Work Text:
You’ve had the kind of day that makes you wonder if Corporate America was really worth it. Between the constant barking of executives who can’t find their own email attachments and the blisters currently throbbing on the arches of your feet, you were operating on a purely mechanical level.
The walk from the train station felt like a marathon. By the time you turned the key in the lock, the silence of the apartment felt like a holy thing. The fridge hummed its usual, dying mechanical tune, and the floorboards creaked as you gingerly peeled off your heels.
You were hyper-aware of the dark crack under Ellie’s door. You and Jesse’s friend had lived together for six months, yet you were still in that polite, distant phase where you treated each other like rare, skittish animals.
Thud.
“Shit,” you hissed, your heel slipping from your cramped fingers and hitting the hardwood with the force of a mallet. You froze, waiting for a groan or the rustle of sheets from her room.
Nothing.
Fifteen minutes later, the scalding water of the shower had successfully scrubbed the horrible work grime from your skin. You crawled into bed, the sheets cool and crisp, and for one beautiful, shimmering second, the world was perfect.
You rubbed your feet together, a contented sigh escaping your throat as your brain finally began to power down.
Then, the wall vibrated.
It wasn’t a subtle sound. It wasn’t the rhythmic thumping of a headboard you could eventually tune out like white noise. It was a high-pitched, soul-shattering wail that pierced through the drywall.
Your eyes snapped open. You stared at the ceiling, unblinking.
Maybe they were just… rearranging furniture? Very heavy furniture?
“Oh, god,” a muffled voice groaned from the other side of the wall.
“Yeah? You like that?” a man’s voice boomed, sounding disturbingly proud of himself.
You pulled the pillow over your head and squeezed. It didn’t help.
The acoustics of this building were apparently designed by someone who hated privacy. For thirty minutes, you lay there, oscillating between genuine fury and a weird, delirious kind of amusement. It was so loud it bordered on performance art.
Finally, the sheer injustice of it — the fact that you had to be up in less than seven hours — snapped your patience.
You threw the covers off and marched toward the door. You needed water. You needed to stand in the kitchen where the air wasn’t thick with the auditory evidence of your neighbors’ stamina.
The moment you pulled your door open, the door directly across the hall swung inward at the exact same time.
Ellie stood there, looking like she’d been dragged through a hedge backward. Her hair was a mess, her eyes bloodshot and squinting against the dim hallway light, and she was wearing a faded grey t-shirt with a cartoon Brachiosaurus on it.
“I can’t sleep,” you whispered, though your voice was sharp with irritation. “These motherfuckers have been going at it for like… hours. I’m losing my mind.”
Ellie leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, rubbing a hand over her face. She let out a yawn so wide you thought her jaw might click.
“Yeah,” she rasped. “No kidding. Sounds like they’re trying to kill each other in there.”
“Ellie, I’m pretty sure she just screamed for a deity. I have to be at the office by eight. I can’t be hallucinating spreadsheets because the guy next door thinks he’s an Olympic athlete,” You gestured wildly at the wall behind you as a particularly loud thump echoed through the hall.
Ellie let out a short, breathy huff of a laugh. “Olympic? Please. Dude sounds like he’d pull a muscle tying his shoes.”
“You’re a critic now?”
“Hard not to be when I’m being forced to listen to this shit,” she muttered, shoving her hands into the pockets of her oversized sweatpants. She shifted her weight awkwardly. “Seriously though… it’s loud.”
“I was going to go grab some water,” you said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Escape the blast zone for a minute. You want some?”
Ellie hesitated.
Usually, this was the part where she’d give a quick “no thanks” and disappear back into her cave of monitors and circuit boards. She wasn’t exactly the late-night kitchen chat type.
But then, a fresh, rhythmic bang-bang-bang started up against the shared wall of her bedroom, followed by a muffled: “Oh, baby!”
Ellie flinched, her nose crinkling in disgust.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered, stepping out into the hall and shutting her door with a firm click. “Yeah. Water sounds amazing.”
The kitchen was bathed in the sickly blue glow of the digital clock on the stove. You leaned against the counter, clutching a glass of cold water, while Ellie hovered by the fridge. She looked out of place in the common area, like a guest who wasn’t sure if she was allowed to sit on the furniture.
“You okay?” she asked, her voice quieter now. She leaned against the opposite counter, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “You look… wiped.”
“That obvious?”
“Kinda.” She shrugged. “Usually you’re more… I don’t know. Put together. It’s weird seeing you like this.”
“It’s midnight, Ellie. The professional version of me died around 6 PM.” You took a long sip of water. “And for the record, you’re one to talk. Is that a coffee stain on your dinosaur?”
She looked down at her shirt, squinting at the faint brown smudge on the Brachiosaurus’s neck.
“Maybe. It’s vintage. Adds character.” She looked back up at you, expression softening slightly. “Jesse says they’re running you ragged over there. Secretary for some high-end law firm or something?”
“Investment firm. Even worse,” you sighed. “I spend eight hours a day saying ‘of course, sir’ to people who don’t know how to use a stapler. I just wanted one night of silence. Just one.”
As if on cue, a muffled, rhythmic “Yes! Yes! Yes!” drifted through the vents, followed by a violent headboard slam.
Ellie winced. “Jesus. What the hell are they doing over there?”
“He’s certainly persistent,” you muttered. “It’s been forty minutes. I’m almost impressed. Mostly homicidal, but slightly impressed.”
“Don’t be. Most of that’s probably just noise. Guys like that?” She gestured vaguely. “All bark, no bite.”
“Oh? And you’re an expert on the technical skills of our neighbor?” You arched an eyebrow at her.
Ellie’s face went bright red. She looked away instantly.
“I — no. Obviously not.” She cleared her throat. “I’m just saying. It’s loud. Kinda… pathetic.”
“Pathetic,” you repeated, leaning in slightly.
“Shut up,” she grumbled. “I’m just saying — if you’re gonna keep the whole floor awake, at least mix it up. Don’t just yell the same crap like you’re reading off cue cards.”
“I think ‘Oh, baby’ is a classic for a reason, Ellie.”
“It’s a cliché,” she countered. “It’s the ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ of the bedroom. Boring.”
You laughed. “I didn’t know you were such a snob about this.”
“I’m a snob about anything that screws up my sleep,” she muttered. “And I was right in the middle of a really good dream, too.”
“What was it? Space? Dinosaurs? Saving the world?”
She shifted her feet. “I was eating a really good sandwich.”
“A sandwich.”
“Hey.” She pointed a finger at you. “It had avocado. That’s premium dream food.”
You were both tired, both annoyed, and both stuck in a kitchen at 12:30 AM because the people on the other side of the wall wouldn’t shut up. Still… it wasn’t that bad.
“Well,” you said, finishing your water. “I can’t go back in there. I’ll end up banging on the wall with a shoe.”
Ellie glanced toward the living room, then back at you. She bit her lip, looking uncharacteristically hesitant.
“I, uh… I’ve got some terrible movies on my hard drive. Like, ‘so bad they’re actually funny’ bad.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “We could put one on in the living room? TV’s on the opposite wall. Might drown them out.”
She looked like she expected you to say no.
But the thought of your dark, noisy bedroom felt miserable, and Ellie, with her stupid dinosaur shirt, was actually decent company.
“As long as there are no ‘Oh, babies’ in the movie,” you said.
Ellie grinned. “Strictly monsters and bad decisions. I promise.”
“Lead the way.”
