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elliesbabygirl · 18 days ago

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CHAPTER ONE: THINKING ABOUT YOU.

SERIES SYNOPSIS: Midterms were crushing you—and so was she. Maybe she was the right person at the wrong time, or the wrong person at the right time. Either way, none of it mattered when she was next to you.

WARNINGS: 18+, alcohol + drug use, cheating, swearing, mentions of tattoos + body mods (piercings & tattoos), arguments, blood, partying, pining, sexual tension, eventual smut. slow burn with fluff and angst.

SUBMARINE; MASTERLIST

The bell above the tattoo shop door jingled with a weak chime, the sound swallowed by the hum of a late-night rock playlist playing somewhere in the back.

You stepped inside, blinking against the sudden contrast of warm amber lights and cool walls lined with framed flash sheets.

Your hoodie smelled like cold air and leftover anxiety from the midterm you definitely just bombed, your brain was fried, to say the least.

And your heart was somewhere between fuck it and why not.

The neon sign out front had read WALK-INS WELCOME, glowing a soft pink against the empty sidewalk.

It was past eleven, you half-expected the shop to be closed.

From behind the front counter, a head slowly lifted.

She looked up from her sketchbook, one airpod still in her ear, the other tucked into her hoodie pocket.

Her brows furrowed, like she wasn’t sure if you were real or just the ghost of another college burnout looking for a distraction.

“Uh… hey,” you said, voice sticking in your throat a little.

“Do you actually take walk-ins this late? Or is the sign just for show?”

She blinked, clearly not expecting anyone to wander in after hours. Her green eyes swept over you, quick but not unkind.

Then she shrugged and said, “Yeah, I got time.”

There was a pause, not tense, just… full.

Like the both of you were trying to figure out if this was going to be weird or not.

The girl stood, cracking her knuckles as she moved towards the back. She wore a dark flannel over a tank, ink crawling up one arm like a second skin that protected her.

You watched her move—steady, even a little graceful in the way people are when they don’t realize they’re being watched.

“C’mon,” she said over her shoulder, motioning you toward the chair. “I got some time.”

You followed, the buzzing silence settling between you both like a third presence.

“So, what’s the story?” She asked, gloving up. “Breakup? Quarter-life crisis? Got an F and decided to self-destruct like me?”

“Option C,” you said. “Massive failure and poor impulse control.”

She grinned—crooked, tired, but real. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

You laughed, and for a moment the weight on your chest eased.

You sat down, letting the leather chair swallow you whole, heart thumping just a little faster now.

(Ellie. You learned that her name was Ellie, so sweet and simple.)

“Alright,” Ellie said, pulling out a stencil. “Let’s do something simple. Like linework? Maybe something small on the wrist?”

You nodded. “That works for me.”

(You had no idea what she was saying.)

She kneeled beside the chair, eyes leveled with yours now.

Her gaze lingered, for just a second too long. “This your first?”

“Yeah. You?”

Ellie let out a laugh. “God, no.”

And just like that, something cracked open between you two—barely there, just a flicker.

A flicker that lingered in Ellie’s eyes while she worked on you.

(The kind of moment you wouldn’t even think twice about until months later, when everything had already fallen apart.)

The hum of the machine had long faded, replaced by the soft rustle of gloves being stripped off and the quiet click of a spray bottle.

A simple outline of an orange now sat on your wrist—small, clean, and sweet in a way you couldn’t explain.

You hadn’t told Ellie why. Truth was, you didn’t know. You just said “an orange” when she asked, and she didn’t question it. She just nodded like that was reason enough.

Ellie wiped down her station with practiced motions, quiet and focused, like she’d done it a thousand times.

Then she looked up at you, eyes softer now under the fluorescent lights.

“Go wait by the front,” she said. “I’ll cash you out in a sec.”

You hesitated, glanced down at your wrist again, then stood up and walked back to the counter, the leather of the chair creaking as you left it behind.

You watched her again, for a moment—methodical, careful, lost in the routine. She didn’t rush, didn't look at the clock. Just moved like the night had all the time in the world.

Ellie eventually wandered over to the register, rubbing the back of her neck with pen-stained fingers.

The silence between you stretched—not awkward, just dense with something you couldn’t name.

She keyed in a few things, barely glancing at the screen.

“That’ll be…” she said, then paused, eyes flicking up to yours. “Actually—uh, hold on.”

She fumbled with the tablet for a second, hit a few buttons, then finally slid it towards you. “Discounted it. First tattoo and all.”

You tilted your head. “That’s not a thing, is it?”

