she was worried, so she acted as though she hated you, despite that not having been the case. Then, for the following juncture in which you loathed her, she forced herself to act the same way to you so as to make it appear as though your hatred was reciprocated. But, again, she didn’t last long before everything was let loose. She apologized for everything, thus evoking your guys’ friendship. Then, when you kissed her at the frozen lake, she felt as though she’d not only failed herself but Joel, as well.

Of course, you assured her that all of these things were foolish seeing as she could easily have just voiced her struggles. 

Anyway, for the past week and a half, you and Ellie have embarked on a new  journey with one another. Not quietude, nor loathing, nor friendship. But, instead, truth—for once. You’re not officially dating, but you might as well be. You kiss her whenever she enters the house and, whilst within it, she cannot ever seem to rid her hands from your body. And each night, as darkness falls over the town of Jackson, your hands roam and your mouths meet in heated worship.

Your grandfather knows because, well, he always knows these things before you do. He seems to love it—despite Ellie’s worry. He claims to have always known through the way Ellie looked at you when she was sixteen. He also said, now that you’ve both finally accepted your mutual adulations, you’re prohibited from ever arguing again. Ellie laughed, saying she’d never dream of it.

“G’morning.” Ellie says as you trudge into the kitchen. You yawn, stretching your arms over your head, as the scent of coffee meets your nose. You blink a few times so as to rid the sleepiness from your eyes, then your gaze is searching for the source. That's when you notice the three mugs placed atop the counter. Ellie hands one to you. “Made you coffee.”

“I see that.” You reply in a whisper before pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Thank you.”

She smiles bashfully before grabbing hold of the other two mugs and beginning to carry them toward your grandfather’s room. You follow behind her, nursing your own drink, as she pushes the door open with her knee. Inside, your grandfather is already sitting upright in bed, writing something onto a sheet of paper. He turns at the sound of the door hinges creaking, smiling as he watches the two of you approach his bed. 

Ellie hands him the mug before sitting at the foot of his mattress. You take the chair, watching as she helps him drink from the glass. Lately, his illness has been getting worse. He’s lost a lot of weight and his hands have become too shaky to eat or drink on his own. You worry for him; so does Ellie. Just the other night, you laid in her bed with teary eyes as you discussed your concern for his health. She comforted you, though you could tell she shared the same feelings.

“What were you writing about before we came in?” You ask as Ellie removes the mug from his lips.

“Jus’ in case.” His voice wavers from impending weakness. “I was, uh– I wrote a couple o’letters. J-Jus’ in case, y’know, somethin’ happens to me ‘n’ I don’t get the chance to talk t’everyone. Wrote one to Tommy. Wrote one to Maria. Wrote t’some old friends o’mine: Bill, Frank, ‘n’ Tess. Wrote two to Dina and her fiance. And, of course, I wrote the longest ones to my granddaughter and to my best friend.”

The room falls silent at that. It’s rather known that your grandfather hasn’t many days left. But for him to speak of it like this—in terms that make it sound so… solidified—it places a heavy weight in your stomach and it lodges a tightens in your throat. You suddenly don’t feel strong enough to speak. Ellie must notice this, too, because she’s the first to break the silence.

“You’re not going anywhere, old man.” She scoffs. “You’ll have the chance to talk to everyone and each member of their families. No need to write letters.”

“I know.” He agrees with a small nod. He doesn’t appear conflicted, nor does he appear sorrowful. He's just accepted it. Welcomed it, even. But this isn’t a truth which can simply be endured with a curt smile. It’s his death you’re talking about—the loss of your grandfather’s life. He shrugs. “It’s jus’ in case, anyhow.”

The atmosphere, after that, changes rather drastically. 

The inside of the home becomes rather cold and frigid with the heavy understanding of what’s to come. Each night, you lie awake wondering if your grandfather has died while you’re not looking. Ellie falls asleep by your side, an arm draped across your chest, while you stare at the ceiling with a pit of despair lodged within your stomach.

You no longer leave your grandfather’s bedside for very long during the day. Upon waking, you make sure to check on him before brewing his coffee. Then you sit with him until noon as you help him drink from the mug. He tells you stories of his life—how he’d met Tess, how he’d officiated Bill and Frank’s wedding, and, of course, countless memories with Ellie. 

Then, at noon, you cook lunch. Ellie sits at the island, speaking to you in a gentle voice as though she’s afraid you’ll shatter at anything else. She hugs you from behind as you wash dishes, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck. You don’t blame her for her touchiness, considering you’ve not been in the mood for anything more than kissing since realizing your grandfather was writing death letters. She assures you she doesn't mind, of course, and that she understands. But you still feel guilty. When her hands roam late at night or when her kisses descend to your breasts, you try to enjoy it. You do. But then your mind begins to stray and thoughts of your grandfather’s impending grave comes to mind. It makes you feel guilty for enjoying the act of being alive whilst knowing he’s lacking in his ability to do the same.

You three eat both lunch and supper together, trying desperately to ignore the elephant in the room. Your mood is dampened by the inevitability of losing your grandfather. But, as he and Ellie laugh together over bowls of stew, you think you’re the only one bothered by it all. Ellie says it’s wearing on her mind, as well, but you don’t see it.

And, on the sixth night since finding out about the letters, you walk with Ellie to her bedroom. It smells of citrus. She sits at the foot of her bed, unhooking her belt and peeling off her jeans. You flop backward onto the mattress and stare at the ceiling overhead. You breathe in and out, counting each breath you take because it’s the only way to distract yourself from the more tiresome thoughts. You reach forty-six before Ellie’s head pops into view. She hovers over you, her hair framing your face. You look up at her, frowning.

“How’re you doing?” She asks, shifting forward so as to be right beside you. 

You sigh through your nose as your brow creases. “I don’t know anymore. He’s getting worse each day and I– there’s nothing I can do to help him. He says he’s fine, that he’s not hurting, but every time I speak with the pharmacist she says that dosage for painkillers has risen. How can– How are you not affected by it all?”

You roll your head to the side, watching Ellie from where she now lies flat on her back beside you. Her green eyes flick across the ceiling, her chest rising and falling softly. She’s dressed in her pajamas now, her skin cleaned and smelling of soap. Her lips twitch in thought as she ponders on your question. Then, with a thin smile, she turns to meet your gaze.

“I am affected by it.” She admits. “Of course I am. I’ve known Joel since I was fourteen and– he treated me like a daughter when all I needed was a parental figure. I know he’s told you about our past together, so I won’t go into detail, but– but I am affected by it. Every day, I’m affected by it. But I’ve chosen to not allow his illness to steal more from us. It’s already taken so much. It won’t take my memories of him, too. I don’t want my final recollection of Joel to be of him sick and in pain, dying. I want to remember him being strong, laughing, and enjoying life the way he’s still striving to.”

You feel tears build up along your bottom lashes. Your throat suddenly feels thick with a grief you’ve not yet been able to swallow. You sniffle and Ellie turns, frowning. She reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before swiping a fallen tear from your cheek.

“It’ll be okay.” She whispers, coming forward to hold you in her arms. You let out a choked sob as she hugs you close to her chest. She runs her fingers along your scalp soothingly. “It’ll all be okay. I promise.”

FEBRUARY 22ND.

It’s ten days later when you’re sitting at your grandfather’s side, your head on his chest, as Ellie reads aloud a page from her comic. Listening to the gentle thrum of his heartbeat soothes the ache in your heart. He rubs your back, though you can feel the shakiness of his hand as he does so. Ellie’s voice is soft as she reads the dialogue from the page. 

A sudden knock is heard at the front door.

Ellie’s voice stutters to a stop, her head turning toward the sound. You, begrudgingly, lift your head from your grandfather’s chest and begin to stand. Ellie tells you to lie back down, assuring you that she’ll open the door in your stead. You don’t argue.

She places her book face-down on your grandfather’s lap before standing from the bed. She leaves the room and you listen to her footsteps slowly evanesce. You hear the front door open, straining your ears to hear who it is that she’s speaking it. But their voices are too muffled to make sense of. A woman, you think, you cannot tell. Then the door shuts again and you hear her footsteps approach the room. 

But it’s not just her. There are three pairs of feet. You lift your head, sitting upright in the velvet and mahogany chair. Ellie turns the corner, entering the room before the other two. She holds the door for them. 

Dina and her fiance are the ones to enter the room after her. Dina walks inside with a wide grin, coming over to hug your grandfather avidly. In the doorway, her fiance lingers awkwardly. He’s a tall man with black hair and a kind smile. He accidentally meets your gaze, giving an awkward wave. 

“Joel!” Dina grins as she sits on the edge of his bed. “How’ve you been, lately? You look great!”

“There ain’t no– no need t’flatter me, Dina.” He chuckles heartily, his voice wavering with growing weakness. “I know I look like sh-shit.”

“Handsome and modest? Damn, you’re quite the prize, Miller.” She laughs, nudging him lightly. Then she glances over her shoulder at the man in the doorway. “Sorry, Jesse. Is it too late to decline your proposal?”

“Ha-ha.” He laughs sarcastically. “Yes, it’s too late. The invitations have already been sent out.”

“Invitations?” Your grandfather inquires.

“That’s actually what we came to talk to you about. Our wedding is scheduled for October.” Dina says with a smile, though it’s tinged with a bit of pity. The room is suddenly enveloped in quietude as the statement settles in. You know where this is going—he won’t be living long enough to see Dina and Jesse get married. 

Jesse clears his throat when it becomes apparent that Dina’s strength has begun to falter. “Enough of that. We came to let you know of our wedding date and to invite you to a bonfire we’re hosting tonight. We only invited a couple friends and will last only an hour or two. There’ll be drinks and games, if you guys would have to tag along.”

“Ah.” Your grandfather muses shakily. “I– I’d love nothin’ more to– than to attend but I ain’t sure how well my legs w–work nowadays.” 

“We thought of that, too.” Dina says with a smile. “Jesse’s great grandma visited a few months ago and bought a new wheelchair, so she left her old one. We could bring it over, if you’d like to try it out.”

Your grandfather thinks for a moment, weighing the options. Then he shrugs. “W– Why the hell not?”

It’s four hours later when you’re pushing your grandfather’s wheelchair into Dina and Jesse’s backyard. He’s dressed in thick winter clothes that Ellie picked out for him, claiming to know his style quite well. You were the one to dress him, though. The entire time, he laughed and made jokes while struggling to so much as lift his leg. You knew he was in pain, but you knew he didn’t want to acknowledge it. So you ignored it.

The snow isn’t as thick as it’d been during the prior two months, but it’s still frigid enough to make your nose and fingers feel like icicles. When you round the corner of their house to find a large and billowing fire, you notice the way your grandfather’s face lights up. You’re sure he’s missed this—being outside with his friends and family. Especially after eight years of being bed ridden and very seldom taken outside. 