As you followed her into the living room, another muffled shriek drifted through the apartment.
Ellie just sighed. “Unbelievable.”
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The living room was cramped, dominated by Ellie’s oversized beanbag chair and the sprawling array of tech equipment she kept on the coffee table. You settled onto the pull-out couch, which creaked in protest, while Ellie fumbled with an HDMI cable.
“Okay, so,” she started, not looking at you as she toggled through a folder of pirated movies. “I’ve got Sharknado 4, some weird indie horror about a killer tire, or Child’s Play. You know, Chucky? The homicidal doll.”
“Chucky?” You raised an eyebrow. “Is that really going to drown out… that?”
You gestured vaguely toward the wall, where a rhythmic thud-thud-thud had just resumed.
“Trust me,” Ellie muttered, finally getting the movie to full-screen. “That little shit screams loud enough to wake the dead. Plus, it’s a classic. Kinda.”
“It’s ridiculous,” you countered. “It’s a doll, Ellie. Just… kick it.”
Ellie finally flopped down onto her beanbag, clutching a bag of stale pretzels she’d scavenged from the kitchen. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Guy’s got the soul of a serial killer. You can’t just kick a serial killer.”
“It’s literally plastic and cotton.”
“Yeah, well, so’s a pipe bomb if you build it right,” she retorted, pointing a pretzel at you. “If I were in that movie, I’d totally pull a Sid from Toy Story. Take him to my workbench, rip him apart, maybe solder his legs to a toaster. See how tough he feels then.”
You snorted, watching her get animated. Her face lit up when she talked about taking things apart; it was the most life you’d seen in her since you moved in. “You’ve clearly thought about this way too much.”
“I have a lot of time on my hands while I’m waiting for code to compile,” she shrugged, her voice dropping back into that shy mumble.
For the next forty minutes, the two of you sat in the blue light of the TV. You found yourself actually laughing as Ellie pointed out every technical flaw in the movie’s logic.
“Look at that!” she hissed, gesturing at the screen. “Who the hell leaves a window open like that? In Chicago? That’s just asking to get murdered.”
“Maybe they like the breeze,” you teased.
“Yeah, the breeze of impending death. Solid choice.”
She was mid-ramble, explaining exactly why Chucky’s wiring wouldn’t allow him to move his jaw that fast, when a sound from the apartment next door cut through the movie’s soundtrack. It wasn’t a moan this time. It was a full-bodied, top-of-the-lungs shriek that sounded like someone winning the lottery and being stabbed at the same time.
“Whoa, whoa,” you said, leaning forward. “Pause it. Ellie, pause it.”
She hit the spacebar, and the living room fell into a heavy, expectant silence. From the other side of the wall, a woman let out one final, shaky “Oh my god!” followed by the sound of someone collapsing onto a mattress.
You looked at Ellie. Ellie looked at you. For three seconds, neither of you breathed, and then you laughed.
“Jesus,” you whispered. “Should we call the police?”
“Man, how embarrassing would that be?” Ellie snorted. “Imagine the cops kicking the door down, guns out, and they just find some dude named Gary standing there in his socks.”
“I’m serious, though,” you said. “That sounded like a crime.”
“In some states, it probably is,” Ellie muttered. “But honestly? We don’t need the cops. I bet Beth from 5B is already losing her mind. She’s like the SWAT team of noise complaints.”
You nodded fervently. “Oh, Beth is definitely worse than the police. She’s got that little notebook.”
“Dude, seriously,” Ellie said, her voice rising in shared annoyance. “One time I got home late — like 2 AM — and I was trying to be quiet, right? Barely touched my keys. Next morning, she leaves a note saying the ‘clinking’ was disruptive.”
“No way,” you laughed. “Do you think she stays up the whole night? Just sitting in the dark with a glass against the wall, waiting for someone to mess up?”
“Oh, 100 percent,” Ellie said, nodding solemnly. “She’s probably got a full file on us.”
The silence from next door finally seemed permanent. A heavy, peaceful quiet settled over the apartment, the kind that only comes after midnight.
You stood up, stretching your arms high above your head. The movement caused your shirt to ride up, exposing a sliver of your waist and the curve of your hip.
You didn’t notice it at first, but when you glanced down, you caught Ellie’s eyes. She wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. She was staring right at the patch of skin. The second she realized you’d caught her, she snapped her gaze back to the blank screen, her ears turning bright red.
“Well,” you said, your voice a little softer as you pulled your shirt back down. “I think the coast is clear. I’m gonna try to get at least… four hours of sleep.”
Ellie cleared her throat, her hand flying to the back of her neck. “Yeah. Yeah, same. I’ve got… stuff tomorrow. Early.”
“Right. Tech stuff,” you teased gently.
You both walked toward your respective doors. The hallway felt narrower than usual, the air between you humming with a different kind of energy than the frustration you’d started the night with.
You reached your door and turned back. “Goodnight, Ellie. Thanks for the movie.”
She stood by her own door, hand on the knob, looking like she wanted to say something else. She hesitated, then gave a short, awkward nod.
“Yeah. Night.” She paused. “Try not to let those freaks ruin your sleep.”
“I’ll try.”
You shut your door and collapsed into bed. The silence was finally absolute, but your brain was buzzing. When you finally drifted off, it wasn’t the neighbors or the stress of the office that filled your head.
You dreamt of a tiny, red-haired doll in a denim jumpsuit, chasing you through a dark hallway. But every time he got close, he didn’t have a knife — he was just holding a pair of keys.
In the dream, you looked for Ellie to help you, but she was too busy trying to solder the doll to a toaster.
When you woke up at 7 AM to the shrill scream of your alarm, you groaned into your pillow, your first thought clear and amused: Dammit, Ellie. Even in my head, you’re a loser.
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Lunch at the firm was less of a “break” and more of a tactical retreat. You usually had two choices: sit in a cramped bathroom stall, scrolling through your phone in a fugue state to avoid “team-building” small talk, or brave the breakroom.
The breakroom was a liminal nightmare. One of the fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a rhythmic click-shirr-click that made you want to lob your stapler at it. To make matters worse, Tom from Finance had once again nuked a tray of leftover tilapia. The air smelled like a pier baking in the sun for three straight days.
Fortunately, Jesse was clocked in at the same time today. You were actually functional because, miracle of miracles, the Olympic athletes next door had finally taken a night off from their gold-medal attempts. You’d actually gotten a full seven hours.
Jesse was leaning against the laminate counter, nursing a coffee. He was halfway through a rant about the new filing system.
“I’m telling you, it’s a joke,” Jesse said, shaking his head. “They want everything digitized by Friday, but the scanner in 4B has been jammed since forever. I asked Miller for a repair tech, and he looked at me like I’d asked for one of his organs. It’s just… you even listening?”
You were currently staring into space, slowly chewing a green grape while the ghost of a blister on your pinky toe throbbed in time with the flickering light. Your kitten heels were slowly sawing your feet off.
“Huh? Yeah. Digital. Friday. Got it,” you mumbled, popping another grape.
Jesse narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You’re a thousand miles away. What’s going on? Did corporate finally crush your soul, or is this about the neighbor drama you’ve been texting me about?”
“The neighbors were actually quiet last night,” you said, leaning back against the cold brick wall. “Last week, though… I ended up hanging out with Ellie. We watched Child’s Play.”
Jesse froze, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He blinked.
“Wait — hold on.” He stared at you. “You actually watched Child’s Play with her? Like… voluntarily?”