“Nope,” Ellie said, popping the P. “Just felt like it.”

You tapped your card and waited for the receipt to print, fully expecting her to mumble a polite thanks for coming before locking up.

Instead, Ellie hovered for a beat, biting at the inside of her cheek like she was wrestling with something.

Then, before she could talk herself out of it. “Hey, uh… you want to get some boba?”

You blinked. “Boba?”

Ellie scratched behind her ear, flustered all at once. “Yeah, I mean—you don’t have to. I just… there’s that place down the block that stays open stupid late, the one with the open mic stuff. It’s dumb. But sometimes they have slam poetry nights and I figured maybe—fuck—nevermind, that sounded lame.”

You were already smiling before she finished stumbling through it.

“No,” you said, laughing softly. “That doesn’t sound lame.”

She nodded quickly, half-embarrassed, but relieved. “Cool. Cool, yeah. You don’t have to, obviously. Just thought… maybe you didn’t wanna...go home yet.”

You grabbed your hoodie from the back of a chair, still smiling. “Let me guess—you’re more of a ‘pretend-you-don’t-like-it-but-secretly-know-every-word’ type when it comes to slam poetry?”

Ellie smirked, flicking off the lights behind the counter. “You’re already talking a lot of shit for someone with a fruit on their wrist.”

She locked up the shop, keys jingling in her hand as you both stepped into the night.

The air was crisp, the street quiet except for the distant sound of someone rehearsing lines on the corner.

The boba place came into view at the end of the block, tucked between a laundromat and a 24-hour vape shop, glowing in mismatched purple and teal neon.

You squinted at the sign. “Thirsty Bitch? Seriously?”

Ellie laughed, pulling her hoodie up over her head. “Yeah. It’s awful, but they’ve got the best matcha in a ten-mile radius.”

“Still,” you said, grinning, “naming your boba shop after a Twitter insult is bold.”

You reached the door and stepped inside, the smell of brown sugar syrup and steamed milk hitting you like a wave.

The place was dim, cozy, lit with hanging paper lanterns and fairy lights that probably violated a dozen fire codes.

A group of people were lounging on mismatched couches, someone was curled up reading in a window nook, and in the far corner—half-hidden behind a fake plant wall—someone was passionately performing a poem about heartbreak and avocado toast..?

You and Ellie stood in line, trying not to stare at the guy on stage who was practically crying into the mic.

“I… genuinely can’t tell if that’s a metaphor,” you whispered.

Ellie snorted, covering it with her sleeve. “I think he’s serious. He looks like he just got dumped and lost a farmers’ market sponsorship.”

You both fell quiet again as the line inched forward, eyes occasionally flicking to each other and then away, like you were playing a game neither of you fully understood.

It wasn’t lost on you—this wasn’t casual, not really.

You could feel Ellie watching you in quick glances, like she was trying to solve a problem in your expression.

Trying to figure out if you knew this was her awkward, nervous version of flirting.

You did.

And she could tell that you did.

“So,” Ellie said, voice a little too casual as she rocked back on her heels, “you hang out with tattoo artists often? Or am I just that lucky tonight?”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Is this your go-to move? Ink someone and then lure them into weird poetry cafés with sugar drinks?”

“Only if they look good under neon lighting.”

You tried to cover your grin with your hand.

She was clearly testing the waters—careful, but bold in a way that said she didn’t know exactly where the line was, just that she wanted to find it.

The line shuffled forward, the guy on stage wrapping up his ode to heartbreak with an exaggerated sigh and a dramatic bow.

A light smattering of snaps followed. You and Ellie exchanged a look, trying not to laugh.

“Okay, what’s your order?” Ellie asked as you reached the counter.

“Black milk tea. No sugar, less ice.”

Ellie nodded, then turned to the cashier. “One black milk, no sugar, light ice, and… one matcha milk tea with boba. Full sweetness.”

You were halfway into your bag, already fumbling for your cash when Ellie slid hers into the reader without missing a beat.

You blinked. “Wait—shit, I didn’t bring cash.”

She shrugged, not even looking at you as she typed in her pin. “Good thing it’s not a problem.”

“I was gonna get mine.”

“You can get the next one,” she said, pulling her flannel sleeve over her hand. “Or like… I don’t know. A sticker for my sketchbook or something.”

“Wow,” you teased. “Big spender.”

Ellie shot you a grin as she tipped the cashier. “You’re lucky I like your weird fruit tattoo.”

The two of you made your way to the back, weaving past a guy setting up a keyboard and a group of students debating if slam poetry should rhyme.