Dina welcomes the three of you with a wide smile and two drinks for you and Ellie. Then she leads the way to where you can put your grandfather’s chair. She has thick logs set up as seating for everyone else, situated at the perfect distance from the fire to remain warm yet not scaldingly so. There are a few other people here, chatting and laughing lightly. You don’t recognize any of them, but your grandfather certainly does because, the moment you situate his chair, he’s being bombarded with conversations and questions and laughter and memories. 

You linger for a few moments, uncomfortable with the notion of leaving him. But then Ellis is tugging on your hand and beckoning you toward a game of cornhole against Dina and Jesse. With a light laugh, you follow her.

With a drink in one hand and a bean bag in the other, the game ensues. Dina stands beside you on Jesse’s team as the bags are tossed. And, as time passes and you become increasingly inebriated, your aim gets worse. But so does everybody else’s. In the end, Dina and Jesse win by two points. While you simply laugh and don’t care, Ellie is demanding a rematch and insisting Jesse can’t count. 

You get another drink while the game is reset. Once you’ve returned, the teams have been switched. You’re now standing beside Ellie, who is on Dina’s team. You narrow your eyes at her and she winks, saying she’ll let you win. Dina curses at her, saying she can’t just let you win. You insist that she can.

The game begins and, by the end of it, you’re barely comprehensive of what’s happening. Ellie is in the same boat, if not worse, as her feet stagger with each throw. Jesse does the same, stumbling over himself and earning your guys’ team absolutely no points. By the end, Ellie and Dina win. Jesse is the one to demand a rematch this time despite being the drunkest one present. Dina grabs him by the arm and pulls him away to drink some water. All the while, he continues to demand a rematch. 

“Good game?” Ellie turns to you, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. Her green eyes are lidded and bloodshot, her cheeks pink from the alcohol and the cold. She steps forward, snaking her hands onto your hips.

“Terrible game, actually.” You frown at her, though your arms betray you as they wrap around her shoulders to pull her closer. Ellie giggles lightly before lowering her head to your neck and pressing kisses onto the skin. You lean away, though it’s evident that you don’t intend to actually stray from her. Your hands tangle in her hair as you laugh. “You cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat, Jesse just can’t throw for shit. Especially when he’s drunk.” She says skin your skin, the vibrations of her voice sending a chill down your spine. Her mouth is cold and wet against your throat, making the kisses feel simultaneously wonderful and horrible.

“I prefer to be on your team, then.” You tell her.

“Do you?” She mutters against your jaw. “Because I prefer to be on Dina’s.”

You pull away from her with a scowl, laughing lightly. “Asshole.”

The world is a blur of bliss and ecstasy as the winter air breathes over your skin and the lights spin around you. The sounds of laughter and chatter fade away as you focus solely on Ellie’s mouth and needy touches. Her hand traces up your spine. And, for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel afraid to enjoy this moment.

You pull away, causing her to frown. But then you’re grabbing her by the wrist and tugging her toward the treeline. Jesse whistles as he notices the two of you taking your leave, Dina slaps him on the chest while still trying to coax him into drinking a bottle of water. You chuckle at them, shaking your head fondly as you lead Ellie into the trees.

Then, once you’re far enough to feel a semblance of privacy, she wastes no time in spinning you around and pressing your spine into the bark of a nearby tree. If it weren’t for the multiple layers of clothes you’re wearing, that would likely have hurt.

Ellie kisses you, hard. Her teeth graze your bottom lip as she memorizes the inside of your mouth with your tongue. All the while, her hands are roaming your clothed body. She can’t feel the shape of you nor the warmth of your skin, but she seems to enjoy this just as much. Perhaps she’s too drunk to care much. You reach up, hands finding the back of her skull once more and her hair threads between your fingers.

She hums into your mouth before her body shifts. You’re unsure what she’s doing until you feel her knee begin to spread your thighs apart. Your breath stutters for a moment before you nod and allow her to continue. She does, slotting her thigh between both of yours. 

Your arms tighten around her as your hips roll back and forth. The world spins and swirls around you, fading away completely from your mind. She holds you tight, as she urges your movements to pick up the pace. They do, becoming hurried and a bit jagged. 

You breathe warmth into her open mouth, filling that defrosted soul of hers with adulation.

When you both return to the bonfire twenty minutes later, Jesse can’t seem to stop teasing Ellie—who is still drunk and stumbling a little. Dina comes forward as the two of them sit by the fire. She hands you a glass of water and straightens your hair for you. You thank her, sipping on the chilled drink as it washes down your throat icily.

A few minutes later, you join everyone else around the fire. You sit between Ellie and your grandfather. He’s still talking to his old friends, catching on all of which he’d missed while bed ridden. One of them got divorced, one of them got a new knee, and one of them had a grandson. 

You rest your head on Ellie’s shoulder as she rubs her hand up and down your back. You listen to your grandfather speak, his voice laced with happiness despite its light waver. She was right: this sickness has already taken so much from you; why not remember your grandfather like this instead of sick and in bed?

FEBRUARY 25TH.

Your grandfather passes away in his sleep three days after rekindling with a group of old friends. He went quickly and painlessly. But, still, he went. 

You were the one to find him, lifeless and cold. 

Despite knowing it was doomed to occur, you fell to your knees and sobbed. Ellie must have heard your cries because it only took a few seconds before she was rushing into the room. When she saw the scene, her heart audibly shattered within her chest. She lingered in the doorway, frozen, for a moment. Then she came forward and held you as you sobbed and sobbed.

It took two hours before you gained the courage to call Tommy. When he answered the phone, you could hear in his voice that he already knew what you were going to say. It was tinged with dread and grief. But, still, he let out a pained sound when you uttered those two terrible words—‘Grandpa’s dead’. He said he’d be home as soon as possible.

Dina and Jesse helped you and Ellie bury the body in the backyard. You could barely get any words out without crying. Ellie was recluse and silent, helping to dig the grave without speaking. Dina had tears in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything or ask any questions. Jesse was the one to officially place his body in the ground.

Two days later, Tommy arrived with a suitcase and a missing piece in his soul. He rushed into the house during lunchtime, but neither you nor Ellie had it in you to eat. Your head was in your hands, your spine arched as you shook. Ellie had a hand on your back despite being in a similar state of despair. Dina and Jesse were in the other room, having opted to stay until Tommy’s arrival so as to make sure you both were eating and sleeping.

Tommy went into his brother’s room, which was still shrouded with his scent and his spirit. There, he found the letters.

To my granddaughter,

The first time I ever saw you, you were a wee little thing. You were so small n so fragile. I didn’t even wanna hold you in the hospital for fear of breakin you. But your momma, my Sarah, insisted. She was always so strong n assertive, that woman. She demanded that I loved you. But she didn’t need to demand that. I already did. From the moment I laid my eyes on you, I already did.

When you were growin up, I saw you nearly every weekend. Your momma would bring you to my porch in a little pink stroller that Tommy had bought for you. She wouldn’t even need to knock on the door before I was opening it and pullin you into my arms. You always loved bein held.

Once you were old enough to walk, you were old enough to cause trouble. You painted on the white walls n shattered my momma’s ugly vase. You were a little nuisance, to be honest. But I loved you, even still, because I always would. And because your visits gave me an excuse to make spaghetti n bring Tommy over. 

Do you remember spendin Christmas eve at my house when you were seven? I hope you do because that day was one of the best days I ever had. You came over with your momma to help us wrap presents for the neighbors. You weren’t good at wrappin, but we still let you do it because it was impossible to tell you ‘no’. You helped me cook a nice soup and you helped me decorate the tree. Then, when your momma was gettin ready to leave, you cried n cried. You begged her to let you have a sleepover at my house because ‘Santa brought Grandpa the best gifts’. 

When your momma said she was movin away, I didn’t believe it. But, as it turned out, she hadn’t been lyin. Within that month, you were both packed up n ready to move three states away from Jackson. You cried when you told me goodbye, squeezing me so tight I nearly couldn’t breathe. 

After that, I was lucky to see you once a year.

By the time I got sick, you were sixteen years old but, in my mind, you were still seven and beggin to have a sleepover. I thought I would die without ever seein you again. I now know how terribly wrong I’d been. And thank God for that. Tommy cared for me, but it wasn’t the same as when you came over that first Winter & said you’d be comin to visit every single Winter. Then, as if things weren’t already good enough, Ellie said the same thing. I thought, for sure, I’d died and woke up in heaven. 

The two of you didn’t talk at first, but that was okay. I knew, one day, you would become best friends. 

When your momma died, I thought my world was over. In a way, it was. I knew I’d never see that golden hair turn gray or that kind smile turn wrinkled. I fell into a pit of despair so deep I thought I’d never come out of it. But then, like clockwork, you and Ellie visited me in the Winter. You were grievin just as much as myself, but you still managed to come all the way to Jackson. Seein you, despite everything, is what pulled me out of my own grief enough to make the most of my final years on this earth. 

And it's because of you that I’ve been able to smile, knowin life ain’t so bad. Because it gave me you.

All that to say, these past eight years have been tough, yes, but havin you girls here with me has made every second worth it. If I had to get sick a million times in order to see your faces laughin together, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

With every ounce of love in my heart,

Grandpa

notes. this took so long to write & would have taken even longer to proofread. so i just ,,, didn't proofread it. also because i'm not sure if i want to put myself thru that pain. anyway! i hope someone out there has the patience to read this all the way thru bc i'm so proud of it. love u guys !!

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo.     @ilovewomenfr.     @zzombiegirl.     @elliessweetheart.     @shawangel.     @defnoteleonor.     @fatbootymuncher.     @autisticintr0vert.  @ellieslittleslutt. @sawaagyapong.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 series taglist @chappellroankisser. @ssshhh-imreading. @vampirebrewsss. @marscardigan. @iadorefineshyt.

[krfttin]

ohmygod, I love you so much

would you ever do a pt2 of the imposter syndrome!ellie fic you did :3 or maybe like some little blurbs just to add onto it! the fic is sooo good and I can’t get it out of my mind.

Imposter Syndrome ── Headcanons ౨ৎ˚₊

`# I'm so glad you liked the fic anon! I don't think my heart could handle a part two and the implications of what would become of Ellie, but don't worry I have not come empty handed because this also lives in my head rent free ♡ 

Infected!Ellie that's started to go partially blind in one eye from the bacteria, and is now more dependent on her other sensory functions than ever. She'll still manage to find you wherever you are in the apartment, and if she can't then she'll claw doors like an abandoned cat.

Infected!Ellie that still thinks you're the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. If you're dressed all nice for a parent's evening or a meeting, she'll sit by the end of the bed and just stare at you with dark eyes and rosy cheeks.

Infected!Ellie that likes to draw, even though her hand-eye coordination is practically non existent. She'll proudly hand you a mess of red crayon that you can't identify so you just smile along and pat her on the head.