You stopped mid-chew, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? What’s the big deal? It was her idea. Well, she gave me a list of terrible movies, and that one seemed like the least offensive.”
Jesse let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Man… she’s probably insufferably smug right now. Do you have any idea how many times she’s tried to get me and Dina to watch those movies? She’s obsessed with that creepy plastic asshole. We always bail.”
“Why?” you asked, genuinely curious. “I mean, it’s a bad movie, but it’s not that painful.”
“Because she doesn’t shut up,” Jesse said flatly. “She spends the whole time pausing it to explain how the animatronics work or how she could ‘totally dismantle him’ with a screwdriver and five minutes. It’s exhausting. It’s like being trapped in a TED Talk about murder-dolls.”
You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips as you thought about Ellie’s heated defense of the Toy Story method of doll disposal. “I don’t know. I liked it. We actually had a pretty philosophical conversation about it.”
“Philosophical? About a killer doll? Jesus.” He shook his head. “You two are unbelievable. I always knew sticking you together was gonna create some weird energy, but bonding over Chucky wasn’t exactly my prediction.”
“We’re not ‘bonding,’” you corrected quickly, though even you didn’t quite believe it. “We’re just… survivors of a noise violation. But hey — how did you even meet her anyway? I realized last night I don’t actually know the origin story.”
Jesse took a sip of his coffee. “Through Dina. They met at some Space Camp thing when they were kids. Ellie was apparently the only one there who actually cared about rocket specs or whatever. Dina thought she was a massive nerd. Naturally, they became best friends.”
“Of course she went to Space Camp,” you muttered under your breath.
Jesse’s eyes flicked to yours. He tilted his head slightly. “Why the sudden interest in Ellie’s backstory? Usually, you just complain that she leaves circuit boards all over your kitchen.”
“Just curious,” you said, pushing off the wall and tossing your grape stems into the trash. “She’s… more interesting than I thought. A loser, definitely, but interesting.”
Jesse huffed a laugh. “Careful. Spend too much time with her, and you’ll start wearing flannel and arguing about sci-fi accuracy like it’s a personality trait.”
“Too late for the arguing,” you called back over your shoulder.
Back at your desk, the afternoon slog felt a little less heavy. You sat in your ergonomic chair, staring at a spreadsheet of quarterly earnings, but your mind was elsewhere.
You found yourself imagining the look on Ellie’s face — that wide-eyed, deeply offended, “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me” expression — when you eventually told her you’d never seen a single Star Wars movie.
The thought made you smirk. It would be priceless.
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The following weeks were a slow-motion study of who Ellie Williams was when she wasn’t trying to be invisible. You’d learned she had a weirdly encyclopedic knowledge of space, a habit of humming 80s synth-pop while she tinkered with hardware, and a fierce, borderline defensive loyalty to physical media.
On your way home, your feet aching in your heels, you stopped in a cramped corner shop. Your eyes snagged on a bargain bin, and there it was: The Core. It was a masterpiece of scientific stupidity — a movie about drilling to the center of the Earth to restart the planet’s magnetic field with nukes. It was exactly the kind of high-stakes, low-logic trash she loved to dissect.
When you got home, you went through the motions. Coat on the rack. Bag dumped. Heels kicked into the closet. You were still in your stiff work slacks and button-down when you found yourself standing in front of her door. You didn’t really knock on her door — some sort of unspoken boundary — but you found yourself rapping your knuckles against the wood anyway, shifting from one sore foot to the other.
The door creaked open. Ellie was there, wearing a faded t-shirt featuring a T-Rex in boxing gloves (“Jurassic Punch”), but it was her hair that stopped your train of thought. It wasn’t pulled back in its usual messy knot. It was down. She looked different.
“Hey,” she said, her voice a little raspy. She leaned against the frame, hands buried in her sweatpants. “You look like hell. Rough day?”
“Fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice level despite the sudden, strange thrum in your chest. “Found something. Figured your collection was lacking.”
You held out the DVD. Ellie’s eyes went wide. She took the case, her fingers brushing yours for a fleeting second that felt like an electric shock.
“No fucking way. The Core? You serious?” She flipped it over, a crooked grin breaking across her face. “This movie is unbelievably stupid. It’s perfect. Thanks.”
She hesitated, glancing down at the case before looking back at you, suddenly a bit less confident.
“So, uh… what are the odds you’ll watch this with me? Or are you too wiped from dealing with corporate idiots?”
“Odds are high,” you smiled, exhausted but intrigued. “Just let me scrub the day off first. Twenty minutes.”
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Cool. I’ll get it set up.”
The shower was a blur of steam. You moved fast, your brain replaying the way she’d looked with her hair down. It was only when you turned off the water that you realized you’d left your change of clothes sitting on your bed. God dammit.
You wrapped your towel tight, tucking it securely over your chest, and cracked the door. The hallway was short. You stepped out, damp hair dripping onto your shoulders, your skin still flushed from the heat. You were halfway to your room when Ellie rounded the corner from the kitchen, a bowl of popcorn in her hands.
You both froze.
Ellie’s gaze dropped. Her eyes tracked down the line of your legs, lingering for a fraction too long on the water droplets sliding down your skin, before snapping back up to your face. Her entire neck and face turned violently red.
“I — shit. Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice cracking. “Didn’t know you were — yeah. I was just… popcorn. Living room.”
She moved past you quickly, eyes glued firmly to the floor.
When you finally joined her on the couch, dressed in oversized sweats, the atmosphere was charged. Ten minutes into the movie, the neighbors started up. A rhythmic, high-pitched wail sliced right through the dialogue.
“Jesus,” you muttered, leaning your head back. “Okay, I have a theory. Maybe they’re content creators. Like… professionals.”
Ellie snorted, shoving popcorn into her mouth. “Well, if they are, it’s gotta be terrible content. Just a lot of noise and zero imagination.”
“I don’t know,” you teased, glancing at her. “You watch a lot of straight porn to know?”
Ellie stopped chewing. She slowly turned to look at you, eyebrows raised, then pointed a thumb at herself.
“Are you seriously asking me that right now?” she said, deadpan. “Look at me. Use your brain.”
A laugh escaped you, though the air between you shifted slightly. “Fair point. Just checking.”
By the end of the movie, the room was quiet. The neighbors had finally finished, and the credits rolled softly in the dim light. You turned to comment on the ending — and caught Ellie staring at you. Specifically, your mouth.
Heat crept up your neck. Normally, her tech obsession struck you as chaotic, messy even, but right now, looking at the intricate web of wires and logic scattered across the coffee table, you felt something different.
The silence thickened. You needed to break it before you lost your nerve.
“Oh — before I go, there’s something I should probably tell you,” you said, standing up to go back to your room, your voice a little lower than intended. She looked at you expectantly. “I’ve never watched Star Wars.”
The reaction was instantaneous.
“You’ve… what?” she said, staring at you in disbelief. “Like — none of them? Not even by accident?”
“Nope. Not a single one.”
Ellie just stared at you for a solid two seconds.
“Oh my God. No. Absolutely not.” She grabbed the remote. “We’re fixing this right now. Sit. You are not going another day without seeing Star Wars. That’s insane.”
You laughed, settling back into the cushions. For the first time, you didn’t mind the lack of sleep.
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The bus ride home was the usual exercise in modern envy. You scrolled through Instagram, watching people you hadn’t spoken to since high school post high-definition reels of Tokyo neon and Kyoto shrines.