A random sunken couch was free—one of those big, overstuffed ones that looked like it had been there since the ’90s—and you both dropped into it like it owed you comfort.

“So,” you said, crossing your legs as you sank too far into the cushion, “you always hang around after tattooing strangers, or am I just special?” You mirrored her tone from earlier while in line.

Ellie leaned back, her knee just brushing yours. “I don’t really… do this. Like, ever.”

You tilted your head. “Do what? Drink overpriced tea or hit on people who are going through a midlife crisis?”

She gave you a slow, crooked smile. “Yes.”

You laughed, surprised at how easy it was to be around her like this—loose, light, like nothing in the world was pressing down for once.

The kind of calm that didn’t come often in your life lately.

“So,” Ellie said, eyes flicking towards the next performer taking the mic, “what are you majoring in?”

“Communications. Which is ironic, because I’m pretty bad at it.”

She huffed a laugh. “Art. Also ironic, since I never show my own shit to anyone.”

You looked over at her. “Not even the people you tattoo?”

“Especially not them,” she said, pulling a knee up onto the couch. “I hide it in sketchbooks like a coward.”

You didn’t press. Just nodded, both of you watching the next act start—some kid doing a poem about their mom’s rice cooker and generational trauma. It was weirdly good, too good.

One of the employees—wearing a beanie too big for his head and a pin-covered apron—gently placed your drinks on the small coffee table in front of the couch.

“Black milk, no sugar. Matcha, full sweet,” he muttered, already halfway turning before either of you could do more than offer a quick “Thanks.”

You both reached for your cups at the same time, fingers brushing lightly, then pulling back in that awkward, polite stutter people do when they’re a little too aware of each other.

Ellie handed you yours, then sat back with hers, the paper sleeve crinkling slightly as she adjusted it in her grip.

You took a sip, the cold bite of black tea grounding you, while she raised her matcha like she was inspecting it. “Okay,” she said, “I know it looks like swamp water, but it’s actually elite.”

“I’m judging you,” you said flatly. “Full sweet matcha is basically melted ice cream.”

“Exactly,” Ellie said, smirking. “You’re welcome for the experience.”

Another performer took the mic—a girl with dyed green hair reading something about toxic friendships.

You both listened half-heartedly, more focused on the strange little bubble you were sitting in, pressed against each other by the couch’s deep sag.

“So,” you said, after a beat, “do you always invite people out for boba after tattooing them, or was I just radiating ‘needs emotional sugar’ energy?” You asked, trying to guage what this meant.

Ellie chuckled softly, eyes on her drink. “No, you were radiating ‘maybe I’d let her see my sketchbook’ energy.”

Your eyebrows raised, amused. “That so?”

She nodded, then added quickly, “Not that I—like—want to show it. Just… hypothetical.”

You smiled into your straw. “Hypothetically noted.”

There was a pause, not uncomfortable—just charged.

Ellie took another sip and glanced sideways at you, quick and nervous.

“I like your voice,” she said suddenly, almost too soft to hear.

You looked over, surprised. “My voice?”

She shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “Yeah. You’ve got one of those… kind voices. Not in a weird way. Just—whatever.”

You tried to hide how much it hit you—how nice it felt to be seen that way. “Thanks, you've got nice hands...for someone who literally stabs people for a living.”

Ellie snorted, a quick, surprised laugh bursting out of her. “That’s one hell of a compliment.”

“Take it or leave it,” you said, sipping your tea again, feeling your smile pull at the edge of your lips.

The final poem faded out under light applause and scattered finger snaps.

You and Ellie were slow to move, both dragging out the last sips of your drinks like they were excuses to stay a little longer, but eventually, all that was left was ice.

You stood, tossing your empty cup into the trash by the door. Ellie followed a second later, her lid clattering as it hit the bin.

The two of you stepped out into the cool night air, the neon lights of Thirsty Bitch flickering faintly behind you.

Neither of you spoke at first. The walk back towards the tattoo shop was quiet, not tense, but full of something unspoken.

The space between you felt smaller now, but the silence was heavier—like you were both trying to figure out what this night even was.

“Thanks,” you said finally, turning toward her. “For paying, you didn’t have to.”

Ellie waved a hand, brushing it off like it was nothing, but you caught the way her neck flushed red, color disappearing under the collar of her shirt.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said quickly. “I mean—I wanted to. Not in like a weird way. I just… wanted to, that's all.”

You smiled. “Ellie.”

She blinked. “Yeah?”

“You’re literally stammering.”

Her hands went straight to her pockets as she laughed, half-defeated.

