Sacrifice Of Isaac - Caravaggio / The Last Of Us Part II

Sacrifice of Isaac - Caravaggio / The Last Of Us Part II

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wish you were sober

ellie williams x fem!reader

main masterlist

summary: ellie was done with helping you with your problems. but even if she was, she couldn't help to choose you over and over again.

word count: 3.8k

cw: based off of the songs wish you were sober, memories and the cut that always bleeds by conan gray. no use of y/n. drinking.

It was supposed to be the party of the year.

At least, that’s what you kept telling Ellie to drag her out of her room and join you. And it worked—well, sort of. Because now, here she was, standing near the bar, sipping on some ridiculously overpriced cocktail.

The truth is she didn’t want to be here. She was exhausted, the music was too loud, the crowd too suffocating. But you didn’t seem to notice her irritation. Maybe because you were too drunk to see it.

Her green eyes never left your figure. Across the room, you were surrounded by a group of strangers, laughing too loud, swaying like you were about to fall. But you didn’t seem to care. You were too caught up in the moment, too busy drowning in the attention of people who didn’t even know you. Some guy leaned in closer, fingers brushing lazily against your arm, clearly hoping for something more. But you barely acknowledged him, too wrapped up in the drunken blur.

Ellie hated this. Hated watching you pretend this was fun, hated how you sought validation from anyone who’d offer it. Her grip tightened around her glass as she watched, heart hammering, frustration boiling over. That was enough.

She pushed through the crowd, and by the time she reached you, she didn’t hesitate. Her fingers wrapped swiftly around your wrist, voice sharp with impatience. "Alright, rockstar. We’re leaving. Now."

You pouted, trying to make up some excuse, but your dizzyness didn't let you make a single coherent thought. And then, the guy showed up again.

"Hey, doll, is this dyke bothering you?"

Your pout vanished. Without hesitation, you struck him across the cheek. "Watch that nasty mouth, you asshole!"

Before he could even recover, Ellie was already dragging you through the crowd, gripping your wrist tight, her only thought to get you the hell out of there. The moment she pushed through the front door and into the night air, she exhaled sharply, guiding you toward her Jeep.

But you had other plans. You stumbled, resisting her grip, turning toward her with an intoxicated smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "C’mon, El. One more drink?"

She scoffed, "You can barely stand."

"So?" You leaned in, the scent of alcohol clinging to your breath. It made her sick. "You’re cute when you’re all mad at me."

Ellie’s jaw tightened. "I’m not playing this game with you."

You giggled, head tilting. "What game?"

"This," she snapped, motioning between you two. "You getting wasted, making me chase after you, acting like none of this matters when—" She stopped herself, lips pressing into a thin line. When it does. When you do.

You swayed on your feet, the pout returning. "Ellie…"

She sighed, shaking her head. "Just get in the car." And for once, you listened.

The drive home was completely and utterly silent, the only sounds were the faint hum of the engine. The city lights streaked past in a blur, neon smudging against the glass, but you weren’t paying attention to any of it. You just kept glancing at her. She was mad. She had every right to be.

But right now, all you could focus on was how pretty she looked, lips slightly parted, brows furrowed in frustration. How even angry, even exhausted, she was still Ellie.

The car slowed as she pulled up to your place. "Alright. You’re home," she muttered.

You didn’t move. Didn't even try to leave.

Ellie turned to look at you, sighing when she saw the way you were staring at her, dazed and drunk and something else entirely. "Come on, let’s get you inside."

But instead of fumbling for the door handle, you reached for her. Your fingers curled around her leather jacket, tugging her closer before she could react. And then—you kissed her, desperately.

She gasped against your mouth, surprised but not pulling away. Because despite everything, she chose to be selfish for a second, and kissed you back.

Her hands found your flushed cheeks, tugging you closer as your lips moved in sync, soft and desperate, like this was something you'd both been aching for. And maybe you had been. Maybe you always had.