A vibration in your palm broke the spiral. It was a text from Ellie.
new high score unlocked. they’ve been going at it since 3pm. i’m currently wearing noise-canceling headphones.
You caught yourself smiling at the screen, a little too wide, a little too quickly. You bit your lip and tucked the phone away. Shit, you thought. Since when do I look forward to her complaining?
When you finally pushed through the front door, the apartment smelled faintly of dust and sugary cereal. Ellie was perched on a kitchen stool, hunched over a bowl of Froot Loops with the intensity of someone performing surgery.
“Lovely dinner, Ellie,” you remarked, dropping your bag on the counter. “Very balanced. Very adult.”
She didn’t even look up, her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Don’t start. I just bought a PS5. I’m basically living like a broke college kid until Friday. These loops are a luxury item.”
“Priorities, I guess.”
“Better graphics make the poverty feel less depressing,” she shot back.
You both retreated to your rooms — you to tackle a sociology assignment that felt increasingly pointless, and her to likely disappear into a digital world. You were halfway through a paragraph about urban sprawl when a sharp, authoritative knock echoed through the apartment.
The sound was so unexpected that both your doors flew open at the exact same moment. You and Ellie stood in the hallway, staring at each other like two deer caught in headlights.
“Are the cops finally here for the noise violation?” Ellie asked, her eyes wide.
“Only one way to find out.”
You reached the front door together. In a silent, clumsy dance of “who’s going to do it,” you both reached for the handle at the same time, bumped hands, pulled back awkwardly, and then Ellie finally yanked it open.
Standing there were the neighbors.
Up close, they looked… aggressively normal. The man — presumably “Gary” — was wearing the ugliest polo shirt ever.
“Hey! Sorry to drop by unannounced,” the woman chirped, holding a small plate of store-bought cookies. “I’m Nathalie, and this is Mark. We moved in a while back and just wanted to introduce ourselves.”
You didn’t dare look at Ellie. If you saw her face, you were going to lose it.
“Hi,” you managed, your voice tight. You said your name, then introduced Ellie, who stood absolutely silent beside you.
“Nice to meet you guys!” Mark said. “Hope we haven’t been too annoying with all the moving.”
Ellie made a strange sound that was half-cough, half-choke. She was staring very intently at Mark’s sneakers.
“Yeah,” she said, voice slightly strained. “All good.”
You stepped in quickly before Nathalie could continue. “Thanks for the cookies! We actually have… a thing. But welcome to the building!”
You shut the door perhaps a little too fast. The second the latch clicked, the silence lasted exactly three seconds before Ellie turned to you with a thousand-yard stare.
“I couldn’t even look at him,” you said, leaning your forehead against the door. “I kept thinking about the power grunts. He looks like he manages a Best Buy.”
“He absolutely manages a Best Buy,” Ellie said immediately. “That’s the most Best Buy-looking dude I’ve ever seen. Man, he’s so… aggressively normal.”
You looked at her — really looked at her — leaning against the wall, hair a mess, still glowing from the absurdity of it all. And you realized you didn’t want to go back to your sociology paper.
“Look,” you started, “since you’re officially starving until Friday… how about we grab some cheap pizza from the place around the corner? My treat.”
Ellie blinked. For a second, the sarcasm dropped, replaced by that flicker of shyness you were growing disturbingly fond of. A faint pink tint crept up her neck.
“Uh… yeah. Okay. I mean — if you’re sure.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I could definitely be convinced to eat something that isn’t fluorescent cereal.”
“Put your shoes on, Ellie.”
The pizza was greasy, the crust slightly burnt, and it was the best meal you’d had in weeks. You brought the giant box back to the living room and settled in for the next leg of the marathon: Attack of the Clones.
As the movie played, Ellie became a fountain of information.
“Okay, see that guy in the background? That’s Plo Koon. His lore is actually insane,” she said, leaning forward with a slice of pizza in one hand. She broke down Palpatine’s political maneuvering with more clarity than your professors ever managed in a lecture.
She was animated, hands moving as she talked, eyes bright and focused. It actually made the confusing plot make sense.
But as the night stretched toward 2 AM, the exhaustion of the week finally caught up to you. Your eyes grew heavy, the flickering lights of the TV blurring into soft shapes.
Without really thinking about it, your head tipped sideways. You felt the soft fabric of her hoodie against your cheek as you leaned your weight onto her shoulder.
You felt her freeze. For a moment, she stopped breathing entirely.
And then — as you hovered in that fragile space between sleep and wakefulness — you felt the light, careful touch of her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your forehead.
Her hand lingered there, incredibly gentle.
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The office happy hour was a necessary evil. You hated these things — the forced camaraderie, the lukewarm appetizers, and the way everyone pretended to enjoy talking about quarterly projections over fifteen-dollar craft beers. But the firm was a ladder, and you weren’t planning on staying at the bottom forever.
Fridays had recently become sacred. They were the nights you and Ellie sat on the floor, ate questionable takeout, and let her explain the intricacies of a galaxy far, far away. Trading that for a crowded bar in Midtown felt like a betrayal of your own sanity.
You stood in front of your bedroom mirror, adjusting a dress that was just a little too tight in the ribs. You reached behind your back, your fingers fumbling blindly for the zipper.
“Come on,” you muttered, your face flushing with frustration as the metal teeth snagged halfway up. “Seriously?”
You struggled for another two minutes, nearly pulling a muscle in your shoulder, before giving up. Usually, you’d rather die than ask for help, but time was ticking, and the Uber was already ten minutes away.
You walked out into the hall and stopped in front of Ellie’s door. It was still a weird boundary to cross, but you took a breath and knocked.
“Ellie? You in there? I need a hand with something.”
There was a heavy pause, then the squeak of her desk chair. The door opened, spilling a low neon-blue glow from her monitors into the dark hallway. Ellie stood there in her usual hoodie, blinking at you.
Her eyes dropped. They lingered. She swallowed, throat bobbing slightly.
“You, uh…” She cleared her throat. “You look… really nice.”
“Thanks,” you said, feeling a sudden prickle of self-consciousness. You turned your back to her, gathering your hair and pulling it over one shoulder. “I can’t get this zipper. Do you mind?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”
Her presence was warm, a stark contrast to the cold draft of the hallway. Then you felt her fingers — cool against your skin as she carefully brushed stray hairs away from the nape of your neck.
The contact sent a sharp, involuntary shiver down your spine. Her touch was slow. Careful. Almost hesitant.
You felt the steady glide of the zipper moving up your back. Her knuckles grazed your skin — light, fleeting — but it felt like she was leaving a trail of heat behind.
“There,” she said quietly.
“Thank you. Really. I was about to start cutting my way out of it.” You turned back around, adjusting the straps. You shifted on your feet, the silence between you suddenly dense. “I’m really sorry about tonight. I tried to get out of it, but my boss is a team-building fanatic.”
Ellie shoved her hands into her pockets, leaning against the doorframe. She shrugged.
“Yeah. It’s fine.” A beat. “Go do your corporate thing.”
“I’ll make it up to you? Double feature next week?”
Ellie hesitated for half a second. Then: “Yeah… okay.”
You checked your phone. “Okay, I have to go. My ride’s outside.”
You started to turn, but Ellie moved, quick and uncharacteristic.
“Wait.”
You stopped.
“Hey, you’ve got…” She leaned in slightly. “You’ve got something right here.”
Before you could ask what, she stepped closer. Into your space. Her thumb brushed the curve of your cheekbone. She dragged it slowly — deliberately — gaze locked on the spot like it required absolute concentration.