Infected!Ellie who likes when you brush her hair, who tilts her head unnaturally far back so that you can reach easier because the repetitive sensation of detangling is relaxing for her.

Infected!Ellie that's learned to be more gentle with you, and that you have personal space needs that didn't account for any smothering. She'll still pout the entire time, but she'll begrudgingly sit on the other end of the sofa.

Infected!Ellie who still looks for Joel. Sometimes, in the heights of her confusion she forgets that he's dead, she'll cry for him and you have to explain to her that he can't come back to her.

Infected!Ellie that still knows you're afraid of thunder. She'll wake if there's a storm, holding you against her bony chest and mouthing at your hair. It doesn't do much, but you appreciate the effort.

Infected!Ellie who can't go five minutes without inhaling something of yours. It seems to send some sort of signaling to her brain that there's no danger. You have to keep your perfume locked in the cupboard so that she doesn't spray it all in one day.

Infected!Ellie that is devastated that she can't kiss you anymore, despite knowing she would definitely not be able to keep herself controlled. She'll still try to push her luck and clumsily kiss her way from your cheek down to your chin, and would get grumpy when you seen right through her.

Infected!Ellie that you've now given a list of tasks to do everyday, it helps to keep her orientated and less likely to desecrate the house out of boredom. She'll squint at your handwriting, bringing the little notes around with her and trying her best to do the chores.

Infected!Ellie who it's now occurred to that she can call you when she misses you, and you almost wish she hadn't. Every few minutes she'd hit the call button just to hear you say hello to her, and that you loved her. Exasperated, you changed your voicemail to say those words.

[krfttin]

I FUCKING love this, I had to come back and re-read it it’s so good.

Imposter Syndrome ── Ellie Williams ౨ৎ˚₊

tldr; immunity is a blessing, but infections adapt cw: dissociation, intrusiveness, grief, angst, violence, sexual themes, comfort, love, slow-burn, illness, blood, gore descriptions, mature themes w/c: 13.2k

a/n: I put a lot of love into this one, and I kind of want to do more of this longer styled writing. I still want to feed everyone though, so please do send requests that I can fill in between bigger works like this ♡ Let me know what you think!

Prologue;

Seattle wasn't so bad, even if nobody knew her name. Ellie tried to blend in with them, keeping her head low. After giving up on the hunt for Abby, she found herself at a loss for moving forward. Without another home to go to, Ellie made one herself here. A dingy one-bedroom apartment just off road of the main street. The place was small, but it was cheap. Walls so thin she could hear her upstairs neighbors fucking most nights. Ellie was exhausted lately; sleep a valuable commodity these days and not just because of the noise. She just never felt safe, no matter how many locks she put on that door.

The migraines had started not long after moving in, a skull-splitting ache that no amount of painkillers seemed to fix. She'd taken to turning off the lights and burrowing her face between two stained pillows. It helped, sometimes. When Ellie lay there, teary-eyed and not a soul there to encompass her, it felt like a rotting tooth that refused to fall out. She'd made this bed when she left that farm, thinking that if she took Abby's life, it would make her feel whole again. She wasn't angry anymore; that's what she told herself, at least. She still thought about how it felt to hold Abby beneath the harsh current, even if it made her feel sick to the stomach.

The thoughts never seemed to leave, especially with the influx of headaches. Her dark eyes would linger on the dusty carpet, consumed by how things could've been. Would she have felt better? If Abby's warm blood had coated her hands. Joel would've done it. She shuddered. She still carried that resentment, that bitterness at the lies she still didn't fully understand. There was so much about him that she didn't know, that she'd never know now. He was dead, and she was still alive. She hadn't figured out yet what that meant to her.

Still, she wanted to fit in, to go to the store and get groceries even when it felt like the whole world was staring. Her crooked fingers would twitch in the milk aisle, the screeching of the rusted trolley wheel irritating her to no end. It felt like her arms were too long for her body, did people notice? Maybe it was her wrinkled clothes or her marred cheek. She filled the cart with stuff that didn't take half a brain to cook. Instant noodles, pre-made burgers, beer. Ellie managed to afford these luxuries with a small part-time gig she'd picked up for the council. It was sort of like volunteering, fixing up the rougher areas of the city or delivering supplies to shelters. 'A better Seattle'. That's what the contractors seemed to think anyway.

Ellie couldn't give a damn, as long as she got a crumb of conversation and a way to put her hands to use. The truth was she'd gotten worse at speaking lately; maybe it was the way she'd locked herself away from people or the fact that her thoughts were too loud. Still, she often stumbled over her words, her brow twitching in mild irritation whenever she couldn't spit out a simple sentence. The workers didn't care, they were just people like her with no family or friends to compare her to. It was grounding to crack a cold beer on site with them, nobody ever talking about much in particular.

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

Ellie was reading over her list of duties, sometimes it was relatively few. Today it seemed she had to head downtown to the foster center to fix a broken heating unit. She felt a dampened sense of unease at the idea, her own time in the system not exactly pleasant. She shoved the sheet down into her backpack along with her toolkit, slinging her lanyard around her neck. The breeze bit at her ears as she headed down the street, hands stuffed into her coat pocket.

When she arrived at the center, she stood dumbfounded to see a colorful building with murals of rainbows, flowers, the thing even had a little playground to the side where kids where battling it out on top of a slide. A small toothed smile tugged at her lips as she watched one of the supervisors trying to split up whatever territorial dispute seemed to be happening between the group. She felt an odd sense of amusement tinged in with a slight jab of envy, even if she knew it was misplaced. As she walked through to the reception, there were paintings and drawings splattered all over the walls along with plants that cuddled some of the furniture.

Ellie could hear giggles from down the hallways, a rather controlled chaos with young volunteers chasing after toddlers and toddlers chasing after each other. After sliding her ID into the reception, she stood idly waiting for the care director to bring her 'round to the unit. Her speckled gaze traced over some of the drawings on the wall, many with chicken scratch signatures or blotchy fingerprints. Cute.

When the director arrived, the last person she expected to see was you.

It all seemed to go quiet when you walked in, a child clinging to your hip and a binder in your arms that you were desperately trying to keep from the little one's nosy hands. You looked different, certainly much older than the last time she'd seen you. Draped over you was an oversized sweater with a smiley-face pin and your name, jingly bracelets covering your arms with similar lining your earlobes. When she'd known you, you were just a kid, thrown into the system like she was. Your face was the same, just with lines that showed your age and a warm smile that softened the edge you used to have. You looked happy.

"Ellie? Oh my god, I didn't even recognize you.."

She wasn't surprised; with her scruffy short hair and marred cheeks, it was a wonder you'd even identified her at all. The little kid seemed to grow bored of being in the presence of two grown-ups, quickly tumbling back to where all the action was at in the playroom. Before Ellie could even attempt to say something, you were pulling her into a hug. Your warm arms came around her like you'd known each other forever, but there was a lifetime between you now. Her body stiffened, but you smelt like warm memories and midnight stories.

When you pulled back, she finally managed to get some of that courage back, even if she felt like the two of you couldn't be more different. You'd grown softer. Ellie wasn't like that; she'd hardened.

"You look older.."

It was all she could think of saying, and the awkward laugh you gave in response made her sink inward just a little. In truth she hadn't expected you to be here or anywhere. That was the feeling in the system; people you'd known would vanish, and that was the last you would hear about it.

"You aren't getting away with it either.."

Your voice was warm, patient. The tone that must come natural now that you work with young children. Even at her age you instilled a sense of calmness in her, your familiar sarcasm working a small crooked smile onto her lips as Ellie glanced away bashfully. You held your binder to your chest, still little miss control freak.

"This place.. s'nice.."

Ellie's voice came softer than she'd expected, the hint of a stumble in her tone making her cringe. You didn't seem to notice, or if you did, you didn't mind. She watched your hair bounce as you nodded your head, your earrings jingling from the motion.

"Thank you. I didn't expect to settle down here.. was just a rundown building when I got her, now I couldn't imagine leaving."

That was so.. you.

Ellie had grown used to the constant moving around within the system, being pushed from family to family and usually ending up right back where she started. You, on the other hand, found it more difficult. She'd hug you when you got sent back, wondering why the new family didn't want to keep you. No matter how often she tried to soothe you, it seemed too personal for your young mind to comprehend. It made sense that now, as a grown woman, you still craved those roots, that commitment to somewhere.

It was difficult for her to not just stare at you, an imperfect habit she'd developed over time. Fumbling for straws, she adjusted her belt, staring at the ground for a moment. You seemed to pick up on her awkwardness; it drew you in. This wasn't the confident, smart-ass kid that used to sneak you in games for your 2Ds that she'd stolen from a foster home. It'd been a decade, sure, and you could tell that the years had been unkind. Her once bright hazel eyes were dark, hidden under a firm brow that bored lines onto her forehead. Her freckled cheeks had faint scarring, mostly obscured by dead-end bangs. A warm smile graced your lips, and you took her cold, calloused hand into yours.

"Right.. the AC unit.."

Ellie offered a wordless nod as you began to lead her through the hallway with more murals painted up the walls. It sent a flush of nostalgia through her hazy mind, a weird déjà vu that she couldn't shake. Still, your smaller hand was warm, and she felt strangely transfixed by it. She could feel every line, every brush of your fingers as though her senses were working overtime. Ellie didn't let it go until you brought her into one of the main playrooms. It was a flurry of arts and crafts, babies banging pots together and some older kids trading sweets by the window. Her ears twitched a little at the noise, one that she'd forgotten after all these years.

You led her to the unit that was tucked up in the corner of the room, it looked ancient and covered in purple crayon. No wonder the thing wasn't working anymore.

"I know that look.. it is old, but we get it serviced pretty regularly so I'm not sure what the issue is.."

You mused with a soft chuckle, flipping through your binder to where the last check was done a month ago. There were no notes from the last inspection, just that all seemed to be in working order. When you glanced up again, Ellie was already standing up on a plastic chair and unscrewing the front grille to get in at the filter, her toolbelt slung across her hip. Your eyes widened at the way she precariously leaned upward on a chair built for a 4 year old.

"Careful Els.. you're giving them ideas.."

Your voice was a teased murmur, and Ellie pulled her head back from the unit to notice a small gathering of curious children on the floor who were watching her tamper with the AC. A hint of red embarrassment tinged at her cheeks, unsure on what to make of the little observers. In the end she just gave you a gruff nod before pulling back the grate and lowering it onto one of the small desks.

You were needed elsewhere when an out of breath volunteer stumbled in saying that one of the kids in the playground pushed the other off the slide. Little bugger, Ellie thought with a small smirk.