“Okay. Look. I’m just—I don’t know how to end this without sounding like a complete idiot. Like, is this still part of the tattoo appointment? Did we just accidentally hang out for two hours? Is this… a date?”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Do you want it to be a date?”

“I was, like, gonna ask for your number. Like… subtly. Or somethin, but I kinda suck at this.”

You held out your hand. “Give me your phone.”

She blinked again.

“You know,” you said, “so I can save myself in it.”

A slow smile spread across her face as she handed it over. “You’re really good at this whole subtle thing too, huh?”

You typed your name in, shot yourself a text, then passed it back.

Ellie immediately unlocked her screen, texting you a quick “hey” from your new contact.

You pulled out your own phone and smiled when it lit up with her number.

“I guess this means I’m not just another walk-in,” you said, sliding your phone back into your pocket.

Ellie looked down, that shy, half-smirk tugging at her lips again. “Nah. You’re the one who ordered an orange on your wrist. Pretty sure you were gonna stick around whether I wanted you to or not.”

You laughed, and it felt good.

Light.

Like the start of something real.

You both stood there a beat too long, the night stretching thin between you like it was waiting for one of you to make a move neither of you were ready for.

Ellie shifted on her feet, hands still buried in her jean pockets. “Uh… I should probably head home,” she said, eyes flicking to the street.

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. Me too. Home, definitely.”

A beat of silence.

“Okay, well… bye?” Ellie said, stepping back, voice a little higher than usual.

“Bye,” you echoed, giving a small wave that felt weird the second you did it.

You immediately dropped your hand, pretending to fix your sleeve instead.

Ellie turned towards the row of cars parked out front.

Her converse scuffed against the pavement as she walked—shoulders hunched like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

She glanced over once, half-smiling, and you offered a quick smile back before turning to go the opposite way.

You heard her car beep as it unlocked behind you, and you didn’t look back.

Your chest felt tight—not in a bad way.

Just in the way things feel when they might be something.

Awkward, a little clumsy, but still somehow… sweet.

The campus café buzzed with the usual chaos—grinding espresso machines, laughter echoing off the concrete walls, and the constant scrape of chairs on tile.

You sat across from Juni in your usual booth by the window, nursing a lukewarm coffee and trying (failing) to wipe the stupid smile off your face.

Juni narrowed her eyes, sipping her oat milk latte with suspicion. “Okay, spill. You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last fifteen minutes, and you haven’t said a single thing about your drama class meltdown or the train wreck of a group project you’re in.”

You bit your lip, shrugging casually. “Maybe there’s nothing to tell.”

She gave you a look. “Girl.”

You laughed, finally giving in. “Okay, okay. So… remember the tattoo artist? Ellie?”

Juni’s eyes lit up. “The tattoo artist? Late-night walk-in Ellie? The one who took you to a place literally called thirsty bitch?”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh my god, finally,” she said, smacking her palm on the table. “What happened? I thought that was a one-time hangout slash casual date with crazy undertones of sexual tension!”

You took a sip of your coffee, trying to downplay it but failing miserably. “We’ve been texting. Like, nonstop, all week.”

Juni leaned in, eyes wide. “Nonstop, huh? What kind of nonstop? Good morning texts or ‘here’s a meme that reminded me of your wrist tattoo’ kind of thing?”

“Both,” you said, cheeks heating up. “She sends stupid gifs, and voice notes sometimes. She’s… actually really funny.”

Juni smirked, stirring her drink with a tiny wooden stick. “I’m happy for you. Just—be careful, okay?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Juni leaned back, eyes playful but serious underneath.

“You’re soft. You catch feelings like it’s your job, and tattooed girls with tired eyes and flannels? That’s exactly the type to make you fall hard and then disappear into a cloud of cryptic playlist links.”

You laughed, pushing her shoulder. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” she teased, sipping her drink like she wasn’t delivering warnings through a straw. “Don’t let her ruin your playlist.”

You shook your head, grinning. “No, she’s not like that. I mean—she’s kind of… nerdy? In this hot, low-key way. Like, she was talking about shading techniques and somehow I was still blushing.”

Juni blinked. “You blushed over shading?”

“She made it sound important!” you defended, laughing now. “And her voice goes all quiet when she’s focused, and she has this stupid pencil tucked behind her ear all the time. I swear, she doesn’t even know she’s hot.”

“Oh no,” Juni groaned. “You’re doomed.”

You covered your face with your hands. “I know.”

Juni grinned, the teasing softening. “Okay, but seriously. I love this for you. Just… don’t fall in love until I get to meet her and approve.”