But then, Ellie’s hands tensed. She pulled back, breathless, blinking like she’d just realized what was happening.

"Fuck," she whispered, her lips swollen.

You tried to chase after her mouth again, hands sliding up her chest, but Ellie caught your wrists, stopping you before you could deepen it.

"Hey, stop," she said, voice firm.

You pouted, brows furrowing, but she didn’t let go. "You're drunk," she stated, like she needed to remind herself just as much as she needed to remind you.

"So?" Your voice was slurred, teasing, but Ellie wasn’t smiling.

"So, I’m not gonna let you do this," she snapped, shaking her head. "I’m not gonna be some fucking mistake you regret in the morning."

"Ellie," you mumbled, reaching for her again, but she pulled away completely this time, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

"You don’t even get it, do you?" she said, laughing bitterly. "You’re too wasted to even realize what you’re doing to me."

You frowned, confused. Ellie clenched her jaw. "I’m not gonna let you kiss me like that just because you’re drunk and looking for something to hold onto."

Silence. You just stared at her, swaying slightly in your seat, the alcohol making everything too slow, too blurry. Ellie exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Just—go inside. Sleep it off."

She didn’t wait for a response. The moment you fumbled your way out of the car, she was gone.

The next morning was hell for both of you. On one side, Ellie barely slept. She had gone home after dropping you off, heart still racing, hands shaking as she paced her room, trying to make sense of everything. Of the way you kissed her like you meant it. Of how she let herself fall into it, let herself believe that —for just a second—you wanted her the way she did.

And then she remembered. You were drunk. So drunk you could barely stand. So drunk you probably didn’t even know what you were doing. So drunk that you might not even remember it. The thought alone made something in her chest twist painfully.

She had spent the night lying awake, staring at her ceiling, eyes burning from holding back tears that eventually spilled over anyway. By the time morning came, she was exhausted, her mind still replaying the kiss over and over and over again like some cruel joke.

When there was a knock at her door, Ellie almost ignored it. But then she heard your voice. Small. Wrecked. "El?" Her stomach dropped.

But then she heard it. A quiet, choked-off sob. Ellie cursed under her breath and yanked the door open. And there you were. You looked awful.

Your hair was a mess, your clothes were wrinkled, and your eyes—fuck, your eyes were red-rimmed and glossy, tears already streaking down your cheeks. You were still in last night’s clothes, your makeup smudged, your body trembling from either the cold or the hangover or something else entirely.

Ellie’s chest ached just looking at you.

"Jesus," she muttered, stepping aside. "Come in."

You didn’t hesitate, and Ellie shut the door behind you. "You look like shit."

"Feel like it, too."

You sat on the edge of her bed, sniffling. "Ellie, I—" Your voice cracked, and you shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Ellie sat in the chair by her desk, keeping space between you. She didn’t trust herself to be too close right now.

"You what?" she asked, voice hoarse.

You sniffled again, looking down at your hands. But you didn't finish the sentence. You didn't look up at her. Ellie inhaled sharply. What if you didn’t even remember the kiss?

She shifted in her chair. "Do you… do you remember what happened?"

Your brows furrowed, your head tilting slightly. But then something snapped in realization, your eyes wide. "I kissed you."

Ellie exhaled sharply, like the words had physically struck her. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Yeah, you did."

You swallowed, looking down again, fingers digging into your palms. "Ellie, I—"

But Ellie wasn’t sure she could hear whatever you were about to say next. "Don’t," she cut in, shaking her head. "Don’t you dare to say something just because you feel bad."

Your head snapped up. "That’s not—"

"You were drunk, okay?" Ellie’s voice cracked, her walls finally breaking, all of last night’s emotions crashing over her at once. "You were drunk, and I can’t—I can’t be the person you run to when you’re falling apart just to forget about it the next day."

Tears slipped down your cheeks again. "That’s not what I—"

"Then what is it?" she demanded, eyes burning, "because you don’t get to do that to me. You don’t get to kiss me like that and act like it didn’t mean anything."