Your heart did a slow, heavy roll in your chest. You looked at her. The blue glow from her room caught the copper in her hair, sharpened the focus in her eyes. Since when did she look like that? You told yourself it was just the lighting but you couldn’t move.
“Got it,” she murmured, dropping her hand.
“Thanks,” you breathed, your face burning.
The ride to the bar was a blur of city lights and traffic. You sat in the back of the Uber, staring out the window, absently touching the spot on your cheek where her thumb had been.
You’d checked the mirror right before leaving. You were almost positive there hadn’t been anything there.
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The office party was every bit the sterilized nightmare you’d anticipated. Even with Jesse there to provide a buffer, the air felt thin, saturated with the smell of expensive gin and desperate ambition.
You’d spent three hours perfecting a “client-friendly” smile that made your jaw ache, nodding along to stories about offshore accounts and golf handicaps.
Jesse hadn’t made it easier. He spent the better part of the night leaning against the mahogany bar, nursing a beer and grinning at you with a look that was way too knowing.
“So,” he’d said, lowering his voice as a group of junior partners moved past. “Funny how things work out. You’re asking about Ellie’s space camp days, and now she’s blowing up my phone asking if you’re surviving this corporate circus.”
You’d nearly choked on a stray olive. “She asked you that?”
“Among other things.” He took a slow sip of his beer, clearly enjoying this. “She’s curious. It’s… interesting.”
You’d brushed it off. You refused to let yourself dissect what it meant for Ellie Williams to be checking up on you.
By 11 PM, you’d hit your limit. You slipped out, the cool night air hitting your face like a benediction.
When you turned the key in the apartment lock, you expected the silence of a place gone to sleep. Instead, the flickering blue light of the TV greeted you. Ellie was sprawled on the couch, half-engulfed in a blanket, watching a re-run of UK Border Security.
The sight made your pulse do a strange, uneven skip. You didn’t want to be the kind of person who assumed things, but the British narrator’s voice was the only sound in the room, and Ellie didn’t exactly look deeply invested in the luggage of a suspicious traveler from Ibiza.
“Hey,” you said softly, kicking off your heels with a groan of pure relief. “You’re still up.”
Ellie looked over the back of the couch, her hair a chaotic mess against the cushions.
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” She gestured vaguely at the TV. “Got sucked into this nonsense. How was the corporate hellscape?”
“Awful. I almost taped Jesse’s mouth shut. He was being a menace.”
“Sounds about right,” she muttered, a small, tired smile flickering across her lips.
“Wait there,” you said, gesturing toward the TV. “I need to get out of this dress before I lose my mind. Don’t let them seize any more contraband without me.”
You retreated to your room, shut the door, and leaned your back against it. Your face felt dangerously hot. You pressed your cold palms against your cheeks, trying to steady your breathing.
She stayed up, you thought. Then immediately shut the thought down.
Five minutes later, you returned to the living room. You slumped onto the couch beside her, the familiar scent of her laundry detergent grounding you. On screen, a customs officer was pulling a suspicious brick of white powder out of a hollowed-out surfboard.
“He’s never gonna make it,” you murmured. “Total amateur move. Who puts it in the board?”
“Right?” Ellie shifted, shoulder brushing yours as she leaned forward. “If you’re gonna smuggle something, you gotta be subtle. I’ve thought about this.”
You turned slightly. “Of course you have.”
“You need something incredibly boring. Something no one wants to deal with.” She gestured at the TV. “Like industrial plumbing parts. Or a box of ancient computer junk. Nobody’s digging through that willingly.”
You snorted. “You’d get caught because you’d start explaining motherboard specs to the guard.”
Ellie scoffed. “Hey. Distraction technique. While I’m nerding out, you’re casually walking past with the actual crime. We’d be unstoppable.”
The low hum of the television and the warmth of the blanket eventually started to pull at you.
The adrenaline from the party faded, replaced by a heavy, comfortable lethargy. Your eyes drifted shut as the customs officer began lecturing a man about undeclared beef jerky.
Sleep claimed you quickly. The last thing you felt was the subtle shift of the couch cushions.
Somewhere in the haze of half-sleep, you felt something soft slide over your feet — your thick wool socks. Then her hands, steady and careful, tugging them on one by one.
Followed by the weight of a blanket being tucked securely around your shoulders.
And through the fog of exhaustion, you remembered mentioning to her once — weeks ago, over a late-night glass of water — that you could never fall asleep if your feet were cold.
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Saturday was the only day the apartment didn’t feel like a high-speed chase. It was the day for the mundane — the hum of the dryer, the scent of lemon floor cleaner, and the slow realization that you were exhausted from a week of playing corporate pretend.
You were hauling a plastic basket of warm, folded laundry up the elevator when it let out a dull chime at the lobby. The doors slid open, and Mark stepped in. He was wearing another polo — navy blue this time — and smelled like expensive aftershave and laundry detergent.
You immediately developed an intense interest in the “In Case of Fire” sign on the wall. Your brain, traitorous as ever, started replaying the muffled, rhythmic thumping of his headboard. You tried to think about literally anything else — cat videos, your sociology grade, the weather — but the silence in the elevator was heavy.
“Hey,” Mark said, breaking the quiet. “I don’t think I caught your name the other night.”
You said it, offering a tight, polite smile.
“Nice. How long have you and your girlfriend been in the building?”
The word girlfriend hit you like a physical jolt. You adjusted your grip on the laundry basket, the plastic digging into your hip.
“Oh — Ellie’s not my girlfriend. We’re just roommates.”
Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, man. Sorry. I totally assumed. My bad.”
The elevator dinged at your floor, and you both stepped out into the hallway. You reached your door first, dropping the basket with a heavy thud as you fished for your keys. Mark stopped a few feet away, but instead of heading to his own door, he lingered.
Then stepped closer. Too close.
“Well,” he said, his voice dropping into something oddly deliberate, “since you don’t have a girlfriend… I’d like to make an offer.”
You froze, key halfway into the lock.
“Nathalie and I,” he continued, leaning one hand against the wall near your door, “we’ve actually been looking for a third. If you’re ever interested in… broadening your horizons.”
Your brain short-circuited. Fully.
“Okay,” you muttered, the word coming out strangled. “Sure. I — yeah.”
You jammed the key in, twisted it, and practically fell into the apartment, locking the deadbolt behind you with a frantic click.
Why did I agree to that? What is wrong with you?
The apartment was empty. Ellie had gone over to Joel’s for the afternoon and said she wouldn’t be back until nine. You leaned against the door, staring at your laundry basket, feeling like you’d just escaped a cult recruitment attempt.
You pulled out your phone, fingers flying across the screen.
You: Mark just asked me to be their third. They are literally recruiting.
A few minutes later, your phone buzzed.
Ellie: no fucking way. you’re kidding.
You: Dead serious. When you get back, we’re doing a deep dive. If they have a channel, you do the dishes for a week. If they don’t, I’m on sink duty. Deal?
Ellie: deal. prepare to wash some plates.
When the front door finally opened later that night, Ellie didn’t even take her shoes off before heading straight for her desk.
“Move,” she muttered, nudging you aside as she dropped into her swivel chair. “Let’s see how much I regret this.”
You hovered behind her, leaning over the back of the chair as she typed their names into a very specific search engine. The blue light of the monitors washed over both of your faces.
After a few seconds of scrolling through social media profiles and suspiciously polished “lifestyle” blogs, a link appeared that looked… disturbingly professional.