You peeked through your fingers. “Too late.”

Juni took a long sip of her latte, waiting, eyes sharp like she already knew you weren’t done.

You swirled the last of your coffee, biting the inside of your cheek before finally speaking again.

“I’m seeing her saturday,” you said quietly, not looking up right away. “She’s off from the shop.”

Juni perked up, grinning again. “Ooh, plans?”

You nodded, finally meeting her gaze. “Just… hanging out, at her place.”

Juni raised an eyebrow. “Just hanging out?”

“That’s the plan,” you said, trying—and failing—not to sound flustered.

“She said she wants to show me this ridiculous old horror movie she loves. Like, some weird black-and-white zombie thing.”

“Let me guess—she’s gonna act like it’s ironic, but she secretly knows all the dialogue.”

“Exactly.”

Juni smirked. “Okay, so you’re gonna be alone. At her place, watching a movie. Sounds very platonic.”

You groaned, sinking lower into your seat. “I know. That’s the thing. I don’t want it to be platonic, but I also don’t want to ruin it if I read this all wrong.”

“Babe.” Juni leaned forward, more serious now. “You said you’ve been texting every day, she took you out after hours, paid for your drink, and flirts with you over shading techniques—you really think she’s not into you?”

“I don’t know, okay?” you said, voice low but urgent. “What if she’s just nice? What if I go over and it’s just two friends watching a movie on a couch and I sit there the whole time dying because I want to touch her but I don’t want to freak her out?”

Juni softened. “You’re into her.”

“I’m so into her,” you admitted, leaning your forehead against your hand. “Like… stupidly into her. It’s bad. I think about her and my brain just short circuits, and then she sends me a blurry pic of her cat and suddenly I’m spiraling into soft girl hell.”

Juni let out a laugh and reached across the table, touching your wrist. “Okay, listen. Just go. Hang out. Be you. If it’s mutual—and I promise you, it probably is—you’ll feel it. You don’t have to make a move. You just have to be open.”

You nodded slowly, heart thudding in your chest. Saturday felt both a breath away and miles off.

“Okay,” you said, almost to yourself. “Okay.”

Juni leaned back again, smile returning. “Worst case? She’s emotionally repressed and you two spend three months in gay limbo. Best case? She kisses you mid-movie and you finally get to make out with the hot, nerdy tattooed girl.”

You laughed, half-nervous, half-relieved.

“I’ll take either at this point,” you said.

But deep down, you were already hoping for the second.

Ellie opened the door a crack before pulling it wide, already rubbing the back of her neck with the same nervous energy she always wore a little too visibly around you.

“Hey,” she said, stepping aside to let you in. “Uh—so just a heads up… Shimmer might hiss at you, but that’s her way of saying hi. She’s a bitch, but she’s old, so she gets a pass.”

You laughed softly, stepping inside. “Shimmer, huh?”

“She was named during a regrettable horse phase…don’t ask.”

The apartment was small but lived-in, cozy in that kind of organized chaos that made sense to her and no one else—sketchbooks piled in one corner, a half-finished painting leaning against the wall, a blanket bunched up unevenly on the couch.

A couple tattoo machines sat on a shelf above her desk, next to a bowl of cat treats and a few empty cans of energy drink.

You kicked off your shoes by the door and scanned the space with quiet curiosity. “It’s cute,” you said honestly. “Very… you.”

Ellie flushed, ducking her head a little. “Yeah, well. Don’t look too hard, or I’ll have to pretend I totally meant for that chair to have four unmatched hoodies on it.”

Something furry darted past your feet, letting out a judgmental chirp as it hopped up onto the arm of the couch.

“Shimmer,” Ellie called out. “Be cool.”

The cat blinked at you slowly, as if deciding whether you were worth acknowledging, then curled into a dramatic loaf and ignored you completely.

“I think we’re off to a good start,” you said.

Ellie laughed, a little breathless. “She likes you more than she liked my ex, so… that’s probably a good omen.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, high praise.”

Ellie cleared her throat, suddenly fidgety. “Okay, uh—movie’s queued up already. It’s dumb. You’ll probably hate it. I’m gonna grab snacks from the kitchen. You can… sit wherever, get comfortable.”

She spun on her heel and all but fled toward the kitchen, pretending to be very busy rummaging through cabinets and muttering about not having enough popcorn.

From where you stood, you could just barely see her shoulders tense as she pulled open a drawer with way too much force, trying to look casual while clearly, clearly short-circuiting.