As you got whisked away, Ellie was left with big eyes watching her every move. Some of the kids had taken to holding her tools for her, just happy to be helpers. She rummaged through the broken unit, lifting one of them up to see the inside as she gestured at all the little moving parts in there. That of course led to all the other kids wanting to see too.

Eventually she deduced the issue. The unit had a faulty air compressor, likely stemming from some dirt or oil build-up within the refrigerant. After making sure the AC was empty, she loosened the compressor belt with a small screwdriver before unplugging the electrical wire. After unbolting the damaged part she carefully extracted it from the unit, holding it up so she could examine it. It seemed busted up, whatever maintenance guy checks it out each other month was clearly a bit useless.

She disconnected the unit so it couldn't be turned on, before screwing back on the grate to keep out prying hands. The little group of observers scurried closer when Ellie stepped down off of the brightly colored chair. A soft huff of laughter left her lips when they all wanted to know what was wrong. Some of them reminded her of how she used to be, nosy and wanting to learn more about how things worked. Ellie crouched down between them, letting them all get a look at the broken air compressor.

"When things like dirt n' stuff build up in the unit, it can make the parts go faulty.."

She mumbled, gesturing to the slight staining along the edge of the part.

"What is that, ma'am?"

One of the kids spoke up, a small boy with a flurry of red curls and a dinosaur t-shirt that Ellie would unashamedly wear as a grown adult. The other kids nodded in agreement, looking up at her expectantly to explain it. She fumbled for a minute, not entirely sure how to explain a compressor system to a bunch of children.

"..s'Sort of like, it takes the warm air into the vent unit, and it.. turns it into cold air and spits it back out.. and visa-versa.."

She scratched at her head, yeah that was pretty much it.

"So what do we do now? Are you gonna fix it?"

A slightly older girl with dark hair and bangs that she'd very clearly cut herself spoke up, her hands toying with a small stuffed bunny rabbit that she held to her chest.

"Well, nothing.. right now anyways, I'll have to take this with me and see if I can find a replacement for it.."

"Are we gonna freeze?"

Someone spoke up from the back, causing a flurry of questions and worries that she wasn't exactly equipped to handle. She raised her hands trying to get their attentions, waving her wrists and trying to convince them that no, they won't freeze. However, before she could, you were walking back in with another supervisor. Frantically, one of the little ones ran to you, tugging at your legs with eyes of great distress.

"Miss! Miss! What are we going to do? I don't want to freeze.."

The little boy began to tear up, and you could only raise a brow at Ellie who was knelt down with a bunch of panicked toddlers crowded around her. You bent down to scoop him up onto your hip, patting down his hair.

"Don't be silly, nobody's going to freeze.."

You mused with soft amusement as you approached the group. Ellie looked at you with red tinged cheeks smeared with dust from the vent. She quickly stood up, patting down her trousers and offering up the broken component.

"..there's your problem sweetheart, broken compressor, I'll have to try find a replacement for it.."

Ellie murmurs, scratching at her scruffy hair as the little ones nod along in agreement.

Once back out in the hallway and alone with you, Ellie stood idly. She shifted on her feet while you signed her contractor sheet and took a copy for your maintenance folder. Her eyes lingered over your face as you scribbled your name and handed it back with a warm smile. She couldn't help but return that smile, though hers was a little tight lipped.

"I'll see you around, yeah? Give me a call if you find that part, these kids will be tropical once it starts getting hot.."

Your voice whipped around her ears, and she found herself nodding like an idiot. When she eventually did find her words, it was just before you were about to walk away. Maybe it was the fact that you were old friends, or maybe it was the fact that she liked having a purpose, but she'd get you that damn compressor if she had to raid a car engine for it.

"Yeah.. yeah don't worry I'll find you one somewhere.."

Her crooked fingers tugged at her sleeve, but her sullen eyes bore into yours like she couldn't look anywhere else. You smiled at her, liking that she still kept some of those same mannerisms that used to be so familiar to you. Unable to help it, you pulled her into another gentle hug, one she returned this time. She didn't mean to smell your hair, but it practically invaded her bloodstream once you got close. A more genuine smile pulled at her lips when she let you go, giving you a small wave as you walked off. She stood there for a minute or two, cheeks rosy.

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

Ellie barely batted an eyelash as the person next door punched numbers into their microwave, the humming faintly pulsing through her walls. Ellie was pitched up on the kitchen counter, where the yellow tinged-light was the brightest. She held your damaged part up, working away at it with a screwdriver. A moth was clinking around in her lightshade, something that made her fingers' twitch in irritation. For a split-second, she felt a flush of anger, considered ripping the damn bulb from the socket and smashing it against the wall. The thought in it's intensity unsettled her, and she tried to regain her focus on the small object.

She'd searched all over town yesterday, badgering in auto part shops and checking out car-boot sales, but to no avail. While she did find compressors, they were too new for that hunk of junk you had in that wall. Still she had continued to search, even when the rain dampened the back of her collar and splintered through her scruffy hair.

Eventually though she was forced to give up, so here she sat. 2.47AM, half-naked, fucking around with an AC part that was older than her. The microwave next door dinged. That thing went off at all hours, and with the stench she was assaulted with whenever she walked past that door, it was no surprise that he got the munchies.

She waved her hand as it started to cramp up, her eyes tracing over the rim of the small metal device. She'd cleaned most of the oil and dust out of it, along with tightening up the bolts along the edge. The moth continued to flutter around the lightbulb, occasionally getting burned. Ellie's gaze flickered up to it, then down at her arm with a soft huff.

She was a moth.

She slid down off of the counter, padding to the bedroom in old socks. Her room was essentially a void, those black-out curtains she'd found in a garage sale like a blessing, considering the street-lights that flashed all hours just outside her window.

Ellie had even gotten used to it, changing in the darkness and sometimes even showering that way. It was somewhat relaxing, though sometimes you could clearly tell by her outfits that she couldn't see herself. Some blend between southern grandpa at a barbeque and closed off junkie, however that worked. She tugged her sports bra up over her head and onto the ground somewhere, stumbling towards the bathroom along the way. The sound of water hitting the tiles filled the room, warm steam surrounding her in the darkness as she moved in. Hot beads trickled down her neck and shoulders as she lay her head back against the current, a heavy breath of relief drifting from her lips.

A few minutes later Ellie dragged herself out, pale skin damp as she ran a towel through her hair. She could faintly catch the sound of soft moans and thumping from above her, rolling her eyes as she continued to dry herself off. The noise was louder as she left the bathroom, a towel draped around her loosely as she shuffled into her bedroom. Ellie rummaged through her nightstand in search of her retainer, letting out a small grumble of annoyance when she couldn't find it. After a minute or so of feeling around in the dark, she admits defeat, turning on her small bedside lamp. She squints at the soft bulb, glancing around and seeing her retainer amidst her dirty bedsheets. Gross.

After splashing some water over them and pushing them in, Ellie padded back, glancing around. The room was.. a mess, to say the least. Clothes hung over every corner, to-go cups and empty beer bottles lining what used to be a desk. Her brow furrowed a little, that was another reason why she liked the darkness, it made it easier to ignore what was right in front of her. The ceiling continued to rattle above, exaggerated cries that definitely didn't match the pace of whoever was up there with her. Poor thing. Ellie reached over her bedside to turn off that lamp when she caught a glimmer of her reflection in the mirror.

Moving closer, she let her eyes gaze over her speckled skin, old bruises still fading. She looked like a mess. Unkempt hair, a towel still hanging from her hips and dark circles under her eyes that looked more akin to smudged eyeshadow. She cocked her head slightly, eyes roaming over the small cleavage that was still rosy from the shower. With the stranger's whimpers in her ears, she let a hand trail over her firm breast, exhaling back through her lips as she held herself.

Ellie's eyes drooped shut as she slowly traced along her ribs, up to her collar and around her neck. With a slight squeeze her hips swayed forward gently, mimicking the creaking of the floorboards. She rolled her head around limply before settling her half-lidded gaze back on her own reflection.

Her hands drifted back down to the white fabric that concealed her lower, unwrapping the towel gently and letting it sink to the floor. Her body grew rigid as it dropped, her blood running cold. Along her upper thighs were faint greenish-yellow veins that crawled along her skin and up across her abdomen like a soft pulse beneath her skin. Her crooked finger traced over one of the lines, a slight tremor in her own touch. She swallowed deeply.

She slowly tilted her body to the side, seeing that some of the veins ran up her back, curling around her waist like dying plants. As her gaze flickered over her body she grew paranoid, now up close and personal with the mirror as she examined every inch of her skin. Aside from the veins she seemed relatively normal.

Her eyes were a little darker than before, though that could be from hiding herself away in unlit rooms and the lack of sleep she'd been getting. It was normal, she was normal, just a strange reaction. Might've been a bug bite or a kidney infection or something. She'd pick up some over the counter drug and be fine.

After all, she was immune, right?

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

The weather was just as awful the next day, heavy rain splattering down on her coat, beads of water rolling down her boots with every step as she shuffled down the street. Her teeth were gritted at the whips of wind. Eventually she made it down to the foster center, the playground drenched and muddy with no sense of life. Rolls of thunder brewed behind the clouds, electrical wires dancing in the harsh winds.

Moving up to the entrance she rapped on the door, loud enough that if there were people inside they'd hear. Though, where else would they be? The lights were shut off, the place likely short on power in the storm. Ellie had initially left her place with the intention of returning your compressor, not noticing the severity of the clouds until it was too late.

The door swung open, and your eyes widened to see her there. Ellie, soaked to the skin with a crooked smile and muddy boots. She bit back a chuckle as you ushered her in quickly, shutting the door behind her.

"What the hell are you doing here? Are you crazy?"

You were wearing a teddy-bear colored fleece with baggy jeans and brown boots, your hair in two messy braids and eyes wide set with concern. You looked cute.

"Came to fix the vent, bad time?"

She teased with a soft chuckle, considering there wasn't a single light on in the building. Your cheeks were red like you'd been rushing around. She wondered if you were still afraid of thunderstorms. You used to be. You scoffed in mild irritation, folding your arms and starting to walk away from her. Ellie clambered after you with a shit eating grin.

"Hey don't be like that.. I can probably get your generator working too.."

She called out after you, trudging down the hallway and peeling off her coat to hang up. You waited for her with an expression of subtle amusement and relief, letting her follow along with you back to the playroom. Inside was all the little ones curled up together by the supervisors who were holding candles and trying to keep everyone calm. There was puffy eyes, tears, and anxious faces. Ellie had to bite back another laugh, covering her mouth before you jabbed her in the side with your elbow. She nudged you back almost childishly, this time leaning down to speak to you.

"It's not chemical warfare outside you know, you got them all huddled together like a nuke's about to drop.."