Ellie clicked it. Her eyes scanned the page.
Then: “Jesus Christ,” she muttered.
“Called it,” you whispered, a triumphant smirk on your face. “Enjoy the dishes, Williams.”
She clicked a thumbnail just to verify. The video buffered for a second, then Mark appeared on screen, very much not wearing a polo shirt.
Ellie recoiled. “Oh my God — nope.”
Her hands flew to the keyboard, killing the tab like she’d just triggered a bomb. She spun around in her chair so fast she nearly slammed into your knees.
“I did not want to see that,” she barked, eyes wide in genuine horror. “I really, really did not need to see our neighbor’s dick. Ever.”
“It was… a choice,” you said.
Ellie dragged both hands down her face, ears burning red. “Can you imagine? Your name next to theirs on a thumbnail?”
“Jesus, no,” you shuddered, leaning against her desk. “If Mark were a woman, maybe I’d consider the curiosity, but… I mean, you saw it. That was a very… unique genital situation.”
Ellie stilled. Instantly.
The frantic post-trauma energy faded, replaced by something quieter. Sharper. She looked up at you, head tilting slightly.
“Wait,” she said. A beat. “You go… both ways?”
Her voice tried for casual.Didn’t quite land.
“Nah,” you said, looking down at your feet. “Just women.”
You realized then that you’d never actually said it outright to her. You’d mentioned “bad dates” and “exes,” but always vaguely. You watched her face carefully.
Ellie didn’t speak for a long moment. She just stared at you like you were a puzzle piece she’d been turning over for weeks.
Then — slowly — the corner of her mouth twitched. A small, private smile. She turned back to her computer.
“Good to know,” she muttered. Then, after a tiny pause: “I’ll go start on those dishes.”
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The marathon was officially over. Nine movies, three months, and enough technical debates to last a lifetime. You were slumped on the couch, the credits of the final film rolling in the dim light of the living room.
It was funny how the space between you and Ellie on these cushions had shrunk since that first night with the neighbors; now, your knees were practically tucked under her side.
“So,” Ellie said. She was looking at you with that expectant, nerdy glint in her eyes. “Alright. Don’t bullshit me. Which one wins?”
You knew exactly what you were doing when you looked her dead in the eye and named the worst-rated prequel in the bunch.
Ellie’s face went through three different stages of grief in five seconds.
“Oh, come on. No. Absolutely not.” She stared at you. “The one with the CGI grass? You’re screwing with me.”
“I liked the romance, Ellie. It was poetic,” you teased, biting back a smile.
“Poetic?” she scoffed. “It was like watching two awkward robots try to date. You’ve got terrible taste. Seriously.”
“Whatever,” you laughed, stretching your arms over your head. “It’s over. I’m a fan. What now? Do I get a certificate or something?”
“Better,” she said, leaning back. “How much do you like Yoda?”
“A lot. He’s a little green legend.”
Ellie glanced at you sideways. “What if I told you there’s a baby version?”
Your head snapped toward her. “Stop. Where?”
“It’s called The Mandalorian,” she said, already reaching for the remote. “Space western. Tiny green menace. You’ll love it.”
“Okay, put it on,” you said, shifting to stand. “But I need water first. My throat is parched from all your lecturing.”
Ellie pulled her legs back from the coffee table to let you pass, but between the dim light and the tangled mess of the weighted blanket on the floor, your foot caught.
You stumbled. “Whoa —”
Ellie’s hands shot out, catching you by the waist and arms before you could hit the floor. The momentum pulled you straight into her space, leaving you sprawled awkwardly across her lap and the crook of her arm.
The room went silent.
You were so close you could feel the heat radiating off her skin. For the first time, you could actually see the faint constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Her breath hitched, her pupils blown wide and her hands still gripping your waist.
“You good?” she whispered, voice tight.
“Yeah,” you breathed.
You didn’t move. Actually, you didn’t want to.
“Ellie.”
She exhaled your name like it had been stuck in her throat. She looked like she was physically restraining herself from doing something reckless.
“Hey…” her grip tightened slightly. “What are the odds of you letting me kiss you right now?”
Heat surged through you. A memory of blue hallway light, a fake smudge.
A thumb against your cheek and you held her gaze.
“The odds are high, Ellie.”
Ellie swallowed. A tiny, nervous nod.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Good.”
Then she leaned in and closed the distance.
Ellie tasted like soda and felt like pure electricity.
She pulled you fully on top of her, her hands losing their hesitation as they slid up your back, mapping the skin beneath your shirt. You let out a soft sound into her mouth, your head starting to spin as she kissed you fervently, her teeth grazing your lower lip.
You reached for her — grabbing at her arms, the back of her neck, the copper strands of her hair — but no matter how close you got, it didn’t feel like enough.
You wanted to be closer. You wanted to crawl under her skin.
When she threaded her fingers into your hair and tilted your head back to find the sensitive skin of your neck, you completely lost your grip on reality.
You let your head fall back, a shaky breath escaping you, finally understanding why the neighbors had been so goddamn loud.
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Her hands, which had been gripping your hips, stilled. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her green eyes wide and dark in the dim light of the room.
“Can I…?” she breathed, the question hanging in the air, thick with want. You just nodded, unable to form words, and her hand slipped from your waist, sliding under the loose elastic waistband of your pajama bottoms.
Her fingers were tentative at first, tracing the line of your panties before they dipped lower, through the leg hole and directly against your soaked folds. A sharp hiss escaped you. The air was filled with the wet, slick sounds of her exploring you. She found your clit, and you bucked against her hand.
“Fuck,” you whispered, your head falling back. She wasn’t a talker, not then; she let her fingers do the work, circling the hard nub before sliding lower to gather your wetness. You were so fucking slick, your arousal coating her fingers in a thick, glossy sheen.
She pulled back to look, her gaze fixed on where her hand disappeared into your pants. With her free hand, she hooked her thumb into the fabric, pulling it aside. Her fingers returned, and this time she used her other thumb to gently pull back the hood of your clit.
The bundle of nerves was swollen and flushed, peeking out from its sheath, and she stared at it for a second, mesmerized. Then she sank two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt.
A guttural moan was torn from your throat. You didn’t wait, didn’t give yourself time to adjust. You started to ride her hand, rocking your hips in a steady, demanding rhythm. The couch springs creaked in time with your movements as you fucked yourself on her fingers.
She watched you, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes dark with a concentration so intense it was almost reverent. She curled her fingers just right, and when her thumb found your clit again, rubbing tight, hard circles, your legs started to shake.
“Ellie,” you gasped, her name a broken prayer on your lips. The pressure built, a tight coil in your gut, and you leaned down, crashing your mouth against hers. The kiss was nasty, all tongue and desperation.
You ground down harder, chasing your release, and when it hit, it was a blinding, silent wave that left you trembling and breathless.
You slid off her lap, your knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. You started your descent, kissing a trail down her body. You lingered on the sharp line of her jaw, the hollow of her throat, the dip of her navel.
You could feel her muscles quivering under your touch. When you reached the space between her thighs, you saw it: a dark, damp spot on the grey fabric of her boxers, a clear sign of her own arousal.
You hooked your fingers into her waistband and pulled her boxers down. Her pussy was perfect, neat and glistening with wetness. You leaned in, flattening your tongue and giving her one long, slow lick from her entrance to her clit.
Her whole body jerked, and her hands flew to your hair, her fingers tangling in the strands, holding on for dear life. She was writhing under you, soft, breathy whimpers escaping her lips.