You smiled to yourself as you sat on the couch, Shimmer watching you like a sentry. Ellie’s voice floated in from the kitchen, muffled and quick;

“Do you like Red Vines or Twizzlers or—shit, wait, do you even like candy? I forgot to ask. I’m a terrible host. I have chips too and maybe ice cream? I don’t know if it’s expired. I should check. Do people check that?”

You leaned back into the cushions, heart full, voice soft but teasing; “Ellie, breathe.”

“Okay,” Ellie mumbled from the kitchen, the word coming out more like an exhale than actual speech.

You heard the rustling of plastic bags and cabinet doors creaking open and closed as she scrambled to collect supplies—Red Vines and Twizzlers, both, because she hadn’t known which ones you liked better, and a half-eaten bag of sour cream & onion chips. Two cans of generic soda from a bodega run earlier in the day.

She was trying to act casual, but every move she made was just a little too loud, like her nerves were shaking through her limbs.

When she finally emerged from the kitchen, her arms were overflowing, and she had to pause to awkwardly nudge the light switch off with her elbow.

“Okay, so, uh… snack options,” she said, holding the bags up like a nervous magician revealing her final trick. “They’re kinda random, but… I panicked. I just grabbed what looked vaguely edible.”

You grinned, scooting over to give her room.

Ellie dumped the snacks onto the coffee table and sat down next to you, movements stiff, careful. She leaned forward, cracking open a can with too much force, then immediately winding at the hiss like she had startled herself.

“So,” she said, still not quite looking at you, “the movie’s called Night of the Undead Teenagers—it’s terrible, but, like… intentionally terrible. It’s got this ridiculous synth soundtrack and every line sounds like it was written by a sleep-deprived college student. Which… might be why I love it.”

You chuckled softly, already feeling the warmth of the couch pressing both of you closer together than you expected.

Ellie noticed it too—the way her thigh barely touched yours, the way the couch didn’t offer much personal space unless one of you leaned all the way into the armrest, which neither of you did, obviously.

She picked up the remote and hesitated before hitting play, sneaking a glance at you like she was trying to memorize your expression before the lights dimmed from the TV’s glow.

“You sure this is cool?” she asked, almost whispering. “Just… hanging out like… this?”

You looked at her, close enough now to notice the way her freckles shifted when she flushed red, the way she was trying so hard not to let her knee bump against yours again.

“Ellie,” you said softly. “Yes, I’m sure.”

She let out a breath, nodded, then finally pressed play.

As the terrible synth music filled the room and the movie’s clunky opening credits rolled, Ellie settled back into the couch beside you, eyes on the screen—but her mind clearly somewhere else.

Halfway through Night of the Undead Teenagers, the screen was bathed in fake blood and neon greens, some guy in a leather vest dramatically shouting about “the power of eternal angst” before getting eaten offscreen by what was clearly two people under a bedsheet.

You and Ellie both snorted.

“This is so bad,” you whispered, your cheek practically against her shoulder now.

“I know,” she whispered back, trying not to smile too wide. “It’s perfect.”

At some point—neither of you knew when—Ellie’s arm had slipped behind your head. It had started as a cheesy imitation of what a character in the movie did twenty minutes in, one of those exaggerated “yawn-and-stretch” moments that Ellie had ironically copied with a smug, joking grin.

But the thing was… she never moved it back.

And you hadn’t minded it, not one bit.

Now her fingers gently rested near your neck, thumb occasionally brushing against the edge of your hoodie. It wasn’t bold, but it wasn’t nothing either.

You leaned into her more with each scene, and she hadn’t shifted away. If anything, she shifted closer.

The bowl of snacks sat mostly untouched now, save for the near-empty pack of Twizzlers clutched in Ellie’s lap like some kind of sugar-laced emotional support item.

She tugged one out lazily, chewed off half, then held the other end up in your direction with a casual glance.

You arched a brow, amused.

“Sharing is caring,” she murmured, eyes still on the screen like she wasn’t holding her breath.

You leaned in and bit the other half without a word, letting your eyes linger on hers just a little longer than necessary before settling back against her shoulder.

Neither of you said anything after that, you didn’t have to.

The movie carried on, the plot unraveling into some bizarre high school ritual involving eyeliner, ancient texts, and zombie prom queens—but it all faded into background noise.

What mattered was the way you fit into her side.

The way Ellie’s breathing had slowed, steady and soft near your ear.

The way your fingers lightly brushed her thigh without either of you flinching away.

The credits rolled in dramatic red letters, backed by a final synth scream and a slow pan over what was clearly a mannequin head meant to be the villain. A single, off-key guitar chord echoed—and then silence.