She mused against your ear, chuckling as you batted her away again with your hands. Ellie rummaged through her backpack for a flashlight, heading back down the hallway where you had said the generator was. When she pried open the old cupboard, the thing was covered in a matte layer of dust, her brows furrowed as she searched for the fuse 'round the back. Eventually it clicked in, but the generator simply let out a chortled chuff of smoke before shutting off again. Damn.

As she got a closer look, she felt a sudden rush of unease flood her. However, it didn't feel like her unease. Pulling her head back from the dirty closet, she glanced side-long down the hallway. Ellie noticed you at the end, staring out of the window with those worried eyes as the thunder shoved against the small building. She remained crouched on her hind, eyes soft for a moment.

She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt attuned to you, it was like she could smell how uncomfortable you were. Scooting herself up, Ellie padded down the corridor, coming up behind you and carefully placing her dusty hands on your arms. Your body went rigid at the unexpected contact, but when you moved your head back to see Ellie, you relaxed slightly, lowering your head sheepishly.

"..Still don't like the thunder huh?"

Her voice was soft, low, she almost didn't even recognize it as her own. She studied your expression, stress creased into the lines on your forehead and that stain of redness on your cheeks. Ellie could tell it still bothered you, it's why you were out here instead of in with the rest of the tots. You didn't want them to be scared, and they certainly wouldn't be reassured by seeing you scared too. You swallowed, turning to make up some sort of half-assed excuse for why you were out here when there was another bang of thunder.

Before she could register it, you were against her chest. Her arm's hovered in the air for a moment, those veins pulsing beneath her clothes in a way that made her heart sink. She hoped you wouldn't notice. Her arms slowly lowered themselves around you, a sigh drifting from her lips as she patted your head and gazed out at the lashing rain. Ellie's felt that warm nostalgia floating around her, holding you close again. You were kids then, it felt different now.

"s'Just rain.. just noise sweetheart.."

Her voice came soft against your ear, tucking some strands of hair back into place as you continued to hide away against her chest. She didn't like that you were so tense, that such a brave woman like you was still so wary of things beyond your control. You tilted your head up to look at her, and that puffy face of yours damn near broke her heart. Ellie gazed down at you, her crooked fingers still adjusting your braids. She didn't like seeing you upset, and she couldn't fathom why she could feel you being upset.

Your eyes lingered on her face, freckles splotching across her cheeks and heavy bags under those dark eyes. The way she adjusted your hair made your heart flutter, a hint of heat creeping up the collar. Ellie was feeling something similar, her finger's burning against your skin and your perfume practically invading her nose. Then she felt it again, that pulsing under her skin, and her hand dropped. She took a guided step back from you, not entirely trusting her own body no matter how badly she wanted to be close to you.

Her rejection stung, a subtle ache that swirled around your gut. It was typical of Ellie, to push you away when she got nervous or scared. You wished she wasn't like that, wished she'd pull you closer instead.

"Els.."

You began to speak, your voice a guarded whisper. Before you could even finish the thought though, the lights flickered back on, the busted generator churning loudly like an old fan. There was lots of excited chatter filling the air now, squeals and little claps. The air between you though still stayed thick, your eyes searching hers. They were dark, a hint of clarity in them that was unfamiliar to you. Ellie's heart was thudding in her chest, her fingers twitching. She avoided your gaze, distant.

"Ellie?"

Your voice was softer now, a little more worried at the lack of.. well anything from her. You bridged the gap yourself, gently taking her arm and trying to look up at her lowered face. You still felt warm, she felt colder now. Maybe it was the rain, you thought, she could be sick. Her skin was still clammy from the walk, her hair soaked through and you sighed softly.

"Hang around, yeah? I'll give you a ride home when the rain eases up.."

She looked up at you when you spoke this time, brows furrowed as that thudding in her chest continued. It was disorientating, your lips were moving but it was difficult for her to know what you were saying to her. Still, when you patted her arm and guided her to a comfy chair inside one of the playrooms she recognized that you wanted her to stay here. She watched you walk away, a strained sigh leaving through her teeth.

After some slow, measured breaths that pulsing beneath her skin started to calm, replaced by a deep hollowness on the inside of her chest. She fiddled with her shirt sleeve, her gaze trailing over the various activities that were kicking off between the junior inmates. Ellie knew she should get up, fix your vent like she came here to do in the first place but at the minute she was weighed to the chair. Her gaze flickered to a little girl sitting by herself in the corner, book in hand.

She had short-ish hair, splotchy cheeks and was reading about space with glasses pushed up her nose that were way too big for her. Ellie's eyes lingered, a bittersweet sense of familiarity circling around her. The girl did occasionally look up, watching what was happening around her but never being directly involved with whatever game was taking place. She felt too old. It was a feeling Ellie knew all too well.

Ellie swallowed that unease in her gut, slowly getting up and heading to the air unit. Now that the power was back, she could actually see what she was doing. She unscrewed the panel again, her brain on auto-pilot as she screwed the 'new' compressor back into place and re-attached the belt. Once it was all bolted back down, Ellie placed back over the grate, fiddling with some of the air-con settings to see if it was back in working order. When that gust of soft warm air hit her face she felt that flicker of satisfaction.

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

It was around eight when you eventually got back to Ellie's apartment, walking her to the door despite her insistence that she was fine. Her mouth was dry when you looked up at her, a soft expression on her face that only you seemed to get out of her. She was all too aware of how you smelled. It was like your perfume had doubled in intensity since you left the car, it made her brain foggy as she fumbled with her house keys. As she pushed the creaking door open she glanced back at you.

"..Wanna come in for a bit? I got beer.."

Her voice was quiet, vulnerable.

"I have to drive, Els.."

You let out a gentle laugh, but you weren't saying no to coming in.

Ellie led you to the living room, giving you the better cushion on her beaten-up sofa, a small grin growing on her lips. Ellie still felt.. off, even as you cozied up with some blankets and soda. It started off pleasant though, soft chatter above the TV as you sat close. She could feel how warm you were, her heart thudding gently in her chest. She played it off though, lazily scrolling through her contact list to search for the takeout number.

Her fingers twitched as she tried to pay attention to what you were saying. You'd started talking about how you'd eventually found a foster family here in Seattle, you got your certificate online for pre-primary teaching and childcare. She wanted to listen, she really did. But the TV was playing, the harsh blue light rubbing against her dry eyes. Whatever you were wearing was so strong she felt like she might cough it up, and your voice became a drone that made her head pound. Her left hand brought a cold beer to her lips, trying to keep contact with your pretty eyes.

There was a bit of peace when the food arrived, she could focus on the tastes swishing around in her mouth as it filled her gut. She liked to eat. Your arm was brushing against her side while you both sat there, your legs crossed as you snacked on some spring rolls. Her eyes flickered over to the way your mouth bit down onto them, the crunch and the way your neck bobbed with each swallow. It was more distracting than it should've been. Ellie wasn't sure if she wanted to be the one biting down, or to be the one that you sank your molars into. Her brow lowered, put-off by her own staring as she shoved some more rice into her mouth.

There was nothing in her that wanted more than to be closer to you, to hear those sweet sounds in her ear. But still somehow your voice was too loud, and your body was too close to hers. As she watched the bluescreen across from the two of you, she could feel that dull pounding in her head kicking in. She tried to ignore it, couldn't exactly shut herself in a dark room. She snapped at you. She didn't mean it.

"God could you just.. just be quiet for a second.."

Her voice was low, cutting you off while you told her some silly fact about the actor who was on-screen. She hadn't even expected to say it until the words were already out, and the look on your face made her feel like she'd been socked in the jaw. Ellie felt antsy still, her head aching now with the familiar bug of guilt that was chewing on her gut lining.

"I'm sorry.. I didn't mean that, s'just.. my head.."

She spoke out in an unsteady murmur, rubbing at her forehead with her cool palm in an effort to ease her mind. She wanted to be like you, or she wanted to be with you, she hadn't figured that part out yet. She figured you'd be fed up with her huffing, she'd been a dick to you all day. Her head hurt. Sweat had started to pool around her neck, dripping down her back in an unpleasant shiver as she crouched forward, the floor blurring. The TV continued to drone, her crooked fingers trembling against her face.

And then, softness.

Your hands were touching her arms, gently prying her hands from her pale face. She almost wanted to bark at you for taking away her brief relief, but then your small hand found it's way to her forehead.

"God Els.. you're burning.."

Your hands glided back into her scruffy hair, noticing the beads of sweat that'd gathered around her forehead and the way she looked at you with those lost eyes. Ellie had been quiet for most of the night, you figured she was awkward and nervous. Now it seemed something lay deeper under that skin, her hands coming up to grip onto your wrists. You rubbed her hair back for a few moments before letting go. After turning off the TV and gathering some cold water you held it to her dry, pink lips. She drank it down like a dying man. With the lights now dimmed she seemed to gain some of her focus back, but still that guilt persisted.

"I want you here.. don't know what's wrong with me.."

Her voice was a strained mutter, her fingers still twitching at her brow as she tried to focus on that pretty face of yours. She looked sick, maybe a fever from being out in the rain. You couldn't help but grow softer at the confession, figuring she was simply grumpy and overtired. It was sort of like the kids you'd deal with, throwing tantrums usually because basic needs weren't met. You continued to nurse that water into her, your hand resting on her upper back. Ellie wanted that hand everywhere.

She let her head hang low, deep measured breaths leaving her lips as her shoulders hunched over. Ellie tried not to think about the fact that she'd snapped at you, the fact that her teeth hurt and her stomach was covered in veins. She didn't want to think about it, and she certainly didn't want you to think about it either. The urge was there, to hide herself away and be alone, but it felt so nice to have a hand on her back, to have your palm holding her head.

Eventually the pain stilled, the world was a little quieter now. She looked up from her shoulders, her hazel eyes meeting yours almost sheepishly. Your hand was still on her back, the other smoothing down her hair as though she was a dog. It made her huff. Her eyes traced your features, the look of worry in your eyes.

"M'okay sweetheart, just get these migraines sometimes.. it's like my skull is being split open.."

You let out a soft hum at her words, mulling over her behavior. It made sense, you'd noticed the dark bags under her eyes so Ellie likely didn't sleep well. Her fridge was full of junk, and the sweat that beaded her skin was a cry for hydration. Not to mention the fact she'd spent an hour in the rain today. Your finger brushed a strand that had fallen into her face, both of you once again stilling at the intimate contact. To Ellie's disappointment, you were the one who pulled away this time, your hands falling down to your lap as you cleared your throat.

"Well it's no wonder, you look like a damn zombie Els, probably running on nothing.."

"Mm.. feels like it.."

She huffed out an uneasy laugh, her hand slowly finding yours. She felt a little calmer now, though her temper seemed to flutter under the surface of her skin like an elastic band that could snap. You let out a warm giggle in response, rolling your eyes as you held onto her cold hand. Your fingers idly traced her pointed knuckles, noticing the red and purple blotches that coated them. Your brows mulled together.