You used your thumbs to spread her open, your gaze fixed on the swollen, pink pearl of her clit. Just as she had done to you, you gently pulled back the hood, exposing the sensitive nerve endings. You leaned in and closed your mouth around it, sucking hard.
Ellie cried out, her back arching off the couch. You didn’t let up, alternating between sucking and flicking your tongue against the hard little nub. You could feel her getting closer, her thighs tightening around your head, her grip on your hair becoming almost painful.
When she came, she came a lot. A gush of wetness flooded your mouth, so much it almost dripped down your chin. You lapped it up, determined to get every last drop.
You crawled back up her body, her limbs limp and pliant beneath you. You kissed her, letting her taste herself on your tongue. She was panting, her eyes glassy and unfocused. You pulled back just enough to look at her, a smug, satisfied smirk playing on your lips.
“Told you,” you whispered. “Sex doesn’t need all that screaming.”
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The aftermath wasn’t some grand, cinematic shift. It was quiet. You spent most of Saturday scrubbing the bathroom and cycling through loads of laundry while Ellie was out, presumably at Joel’s or hunting for some obscure tech part across town. By the time she drifted back in, you were already halfway to sleep, leaving the air between you thick but untouched.
Sunday morning, you slipped out for lunch with Jesse while Ellie was still dead to the world. You found yourself at a place that charged twenty dollars for avocado toast, but as you took the first bite, you had to admit it was worth the corporate exploitation.
Jesse was mid-sentence, gesturing with a fry. “I’m telling you, it’s in the eyes. Mila from HR looks at me, and it’s like… there’s something there.”
“Jesse,” you said, reaching for your coffee. “Mila looks at everyone like that. It’s called being professionally polite. She’s HR. That’s literally the job description.”
“You’re unbelievable,” he groaned. “She laughed at my joke about the printer jam. A real laugh.”
“Everyone laughs at that joke because they want you to stop talking.”
You leaned back, the steam from your coffee hitting your face. The words slipped out before you could reconsider them.
“Besides, I’ve had enough drama at the apartment. I hooked up with Ellie.”
Jesse dearly choked. He coughed violently, eyes widening as he set his glass down.
“Wait.” A beat. “You’re serious?”
You frowned. “Yeah. I mean, I like her. What’s the issue?”
Jesse stared at you like you’d just confessed to time travel. “Man… I’m just shocked Ellie finally made a move.”
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
Jesse leaned forward slightly, expression flattening into pure disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am very serious, Jesse. What?”
He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. “Ellie has had the most painfully obvious crush on you since day one.”
You froze. Jesse continued, voice calmer now, matter-of-fact.
“Dina used to talk about it all the time. Ellie would bring up these tiny details about you — weirdly specific stuff. Your routines. Your coffee order. Things you said once and probably forgot.” He shook his head. “She’s been circling you for months, but she’s Ellie. Overthinking, panicking, assuming you’d never be into her.”
Heat crept up your neck, slow and unavoidable.
“So no,” Jesse added, leaning back. “ You basically walked into a long-running emotional disaster.”
You swallowed, hard. Suddenly very aware of your coffee.
“We haven’t really talked about it,” you admitted quietly. “It’s been… weirdly quiet.”
“Oh, man. She’s absolutely spiraling then,” Jesse winced.
You looked up. “What?”
“Knowing Ellie?” He snorted softly. “She’s probably replaying every interaction you’ve ever had, convinced she screwed something up.”
“I just haven’t had time to sit her down,” you muttered.
Jesse studied you for a moment, tone shifting slightly. “Is this just a hook-up?”
The question landed heavier than expected.
“Because if it is,” he continued, voice steady, “that’s gonna make your whole living situation a nightmare. And Ellie? She doesn’t really do casual.”
You thought about it. About her stupid dinosaur shirts, her careful hands. You thought about how coming home didn’t feel like obligation anymore.
“No,” you said, voice firm. “It wasn’t just a hook-up.”
Jesse nodded once. Like that answer made perfect sense. And it did. You couldn’t let her sit in that room thinking she was a one-night mistake. You needed to fix it.
On the way home, you decided, you’d stop by that weird corner store again. You’d buy her another ridiculous DVD — something with bad CGI and a completely nonsensical plot — and tell her exactly how much you wanted to kiss her again.
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The corner store was dark, a “Closed” sign mockingly swinging in the window. You stared at it for a beat, realizing the universe wasn’t going to let you hide behind a ten-dollar plastic case this time. Words would have to be enough. You weren’t about to trek across town just to find a copy of Sharknado 3.
The apartment felt cavernous when you walked in. Usually, there was at least the low hum of a video game or the sound of Ellie shifting around in the kitchen, but it was dead quiet. You made a beeline for her room, your heart doing a nervous staccato against your ribs.
You knocked — once, twice — but there was no answer. Panic flickered briefly in your chest before you slowly pushed the door open.
The blue light was off. Her bed was made, her monitors dark, and the room felt strangely sterile. Ellie wasn’t there. You frowned, checking your watch. It was Sunday evening; Ellie never left the apartment on Sundays. She usually spent the day decompressing and mentally preparing for her remote workweek.
You pulled out your phone, feeling relief when you saw a notification from an hour ago.
Ellie: heeey don’t freak out but i went home for a couple of days. my sister went into labor so i came to see if my niece is ugly and whatnot. i’ll be back wednesday. lemme know if you accept mark’s invitation.
A small smile tugged at your mouth. You remembered her mentioning Sarah was due any day now. You could practically hear her voice behind the message, that familiar layer of sarcasm barely masking the excitement underneath.
You: Will do. Good luck with the baby. Try not to tell her she’s ugly to her face.
The apartment felt twice as empty after you hit send. You went through the motions of your Sunday routine — showering, laying out clothes for Monday, prepping your bag for the office. Everything was organized, seamless, and entirely boring.
Eventually, you wandered back into the living room and sank onto the pull-out couch. Your face heated instantly as your eyes landed on the corner of the cushions — the exact spot where everything between you had finally detonated. The memory was vivid enough to make your pulse pick up speed.
You grabbed the remote and turned on a random movie, something about a bank heist you’d seen a dozen times before. You leaned back, expecting to finally relax, but after ten minutes, you realized you hadn’t processed a single line of dialogue.
You kept waiting for a voice to chime in — to complain about the getaway car, to call the explosion “complete bullshit,” to spiral into some deeply unnecessary technical rant.
Your eyes drifted to the empty space beside you.
Well, you thought, tossing the remote onto the coffee table with a sigh. This is no fun without that dork talking her head off.
Wednesday suddenly felt impossibly far away.
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When you walked through the door on Wednesday, the apartment finally felt like it had oxygen in it again. You sensed her before you even saw her — those trashed Converse were kicked haphazardly by the mat, and her backpack was slumped near the couch, looking like it was one overstuffed zipper away from an explosion.
Your heels clicked rhythmically against the hardwood. Usually, the first thing you did was tear them off to save your feet, but today you didn’t care. You just wanted to see her.
Her bedroom door was cracked, spilling a deep, moody purple light into the hall. You knocked softly twice before pushing it open. The glow was so saturated it turned your white office blouse a soft shade of violet.
Ellie was hunched over her desk, headphones clamped over her ears, brow furrowed as she stared at lines of code that looked like a foreign language to you.
“Ellie?”