You and Ellie burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” you wheezed, half-curled into her lap now, hand pressed over your face. “That was so bad.”

“I told you!” Ellie said, breathless, shoulders shaking under you. “They reused the same explosion shot three times.”

“They didn’t even try to hide it,” you gasped. “The main guy was still in frame.”

Ellie tipped her head back against the couch, full-on grinning. “That was cinema.”

You were basically tangled in her now, limbs overlapping somewhere between cuddling and a pile-up.

The couch barely had room for it, but neither of you made a move to shift away.

You could feel her heartbeat under your hand where it rested against her chest, her hoodie smelled like something clean and faintly like bleach—probably the shop.

Most of the snacks had been demolished. Ellie had absolutely hoarded the Twizzlers, breaking them in half to hand you pieces without even asking, like it was a ritual you both understood.

The chips were nearly gone too, save for a few crumbs, and two empty soda cans sat on the coffee table beside a half-squashed Red Vine packet.

Your laughter started to fade into softer giggles, eyes still on her face.

She looked down at you, cheeks pink, lips slightly parted from smiling so hard. “Okay,” she said, still catching her breath, “but seriously. When the zombie ripped off his own face just to kiss his ex? That was art.”

You snorted, tucking your head slightly against her shoulder. “He was committed to the bit. I respect that.”

You looked up at her, and this time the laughter slipped into something quieter—gentler.

Ellie was already looking back..

You were still smiling—barely—but it wasn’t about the movie anymore.

The screen had long since dimmed to its idle menu, casting flickering blue light across Ellie’s face. She looked different like this—softer, like all the guarded edges she’d carried were slowly melting under the weight of the moment.

Neither of you said a word.

You shifted just slightly, and her hand at your waist moved with you, instinctively anchoring you closer.

Her thumb brushed over the fabric of your hoodie, and you felt it—how close you really were, how close you wanted to be.

Your eyes dropped to her lips, just for a second.

Ellie noticed.

Her breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, and she leaned in—just an inch, maybe less.

You mirrored her without thinking. A slow, subconscious gravitation, like you were both afraid of pushing too fast, but more afraid of pulling away.

Your foreheads were nearly touching now, the air between you thick with hesitation and want.

She whispered something—your name, maybe—but it got lost in the space between your mouths.

Then you kissed her.

It wasn’t perfect, not in the storybook way.

You were half-curled into her, the angle weird, her nose bumping slightly into yours, but it didn’t matter.

Her lips were soft and a little chapped, and the moment your mouth pressed to hers, something in your chest went still.

She kissed you back immediately, shy at first—then more sure, more Ellie, with the way her hand slid up your back and held you just a little tighter.

It was a small kiss, barely more than a press of lips, but the way she leaned into it made it feel like the world had tipped over.

You pulled apart just slightly, noses brushing, and she let out a breath against your cheek like she’d been holding it in forever.

“Was that—”

You nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, it was.”

Ellie blinked, stunned quiet, then laughed once—small and breathless.

“Cool,” she murmured, eyes falling back to your lips for half a second. “Good. Just…checking.”

The quiet hung between you again, but it wasn’t awkward now—it was charged.

Tense in a way that pulled at your skin, pulled at her fingers still gripping your waist like she didn’t know how to let go.

You both tried to play it cool.

You leaned your head against her shoulder like it was just casual. She exhaled a shaky breath like maybe that first kiss hadn’t just wrecked her entire ability to think.

But then her hand slid up your back, slow and warm and deliberate, and you shifted—just a little—to meet her eyes again.

Ellie looked at you like she was caught between trying to hold herself back and giving in completely.

“Okay,” she muttered, half to herself. “Fuck it.”

She kissed you again—no hesitation this time. Just heat.

You barely had time to react before her lips were on yours, firmer, needier.

She groaned softly into your mouth, her fingers tightening at your waist as she pulled you upward, drawing you further over her.

You moved without thinking, letting her guide you, your knees sliding across the couch as your body pressed closer to hers.

This kiss wasn’t awkward. It was desperate, focused.

All the tension that had simmered between texts and shared glances and whispered laughter were now pouring out between your mouths.

You could hear it—the soft, wet sounds of your lips meeting, parting, meeting again—sharp against the quiet hum of the TV menu behind you.

Ellie tilted her head, deepening the kiss, her breath hitching as she pulled you even closer.

You gasped into her, and she drank it in, her hand sliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, your chest rising and falling against hers, Ellie’s lips already bruising—flushed red and slightly swollen.