"You've been fighting?"

Your voice was gentle, it made her feel less defensive. She didn't withdraw from you, too engrossed by your fingers on her skin. Still, Ellie had no idea how to even explain what her life had been like this far. She knew you wouldn't judge her, even if you both grew in different ways. She nodded.

"Yeah, something like that.."

She chewed on her bottom lip, remembering how her hands had felt wrapped around Abby's neck.

"Sort of found myself a family like you, his name was Joel.."

Ellie hadn't planned on letting you in, but it seemed her heart had other ideas.

"He.. he raised me, in all the ways that mattered anyway.."

Her red eyes brimmed with salted tears that she didn't want to let fall. Her face was hunched over again, so one simply dripped straight down onto the floor. Your silent gaze conveyed empathy, she knew you were listening.

"But he was an idiot.. got himself killed and I couldn't-"

She swallowed deeply, his bloody beaten face looking her dead in the eye. She felt sick to her stomach at the image, at the squelch of the golf-club bludgeoning his skull. Her fingers started to twitch, that hollow ache in her gut that spread up to her kidneys.

"Oh Els.."

Your voice was a whisper, and you didn't even know if she had heard it over the sound of her own breathing. Shifting closer, your free hand hovered near her arm. Her tears were dripping down onto the carpet, and it felt like your heart was being squeezed tight. Ellie continued to stare at the ground when she felt your warm arm around her shoulders, holding her to your side. She wanted to be closer, to be under your skin. Ellie let her forehead press into your collar, but kept her hands to herself.

"I don't think you should be here.. m'not.. I.."

Her words didn't make much sense, her thoughts muddled and warm and confused. Your fingers continued to travel along her brown strands, unable to look away from those red-brimmed eyes, that dark look in them that stood stark against her pale skin. You cradled her face, your breath a ghost over her cheek as you let your nose nudge into the side of her ear. Ellie tensed, her head tilting ever so slightly before one of her cold, large hand finds it's way to your hair, pulling you in closer to her neck. That was always the way with her, her lips telling you one thing and her hands contradicting it.

Her shoulders were hunched, sweat dripping down the back of her neck. You could smell it the minute you hovered, a mix of cologne and petrol with that hint of sweat. Prying back her hair you tied it up into a bun, despite her grumbled protests about having the back of her neck exposed.

"You're too hot.. Trust me, I don't give a damn about the back of your neck.."

Your voice was almost exasperated, a hint of amusement sparkling in your eyes at her antics. Ellie liked to be particular about things, her hairstyle was one of them. If she got a haircut, good luck getting to see her do anything else for a few years. It was cute in it's own way, but that half-up half-down was doing nothing to cool her down.

Ellie refused to remove her sweats or her t-shirt, she couldn't let you see what was hiding under the fabric. You sighed, not pushing her on it but instead just coaxing her upward.

"Think you need to get some sleep honey, and take those sweats off when I leave, you'll cool down.."

Your voice was gentle as you guided her into what you assumed was the bedroom. Ellie winced when you turned on the light, exposing a dump ground of dirty laundry, stained bedsheets and a small country worth of bottle cans. She avoided your gaze as you set her over on the bed, crouching down in front of her.

"Didn't think anyone would b' over.. I would've cleaned it you know.."

Her voice was a vulnerable whisper, her fingers twitching at the drawstring of her sweats. She didn't like that you were seeing her this way, it was humiliating. Your eyes were understanding though, and you gently rubbed her knee.

"I know.. I get off this Sunday, if you'd like I have a stack of black bags and a bottle of Mr. Clean.."

Ellie's eyes shot down to your hand on her knee, then back up to your warm eyes. Your teasing yet caring tone made her heart flutter. Her mouth still felt dry, and as she looked around the room, she knew that she probably couldn't do it alone.

"Yeah, yeah okay.."

Her voice came quiet, the veins under her skin still pulsing. She leaned down so that her arms were resting on her upper thighs, your voices closer together. Her dark eyes searched your features, lifting a hand to gently trace down one of your messy braids.

The air between you was warm, eyes locked while you knelt between her legs. She leaned over you, fascinated with your knitted hair and your soft eyes. Up close she was still pretty, dark lashes that brushed over a sullen brow. The small glimmers of sweat still dripped down the back of Ellie's neck, a soft shudder leaving her lips.

Ellie leaned down closer, her exhales gently blowing against your cheek. You reached a hand up slowly, taking her fingers that were carding through your braid. Ellie flicked her tongue out over her dry lips, wanting nothing more than to lean down and press her face to yours. You held her gaze, watching as she began to lean down to you with half-lidded eyes and rosy cheeks.

As much as you wanted to give in to that, to see where this unexpected fling would lead, you knew it wasn't right. You gently took her cheeks before she could kiss you, and her eyes flickered open. Ellie felt a tingling of rejection in her gut once you stopped her, her eyes shifting from vulnerable softness to a hurt defensiveness. She slowly straightened up, avoiding your gaze.

"Still not into girls huh?"

A gentle smile tugged at your lips at her almost petulant response, the way she folded her arms and pushed you away like you'd just broken her heart. You shook your head with a soft laugh.

"I'm not into girls who aren't in the right headspace to make an informed decision.."

Your voice was knowing. As cute as this freckled girl was, she was clearly not in the right mindset to do anything with. You knew that she wasn't well, not right now anyways. When she continued to avoid your gaze, you gently pulled her chin back to face you.

"Not like this, okay?"

You spoke softer this time, the look in your eyes reassuring her that you did want her, it just wasn't the right moment for this to go any further. Ellie held your eyes for a few moments before nodding with a soft sigh, her shoulders slumping.

"You know you don't always need to be responsible.."

She grumbled, though there was a flicker of amusement tugging at her lips, pretending like she was still mad at you.

"I know, boring as ever.."

You murmured softly, still knelt between her legs with a gentle expression. You reached up to Ellie again, petting down the side of her hair as you studied those rosy freckles and dark eyes.

"You're beautiful.. you know that? Haven't changed a bit.."

Ellie almost short-circuited when you called her that, she almost didn't believe you. In her mind she had changed, no longer some greasy kid with braces and a plethora of facts about the solar system. She leaned her head against your palm, her face still warm. Her arms then sunk down to you, bringing you into a warm hug.

You jolted when she suddenly grabbed you with ease, surprised by the display of strength in her weak state. She was so sweet though, and you all but melted as she hid her face in your chest. You let out a chuckle, patting the top of her head and letting her hold onto you for a moment.

"I'm gonna head home now Els, get some sleep yeah?"

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

The laundry machine rattled against the floorboards in her kitchen, bundles of clothes sloshing around while others hung up on a small drying rack. You were still managing to find dirty bras and t-shirts stuffed under her bed, your nose wrinkling slightly.

"No wonder you always wear the same clothes, half your shit is buried.."

You teased, carrying another basket full of laundry to where Ellie sat by the counter, watching the clothes spinning around. She still wasn't feeling her best, but your company had her eyes sparkling even through the embarrassment of this 'early spring clean', as you called it. She slid down off of the counter, taking the heavy basket from your hands and sitting it down by the washing machine.

"I'm on a journey to a minimalist wardrobe.."

She shrugged, ruffling through some old band t-shirts that she'd forgot she even owned. Some of them were definitely more suited for the trash, with rips and stains that no amount of washing could fix. You tugged out a black laced bra from the pile, raising a brow. It was such a contrast to Ellie's.. everything, and you couldn't help but giggle as you lifted it up.

"Ellie Williams.. I didn't know you had someone to wear all that for.."

You spoke, a shit-eating grin on your face as you watched her go hot in the cheeks. Ellie was quickly moving toward you, trying to wrestle the bra out of your hands while you giggled and tried to squirm away.

"How d'you know it's even mine?"

She grumbled out in a fluster, cornering you against the counter and managing to get the thin garment out of your grip. You continued to laugh at her, a rosy tint to your own cheeks. The idea of it belonging to someone else did send a strange flicker of insecurity through you, but judging by how Ellie was currently red in the face and flustered you had a feeling that wasn't the case.

"That doesn't make it much better.."

You huffed, folding your arms as she stuffed it back into the laundry basket. Ellie stood back up, raising a brow at the way your tone had shifted ever so slightly. More focused on you now than her shyness, she moved closer, leaning against the counter playfully. You scoffed, pushing at her chest to try and get some amount of personal space back.

"That wasn't an invitation.."

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile that split through your teeth as you managed to escape her trap, heading back to the bedroom. You could hear her chuckling in the kitchen still, cleaning down countertops. After shaking the shyness from your cheeks, you got back to work stuffing all those dirty cans and beer bottles into a black bag. The place was already looking better, brighter. That might have something to do with the way you had forced all the curtains open as soon as you arrived, despite the protests of that vampire of a woman in the other room.

As you shoveled trash into the plastic bag, you noticed a small shoebox tucked beneath the bed. A hint of curiosity crept over you, but you hesitated. For all you knew that could be a box of porno CDs or genuinely an old pair of shoes. Still, your hand tentatively reached over to pull it out from under the bedframe. You glanced over to the doorway, where you could still hear Ellie moving around and clearing out her cupboards of expired food.

Still, the glitter covered box drew you in, a large 'E' plastered on with old glue stick and painted with stickers. It was cute, reminded you of how Ellie used to be. Your fingers traced along some of the stickers, the box painted messily in a pale lavender color with remnants of cardboard brown peeking through.

You set aside the lid onto the carpet, peering inside. The box was filled to the brim with photos, wristbands and tickets. A warm feeling swirled in your stomach as you lifted some of the polaroids, Ellie with a big grin full of braces as she held up a fish with an older man. Joel, you assumed.

Some of the other items caught your eye too, old drawings of her as an astronaut and one poorly drawn horse. You were beaming ear to ear without even realizing, feeling as though you were catching up on the life that she kept hidden so tight to her chest. Hidden amongst the memorabilia was also a photo of.. you. Truth be told you didn't even know this image existed, a little seven year old you with that choppy haircut and watching a film on tape.

You recognized that blurry sort of texture, that cartoonish watermark that came from those off-brand kid cameras. A rosy shyness dusted your cheeks as you found some more, one a selfie of you and her. You even found some photos of an older you, from the foster family you inevitably got adopted into. Clearly given to Ellie in a means of comfort while she was still in the system.

You weren't sure when you started to tear up, maybe it was the polaroid of Ellie and Joel that had 'love you babygirl' scribbled onto the back in messy sharpie or perhaps the drawing of you and Ellie holding hands in a crooked love heart.

It was a bittersweet feeling, and it near destroyed you to think about how this poor girl had lost practically everything. At the time you were a year younger than her, still not fully mature enough to realize the depth of her affections for you. A few tears dripped down your cheeks, staining the old notepad paper.