No response. You stepped in and nudged the back of her chair. She jumped, nearly knocking her mouse off the pad, and yanked the headphones down around her neck.
“Jesus — Oh. Hey,” She blinked at you, clearly rattled. She shifted in her chair, trying to recover. “You’re home.”
Her hair was down again, short copper wisps messy around her ears.
“How was it?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe. “How ugly is the niece?”
Ellie’s face lit up instantly. “She’s actually… Man, she’s tiny. Like — ridiculously tiny. And not nearly as ugly as I expected. And the best part? I caught Joel crying. Full-on tears. Dude didn’t even try to hide it. I’ve got blackmail material for life.”
You laughed, enjoying the way her hands moved when she got animated. But as the story trailed off, the air in the room shifted. It grew quieter, the purple light making everything feel smaller, more intimate. You walked over and sat on the edge of her bed, facing her.
“Hey,” you said softly. “I wanted to talk about last Friday. Before you had to leave.”
Ellie’s bravado flickered. She started picking at a loose thread on her thumb, gaze dropping immediately.
“Yeah. About that.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to just… disappear. It was the baby thing and everything kinda blew up at once.”
“Ellie,” you said gently, “I wanted to let you know that I really like you. A lot. And I’ve liked you for a while now.”
She went completely still. Slowly, she looked up at you, eyes scanning your face like she was waiting for the punchline. When none came, she exhaled shakily.
“Oh,” a beat. “Oh… okay.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, cheeks flushing pink.
“I mean — Jesse probably told you, but I’ve been completely screwed about you since you moved in.” A small, embarrassed shake of her head. “I used to think I was being subtle.”
“You weren’t that subtle,” you teased. “But I think the dorkiness actually did it for me. The puns, the dinosaurs, the lectures… it’s charming.”
“Seriously?” Ellie squinted at you. She leaned back slightly, mock-offended. “Wow. That’s brutal.”
“You love it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m absolutely holding that against you forever.”
“Sure you are.”
Ellie stood from her chair. In the purple light, her silhouette was sharp, expression shifting from shy to something more daring. She stepped toward the bed, bending slightly as she reached your face. Her hands were warm as she cupped your cheeks, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your lips.
You reached up, grabbing the hem of her shirt and tugging her down with you as you scooted back onto the mattress.
She broke the kiss briefly, hovering inches from your face. A sudden, mischievous spark flickered in her eyes.
“You wanna get revenge on our neighbors?” she murmured.
You blinked. “Revenge?”
“They’ve been keeping us up for months.” Her voice dropped slightly. “Feels fair.”
Before you could answer, she reached for the first button of your blouse, gaze locked onto yours. “Okay?”
“Okay,” you breathed.
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Her fingers, slightly clumsy but determined, had just finished unbuttoning your blouse. She didn’t pull it off, just pushed the fabric aside, her mouth immediately finding the swell of your breast.
She kissed the soft skin, her tongue tracing the edge of the thin, lacy bra you wore before closing her lips over your nipple, sucking the fabric and the peak beneath into a tight, wet point.
While her mouth was occupied, her hands drifted lower, a surprising dexterity in her movements as she unbuttoned your pants. She tugged them down your hips, a weird expertise you didn't really expect from her, taking them down with a single, smooth pull.
Her mouth never left your body, a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses following the path her hands had just taken. When she got to your navel, she pressed a few quick kisses around it before kneeling back on her heels and pulling the rest of the fabric from your legs, tossing it aside.
You were panting, your chest rising and falling, and so was she, her breath coming in short, excited bursts from the sheer thrill of getting to do this again. She lay down on her stomach, her elbows propped on the mattress, and pulled you closer by the backs of your knees.
She maneuvered your legs over her shoulders, settling you against her mouth. She gave one last look up at you, those pretty, sunken eyes dark with a hunger that made your stomach clench, before she dove in.
She started licking over the thin cotton of your panties, her tongue flat and wide, soaking the fabric until it was nearly transparent. When she deemed them wet enough, she pulled the fabric taut over your pussy, the white cotton smushing your clit, outlining it perfectly.
She used her fingers to slowly rub the sensitive nub through the saturated material, and you started writhing under her, the maddening, indirect stimulation making you desperate. Her name was a breathy moan on your lips.
Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, she pushed the panties to the side. And then, in a movement so fluid you barely registered it, she reached into her nightstand drawer and pulled out a small, sleek clit stimulator.
She went back to work, her tongue licking and sucking on your now-exposed, swollen clit while her fingers spread your slick around your lips before sinking two fingers inside of you.
She didn't give you a moment to breathe, immediately fucking into you hard, her fingers curling with every thrust. Her eyes never left your pussy, completely mesmerized by the sight of her fingers disappearing into you, by how wet you were.
Then, she pressed the vibrator against your clit. The sudden, intense buzzing sensation was electric.
"Fuck, Ellie, oh fuck," you cried out, your back arching off the bed. It was too much and not enough all at once. The combination of her fingers pumping into you and the relentless stimulation on your clit was overwhelming.
It didn't take long for the pressure to snap, a blinding, powerful orgasm tearing through you, leaving you a shaking, gasping mess.
When you both came down, you were lying side by side, the room quiet except for your slowing breaths. She turned onto her side to face you, a shy but proud little smile on her face.
"Next time," she said, her voice still a little hoarse, "I'm gonna make the whole building hear you."
You looked over at her, a matching smirk playing on your lips. "Confident, are we?"
The last thing you thought about before the world narrowed down to just her was that you really owed Mark and Nathalie a thank-you note.
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You didn’t even bother with the formality of knocking this time. You just pushed the door open and slipped inside, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you let out a wide, bone-deep yawn.
Ellie was hunched over at her desk, the glow of the monitors reflecting in her eyes as she focused on whatever was happening on her PS5. You drifted over behind her, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the top of her head.
“They’re at it again,” you murmured, your voice thick with exhaustion. “I’m crashing here, if you don’t mind.”
Ellie barely looked away from the screen.
“Yeah, no kidding,” she muttered. “Go for it.”
You made a beeline for her bed and slid under the covers. The sheets were warm, the room filled with that familiar, comforting hum of her computer fans. You stared up at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the muffled, rhythmic thumping starting up again next door.
“I was thinking…” you said, your voice drifting lazily through the purple-lit room. “We should totally start our own channel. I bet we could get rich from it.”
Ellie paused her game. Her chair creaked as she leaned back slightly.
“Like… a YouTube channel?” She squinted toward you. “What would we even do? Yell at bad sci-fi for money?”
“No,” you said, a mischievous edge creeping into your voice. “Like our neighbors.”
Ellie went quiet, then she shrugged. “You know what? Not the worst business model I’ve ever heard.”
You laughed softly into her pillow.
“I’d pay off my PS5 in like… a week,” she added. “I’ll handle the tech.”
“Deal.”
A couple of hours later, the apartment was dark and the neighbors finally quiet. You felt the mattress dip as Ellie crawled into bed beside you. You felt her hand brush your forehead as she gently pushed your hair away from your face, followed by the soft, warm press of a kiss against your cheek.
Then you felt her fingers at the end of the bed.
True to her quiet, observant nature, Ellie tugged thick socks over your feet, making sure you wouldn’t wake up freezing in the middle of the night.
When she finally settled behind you, pulling you flush against her chest, sleep claimed you quickly. Dreams blurred into warmth — filled with terrible puns, unnecessary space lore, and that crooked, dorky grin. Still a loser, you thought as you drifted deeper into the haze. Even in my dreams.