She stared up at you, dazed, thumb still grazing your side like she wasn’t ready to let go, not even close.

Then she leaned in again—no pause, no words—and kissed you hard, like this time, she needed to remind herself it was real.

Morning came slowly, bleeding soft light through the cracks in Ellie’s blinds, warming the corners of her small bedroom.

The world outside muted, far away, like the city had agreed to sleep in too.

You were wrapped in one of her oversized shirts—something faded and threadbare, with a logo you couldn’t even read anymore. It hung off your shoulder just enough to feel deliberate, the scent of her still clinging faintly to the fabric.

You laid curled beside her, your legs tangled with hers under the blanket, and your forehead nearly brushing hers.

Ellie’s arm was tucked beneath your head, her other hand lazily stroking through your hair, fingers warm and slow against your scalp.

Every so often, she’d scratch gently near the base of your neck, and it made you want to melt right into her.

Neither of you had said much yet, you didn’t need to.

You shifted slightly, nudging your nose against her cheek. “You snore,” you mumbled, voice low and thick with sleep.

Ellie cracked one eye open, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “That’s slander,” she whispered.

“You absolutely do.”

“You were literally drooling.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “I was cozy, there's a difference.”

She chuckled, a lazy sound deep in her throat, and her hand moved up to gently comb through your hair again. “You looked cute, like a passed-out cat in my shirt.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m in your bed.”

Ellie raised a brow, still half-asleep. “And yet… not denying it.”

You buried your face into the crook of her neck, laughing softly. “God, you’re annoying.”

Her hand cradled the back of your head, thumb grazing slow circles at your nape. “Yeah,” she whispered. “But you’re still here.”

You didn’t reply to that—not because you didn’t have anything to say, but because the truth of it settled in too easily between you.

You were still there.

And neither of you were in a rush to move.

So instead, you let the morning stretch on, your fingers lightly tracing patterns against her chest, her hand never leaving your hair.

Just breathing, curled into each other, letting the quiet speak for what words couldn’t quite hold yet.

The hum of Ellie’s old car idled beneath you as she pulled up in front of your apartment building, tires crunching slightly over the curb.

Morning sunlight poured through the windshield, catching in the dust on the dashboard and the tiny charm hanging from her rearview mirror—some cracked little keychain you didn’t remember noticing the night before.

Ellie shifted into park and glanced sideways at you, her hand still resting on the gear shift. She looked more awake now, hair pulled up messily, hoodie sleeves shoved halfway up her forearms.

But her eyes… they were softer.

Like something had settled in her overnight.

You opened the passenger door but didn’t move to get out just yet. “I think I’ve got everything,” you said, checking your tote in your lap. “Phone, keys, dignity…”

Ellie laughed under her breath, but didn’t say anything right away. She leaned slightly across the console, one hand brushing your arm.

Her fingers curled gently under your chin, tilting your face towards hers like she couldn’t stop herself.

“Wait,” she murmured, and then she kissed you.

It wasn’t shy, or rushed.

Just slow and sure, like she needed one more moment of you before she let you go.

Her lips moved against yours with a quiet kind of hunger, deepening the kiss just enough to steal your breath.

A low hum of pleasure slipped from her throat—quiet but unguarded—and it made your heart stutter in your chest.

When she pulled back, your eyes met again, dazed and grinning.

And then, almost as an afterthought, she leaned in one last time and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek—sweet and warm like punctuation.

“Bye, baby. See you later,” Ellie said casually, voice low and a little rough.

It took half a second for both of you to realize what she’d just said.

You blinked.

Her eyes widened a fraction.

And then—you both laughed.

It wasn’t nervous, or awkward.

Just this giddy, breathless kind of laughter that filled the cab of the car like sunlight.

Ellie rubbed the back of her neck, shaking her head with a crooked smile. “I mean… yeah. I guess I said that.”

“I noticed,” you teased, already stepping out with a dumb smile you couldn’t hide if you tried.

She leaned over the console again, resting her chin on her arm. “Text me when you’re inside, yeah?”

“Always.”

You shut the door, gave her one last look through the open window, and waved as you walked towards your building.

She waited until you disappeared behind the glass doors, before pulling away from the curb, her car grumbling quietly as it rolled down the street.

Author's note: hey.....How y'all doing! As promised, chapter one is here😛I did not proofread this... Mainly because I'm lazy and just transferring it from my google docs.. So I hope you enjoyed it😭chapter two next week.... trust me you guys!! Lmk what you think in the comments!!

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