Ellie trudged into the bedroom, wondering why it had gone so quiet all of a sudden considering you'd been squawking all morning about how much of a mess her place was. Her heart dropped as she seen you knelt by her bed, a hand over your lips and eyes brimmed with tears. The next thing she noticed was the small lavender box on your lap, pictured scattered across the carpet. She felt that intense flash of anger at you for going through her stuff, though her feelings for you swallowed that heat.

You noticed her in the doorway, staring up at her tearfully like a deer in headlights. You knew you shouldn't have been snooping around, there to clean not go through her stuff. The allure of simpler times had gotten to you, and now your heart felt ten times heavier with guilt from the pain that Ellie was in.

"Els.. I'm so sorry.."

You weren't too sure whether you were apologizing for going through her things, for what she'd gone through, or for leaving her. Ellie watched as you hid your face in your hands, shoulders shaking subtly. Despite the haze that clouded her mind, her feet began to move of their own will as she sat down onto the floor beside you. She pried the box from your trembling hands, before pulling you gently between her legs and against her chest.

You weren't expecting to be cradled that way, and you hid your face away against her collar. Warm tears still dripped from your cheeks, Ellie's face brushing against your head. Ellie was still incredibly warm, and it was easy to relax. You slowly raised your head, batting wet eyelashes at her. Ellie watched as you held one of the pictures of you two together.

"I didn't realize.. I.."

Your voice was an unsteady whisper, your freehand still covering your lips as you sat between her legs.

"We were kids.."

Ellie muttered softly, patting along the side of your hair as her own heart burned from the memories. She'd spent so much time back then comforting you, soothing how homesick you were. Ellie hadn't even known what to do with herself when you never came back. Unsure of what came over her, Ellie leaned down to smell your hair again.

"I know that but I could've.. I didn't mean to leave you there.."

You let go of the polaroid, letting it sit back into the box and instead wrapping your arms around her so tight that you were surprised she didn't push you away. Ellie continued to rub down the side of your head, her other crooked hand tracing along your back. She almost lost herself in your hair, engrossed by the smells and textures. That cloud over her brain continued to worsen, a billow of frustration swirling in her gut that she couldn't stay present with you.

Sitting against her on the floor was surprisingly cozy, her arms keeping you close as you rested your head against her chest. You were used to her not replying by now, she got too caught up in whatever she was thinking about. Typically though, you didn't mind, not when she was holding you close like this.

You soon felt her mouthing at your hair, biting at strands like a kitten and couldn't help but let out a watery giggle, pulling back just enough to raise a brow. Her eyes were dark and lidded, her fingers still gliding down the side of your head.

"What are you doing?"

Your voice was soft, unable to hide the amusement in your tone.

"I don't know.."

Ellie confessed, holding back the urge to continue. The truth was it'd gotten worse, she'd gotten worse. The thoughts louder, the migraines harsher, the control weaker. You smiled at her warmly, before your gaze drifted down to her neck. A cold chill trickled down your spine as you noticed faint green and yellow veins peeking out ever so slightly from the collar of her shirt that faintly pulsed beneath her skin.

Ellie noticed your gaze immediately, trying to shift and tug up her shirt but she knew it was too late. You'd seen it.

"What the fuck is that?"

Your voice came a nervous whisper, not even wanting the answer.

"It's.. I don't know.."

She felt like a broken record, her thoughts looping around and around in circles in a way that almost made her dizzy.

"Take off your shirt.."

"..I can't, let me-"

"Ellie, take off the damn shirt.."

Your voice came strained, a raised tone that left zero room for argument. Tears brimmed in Ellie's eyes, her fingers trembling as she reached for the bottom of her t-shirt. Your hand flew to your lips as she exposed her chest, covered in veins and blotches of greenish yellow, her ribs pulsing like it had it's own heartbeat. For a moment you were stunned into silence.

"Jesus Christ.."

You spoke in a whisper, your warm fingers reaching out carefully to trace along some of the veins that fluttered gently at your touch. They covered all along her abdomen and across her breasts, crawling around her collar and down her back. Ellie was staring at you wide-eyed, her eyelashes growing wet with held back floods.

"Did you get bit? What-.. what is this?"

You looked up at her, wanting answers yet still fearing the answers that they might bring.

"I got bit.. five years ago.. I'm immune, or-.. I should be.."

Ellie spoke, a few stray tears falling down to the carpet as she avoided your gaze, feeling utterly exposed under your eyes. Her chest was a sore sight, covered in veins and murky colors that stood out grimly against her pale skin. Despite her fears she was still gripping your shirt tightly, she was scared.

You continue to look her over, before meeting her dark eyes again. It was all starting to make sense; the mood swings, the lack of concentration, the way she walked around like she barely knew where she was. Your heart sunk further as you wiped away some of her tears, your warm fingers rubbing against her marred cheeks. It was no surprise Ellie was immune, but infections adapt to their biome. What was more likely the case was that the fungus had sat dormant, taking hold of her and gradually spreading over time.

"Something's happening to me.."

Her voice was a watery whisper, her skin pulsing just beneath the flesh.

"I can't sleep, I get so-.. so angry all the time, n' I throw shit around.. can't even think straight.."

You held her burning cheeks, your own eyes glossy with worry as she finally confessed all that had been happening lately. Part of you was pissed off that she'd kept something so serious from you, but seeing her cry like that made it difficult to hold onto.

"..m' so damn scared.. sweetheart"

Ellie confessed, a vulnerability in her tone that she hadn't let through in years. You were quick to pull her to your chest again, feeling the heat of her skin and the strange textures of her back. Your heart was racing in your chest, and Ellie could practically hear it. Ellie mouthed at your shirt, trying to calm down as much as she could. She was afraid of how easy it was for her to lose herself these days, a little grievance or a memory dragging her beneath a heavy current.

"It's okay.. we'll figure this out.."

Truthfully, you were terrified. The look in her eyes though kept you grounded, you wouldn't leave her again, not like this. You brushed more of her wet tears away, unable to reason with yourself this time. You leaned down to her, your nose rubbing against her cheek and seeking the permission of her lips. Ellie shied away, afraid that somehow she'd transfer this gross bacteria to you. Her hand was braced against your hair still, her other sinking down to your hip.

"What if-.."

Her voice was a watery whisper, and you didn't need her to continue to know where her fears lay.

"I don't care.."

You confessed, stroking her marred cheek as you rested against her lap. The thought of her here all alone, suffering through whatever this was destroyed you. There wasn't anything in this world that could convince you to leave her. You pushed back more of her tangled hair, glossy eyes tracing over her pale face that had already begun to show signs of discoloring.

Ellie's gaze ghosted over your warm lips, soft and pink and all that she'd been able to think about since she found you again. Her trembling hand brought you closer, her movements disjointed. With your warm breath on her face and your wordless pleas, she all but melted into your promises.

The cluster in her head went silent the moment your mouth met hers, her heart syncing to yours as she pulled you closer. Your smell was once again diluting her bloodstream, strong and lovely. Her cold hands trailed up your shirt and against the warm skin of your back, a shiver trickling down your spine as your lips moved against hers.

Your hands traced the lines of her skin, feeling that softness while you could. The kiss was practically a warm cuddle, your legs wrapped around her waist as you molded together on the bedroom floor. Ellie could already feel it, the tremor in her hands and the way she'd lose a grip on something light. Her motor skills were deteriorating, slowly, but steadfast. She knew that soon, she might not be able to touch you, to hold you like this, and so she pressed you to the cold wooden floor, embracing this moment that she knew might never happen again.

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

The next few weeks were painful. Ellie had gotten worse by the day, puking blood and losing any sense of coherency that she'd had. She wasn't like anything you'd seen before, not exactly mutated but not herself either. You'd moved in a few nights after finding out, afraid to leave her alone in that apartment like this. You kept her keys now, locking her in the apartment whenever you had to leave to keep her from wandering. Not that she would, if anything she was even more of a homebody now.

Still it made going to work even more difficult, constantly checking your phone though you doubted she'd even think to call you if something happened. You were trying to push away the inevitable, knowing that soon it would get too hard to go to work. Already you had to re-explain to her every morning where you were going, why you were going, and the tearful tantrums that ensued. The worst part was getting home, most nights finding it in tatters or Ellie passed out in a pile of her own body fluids.

You'd have to lift her, cradling her by the head and trying to get her to wake up. She'd always try to escape you initially, to fight with you when you caught her off guard. Your arms often took the brunt of her anger or fear, holding deep scratches and bruises from where her blunt nails dug into your skin. It was the only way Ellie could express things to you, especially now that her vocal chords were mostly too tensed to make any coherent sounds. Some days were better than others, where sometimes you might get a poorly formed sentence or she'd let her give you a bath.

Those baths were a complete nightmare, especially at the beginning. Ellie often found it extremely distressing to have her body exposed to you, and to her own eyes. She was covered in those yellow-green face, rough textures and blotches of callouses sprouting along her back and inner thighs. You always tried to calm that insecurity she felt, saying she felt like the moon and how beautiful she was. Even still, her once hazel eyes were now dark and clouded, paranoid. During bath time you'd taken to just covering her eyes with a small scarf, like one might do to a travelling horse. It made her calmer.

When you did manage to get her to sit into the lukewarm water, her fist would be painfully tight around your wrist at every moment. The first few times you'd washed her you ended up soaked to the bone whenever she caught sight of some peeled skin floating in the water. Her wet nude frame had refused to leave your arms, drenching you in the process as you tried to soothe her, to remind her that her skin wasn't falling off.

You loved her, but you were exhausted.

The clawing at your arms, the sleepless nights and her unwillingness to detach from your body was slowly grating at your patience. Ellie didn't exactly recognize personal space anymore, she liked to smell your hair and be all over you like a slobbering dog. Her breath would stick to your face and neck, her bony arms usually too tight around your shoulders while she chewed on your hair or your earlobe. You knew she didn't mean it, but it still wore you out, especially on nights where you just needed to be alone for an hour.

You didn't have it in your heart to blame her, not when she was puking up clots in the toilet or hiding in the closet because something had frightened her. You were both stuck in this desperate cycle, wanting the other but suffering from this broken dynamic. You feared the day that you couldn't care for her anymore, and you knew she felt it too. You wouldn't leave her, you knew that. But it grew to a point where eventually, you snapped;

It'd been a long day at the center, an issue with adoption contracts that led to the foster families pulling out last minute from the arrangements. This led to you having to deal with children who had spent the day packing, crocodile tears and confused faces pulling at your clothes or getting angry at you. It was heart-breaking, and you were so worn out.

After getting home, all you craved was some quiet. One hour, even. As you trudged up the cold stairwell and turned your keys into the door, a breath left your lips at the state of the apartment. You'd gotten used to the mess, half the time you didn't even bother cleaning it because Ellie would tear into it a few hours later. But this was ridiculous. Pillows were strewn about the floor, and your favorite vase of flowers was lying in a million pieces by the kitchen counter.

With Ellie nowhere to be seen, you approached your broken vase. While you were trying to collect some of the pieces, your bag slipped from your shoulder and caught on your hair. You cut your hand on a shard, letting out a yell of irritation as you slammed the bag away, rubbing a shaky hand against your forehead. Ellie heard your voice, stumbling into the room with her janky sort of walk, eyes trailed on you.

Before you could even take a minute to gather your scrambled thoughts, Ellie was all over you. Her bony arms circled your torso tightly, cooing in her attempts at a soft greeting. She pressed her face into your neck, but you were so hot and vexed that it just made you feel another flare of anger. Ellie found it difficult to differentiate your moods these days, she couldn't tell that you were on the brim of exploding.

You didn't mean to shove her, but when you did your blood ran cold. You couldn't believe that you'd done it, her fragile body hitting the ground with a thump and a pained groan. Some of the broken glass on the floor dug into her arm, little trickles of blood staining her pale skin. The pain was sudden, and like a frightened cat Ellie started to claw at the floorboards, her voice coming out in loud garbled tones. You quickly tried to quieten her down, it was difficult enough as it was to keep her hidden from her landlord.

"Shit- Els.. I'm sorry-.."

You tried to get at her bloodied arm, to make sure she was okay but she wouldn't let you near her. When you tried to grab onto her shoulder she writhed, digging her blunt nails into your arm and sending a searing sting of pain through your already hot flesh. You let another exasperated shout, trying to get her to detach herself from your skin. Ellie looked at you with those wild eyes, her thoughts running half a minute to try and comprehend what was happening, why it was happening. You couldn't deal with this, you couldn't deal with her right now.

Once you managed to get her off, you made a bee-line to the bedroom. You needed some sort of space before you a blew a casket against your girl. The lock clicked as you shut yourself off behind the door, ripping out jewellery and tying back your hair in and effort to cool down. Ellie clawed at the door, groans of fear and frustration at being unable to get to you fleeing her lips.

Ellie wasn't angry at you though.

There was still that little spark of her there, that semi-awareness that haunted her skin despite the lack of control that she had over her body. She hated how badly she was hurting you, how frustrated you got with her inabilities. You tried so hard to be patient with her, and it made her well up at how much of a burden she was. She couldn't help it when her grip forcefully tightened and she couldn't get the muscle to relax, or the flush of anger that came whenever you tried to leave her alone.

Her motor skills barely functioned anymore, even when she did try to clean her mess it often just made the mess worse. There where nights when you'd come home tired, or upset and she wanted nothing more to take care of you. She wanted to brush your hair with a gentle stroke and not a harsh tug, she wanted to make you smile like you did whenever she could muster a sentence. Ellie couldn't fathom why you were still here, why you stayed with her despite what she'd become. Her blunt and cracked nails continued to dig into the wooden door, hot tears now streaming down her discolored cheeks.

"Ph..s.. s-..rr..y.."

Ellie's voice was disjointed, the vowels clinging to her throat and refusing to make it any further. There were so many things that she needed to say, she knew you were hurting in there and it felt like she had no way to reach you. It broke what remained of her soft fleshy heart as she slowly retracted from the door. Her arm still stung from the broken glass, and with a huff she shuffled to the bathroom to try and rid any remaining shards from her skin.

After a few minutes of fumbling with unsteady fingers, it was all out. Ellie bent her shoulder awkwardly to rinse her marred arm under the cool tap. It dried quick, a surface wound that would only leave a few scratches. It was you that Ellie was worried about, locked away from her and with feelings that she probably couldn't comprehend even if she wanted to. She wanted to be good to you, to be the girl that she knew you deserved. Hearing you crying in the bedroom made her antsy, and she fought down the urge to force herself in.

Ellie staggered to the living room, eyes drifting upon your broken vase. It was an accident, she'd bumped against it earlier when she was trying to smell one of the flowers. Her crooked fingers twitched, and she tried with the best of her ability to clean it up with a small dustpan. Her jerky movements made the whole ordeal ten times more difficult, grunts of frustration leaving her maw every time her hand went in the wrong direction. She got everything up eventually, her heart fluttering with pride.

Ellie noticed one of the roses laying on the ground, crouching awkwardly to pick it up. She then glanced back over to you, shut away from her behind that wooden door. She felt that urge again, to claw and shout and drag you out, but she bit down on that thought as hard as she could. Instead she shuffled towards the bedroom, nudging her cheek against the door. She couldn't hear you crying anymore, that at least was a relief.

She slumped down onto the floor, her back against the wall as she traced the petals with her crooked finger. You had so much patience with her, every single day. Ellie wanted so badly to be patient for you too. She'd wait for you this time, until you were ready for her.

You'd managed to cool off are tying back your hair and taking long measured breaths. As you sat on the mattress, the tension slowly drifted from your shoulders. Your eyelashes fluttered open, gazing around. The bedroom was perfectly clean, something you hadn't noticed before. Your laundry was messily folded in lopsided piles on top of your drawers. Ellie knew you didn't like the mess, she tried to keep this space nice for you.

You felt another stain of guilt at the folded close and the sloppily made bed, knowing how hard this was for both of you. Still you could see how hard she was trying, and it was impossible for you to stay angry with her. You let out a few more deep breaths, stretching out your body with a sigh as you approached the pile of clothes. You stripped off your work pants and blouse, instead pulling her old clothes and letting her scent cuddle you.

It was the not knowing, that was the worst thing about it all. She would continue to deteriorate, you assumed anyways. However, Ellie's transformation was so slow, so unpredictable. You had no idea if one morning you'd wake up and she'd be completely gone. It scared you, and you knew it scared her too. She was hollowed out version of herself now, an Ellie with nothing but basic instincts and functions. It was her memories that had kept her warm, unbearably loveable. She still knew you, still knew that she loved you and that kept her present even in her hardest moments.

Your shoulders fell as you rolled them back into place, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment of peace. It was silent in the apartment now, and you couldn't help but spark a flicker of worry again. It made you feel uneasy when it was too quiet, because at least when she was loud and babbling you could locate her. Wanting to know what she was doing, you moved from the bed. Your nerves now settled.

As you reached for the doorknob, you caught ear of some gentle sniffling, a sound so soft it near broke your heart. The lamp light illuminated the hallway once you cracked open the door. Your eyes grew warm as you found Ellie, sitting on the cold floor and crying as quietly as she could into her calloused palms.

Oh Ellie.

You sunk to your knees beside her, slowly bringing a gentle hand over hers. Your other hand moved to those scruffy strands of hair, caressing the side of her head. It took some coaxing to get her to come back to you, but when she did lift her head, her dark eyes were wet with guilt and worry. Ellie fumbled with the rose she'd gotten, managing to get it up to your face with an apologetic murmur. She wanted to kiss you, but she couldn't. There was that risk now, that maybe she'd bite down on your lip or cheek by mistake.

You met her halfway, leaning down to smell the rose. The soft scent of the flower kissed your nose, making a gentle smile creep onto your lips. She was too sweet, and you adored her. You carefully took the rose from her grip, setting it aside. You brought her into a tight hug, mimicking the ones that she suffocates you with almost always. She responded well, immediately running her cold hands along your shoulders and hair as gentle as she could manage.

Ellie spoke a different language to you now, but it was one that you would never stop trying to learn.

[krfttin]

why is ringmaster scarr in fortnite kindaaaa 😩

she is my FAVORITE skin (why do I kinda wanna write for her 🙈)

[krfttin]

My name is Abed.

I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔

The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war. Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚

Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty. What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️

I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍

If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support. Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨

Thank you for taking the time to listen. 🙏

Post Link

please please please guys educate yourselves on the Palestinian genocide, it is truly heartbreaking on what goes on in this world. These people have lives and families and are suffering because of actions they didn’t commit.

[krfttin]

Hope Tumblr is ok with this one

Their greed sickens me.

[krfttin]

I literally just saw a j.ai creator make vi and Ellie bots with male pov…euhhh gross 👎👎👎👎

[krfttin]

he tried to LIFT HIMSELF UP FOR HER

[krfttin]

I get super into writing for a few days. then it just goes away, UGH.

[krfttin]

~ awhhhh thank you for the tag sweetie 🤍

s - sweet (cigarettes after sex)

h - haunt you (lil peep)

a - a little death (the neighborhood)

n - not you too (drake)

e - exchange (bryson tiller)

tag moots : @madewithsilk @meowviolet @ultravioletlane @space-cowgirllll + whoever wants to join!

MOOT / TAG GAME !

mission— spell your real name / name you use on tumblr with songs you like >< ready, set, go !

m — my love, mine all mine (mitski)

i — i love you, i’m sorry (gracie abrams)

c — coraline (lyn lapid)

k — killshot (magdalena bay)

i — i know you (faye webster)

e — either way (ive)

tagging— @puma-riki @flwrstqr @liwinly @woniefication @lilificationn @stvrriki @okwonyo + anyone else who wants to join !

[krfttin]

a tad disappointed about the first episode of tlou season 2, I personally could not see Bella as older Ellie and literally cringed at the kiss part. (my personal opinion don’t come after me) BUTTT old man joellllll (I am NOT ready for the golfing lesson)

[krfttin]

my dads friend/neighbor is SO sexy. I need her NOW

[krfttin]

I'm only saying this for your sake, but objectively, it's not a smart idea to bring politics into normal hobbies. You might lose supporters of your blog just because of your political stance, and that would be terrible since you're so amazing!! It's only a suggestion, but I really reccomend not bringing politics into anything.

[krfttin]

I have been sitting here with my mouth wide open for 10 minutes, why did I just see SMUT fanart of jinx x vi..

I’m all for dark themes but what the fuck.

[krfttin]

why did a 13 year old CHILD, try n slide in my dms 🤨

please, YOU ARE IN MIDDLE SCHOOL

[krfttin]

AHHHHHHH WHAT

portrait of a lady on fire

“In solitude, I felt the liberty you spoke of. But I also felt your absence.”

summary: Ellie Williams is an artist who has been commissioned to paint your portrait before you are sent into a future you never chose—with a man you know nothing about. In a remote coastal estate, she studies you—her gaze lingers too long, her strokes too gentle. You come to like her later, too; isolated since childhood, you have finally found someone who seems very similar. And as your gazes begin to meet more often, you both wonder if there is any point of this, any point when the end is known.

some tags: slow-burn yearning, internalized homophobia & repression mention, artist x muse tension, isolated setting

pt1: the freedom we won't get: soon...

pt2: the shape of you: soon...

pt3: between the lines: soon...

pt4: a love that burns: soon...

pt5: the final touch: soon...

pt6: remember : soon...

chapters names can be changed!

[krfttin]

Ellie and Dina