Instead of saying something, you broke down crying in front of her, gasping for air. And Ellie just watched you crumble. Her red-rimmed eyes flashed with something close to fury. "No. You don't get to kiss me like that, to touch me like that, making me feel like you actually wanted me. And then just… walking away from it."

Your stomach twisted painfully. "It wasn’t nothing!"

Ellie scoffed, shaking her head. "Then what was it, huh? Tell me, because I’m done guessing."

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The words got stuck in your throat. Ellie’s jaw tightened. "That’s what I thought."

"El, please—"

"I can’t do this anymore." She let out a shaky exhale, looking away.

Your vision blurred with fresh tears. "Do what?"

"Be the person you run to when everything else falls apart," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

"That’s not true," you croaked, chest aching.

"But you can’t even say it back," Ellie whispered, now crying too.

Silence hung heavy between you. And that was it. That was the moment it all fell apart. Ellie inhaled sharply, wiping at her tired, swollen eyes before turning toward the door. "Go home."

"Ellie—"

"Go."

You wanted to say something, to fix it, to make her believe you. But you didn’t even know what you believed. So, with a broken sob, you turned and left.

And when the door closed behind you, Ellie stayed standing there, realizing everything that happened, letting the waves of anger and frustation hit her harder than anything she had endured before.

She could learn to live without you. She had to.

A few months passed and Ellie was doing better. Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself. It was hard to close the chapter of you in her life, because you kept coming back. But it had been weeks since you stopped looking for her, and even if she still cried some nights, she was happier.

And now, she was here. Sitting across from a beautiful girl at a quiet little bar just outside of town, trying—really trying—to focus on the way she laughed, the way her dark curls bounced when she tilted her head.

So, when Dina reached across the table and nudged Ellie’s fingers with her own, Ellie let herself smile.

Then her phone buzzed. She ignored it, but minutes passed, and it buzzed again. And again. Ellie pulled it out, brow furrowing. Four missed calls, unknown number.

Her first instinct was to ignore it, to flip her phone over and go back to pretending she was fine. But something twisted in her stomach, so she sighed and muttered, "Sorry, gimme a sec," before answering on the fifth ring. "Hello?"

There was a pause, then a man’s voice. When he said your name, Ellie immediately sat up straighter. Her grip tightened on the phone. "Who is this?"

"Some guy who works at the bar she decided to pass out in," he said. "Look, her dumb ass got wasted, and I found her unconscious in the bathroom. Checked her phone for an emergency contact—your name was the only one listed. But the stupid phone ran out of battery."

She swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. "Is she okay?"

"She’s breathing, but she ain’t moving." When the guy didn't hear any response, his voice grew impatient. "Look, you gonna come get her or what?"

Ellie closed her eyes. Anger curled inside her throat. Of course, after all these months—after all the nights she spent trying to forget—you still found a way to drag her back in. "Yeah," she muttered. "Text me the address." She hung up and exhaled sharply.

"El?" Dina’s voice pulled her back. "What’s wrong?"

She hesitated, "I, uh—" She looked at her, at the warmth in her brown eyes, at the soft concern on her face. She didn’t deserve this. "I gotta go."

Dina frowned. “What? Why?”

Ellie hesitated. She didn’t want to explain. Didn’t want to say your name out loud. So she just shook her head and muttered, "It’s complicated."

The brunette studied her, but she finally nodded. "Okay. Just call when you get home."

She apologized again, and left Dina at the bar.

By the time Ellie arrived at the location, she was pissed. Not just at you, but at herself. For dropping everything.

The bartended guided her to the bathrooms, and then she saw you—slumped over, your head resting on your folded arms, barely conscious.

"Jesus Christ," Ellie muttered under her breath. She turned to the bartender, who was wiping down the counter. "How much did she have?"

The guy shrugged. "Enough to black out."

Ellie clenched her jaw. With a frustrated sigh, she crouched beside you, nudging your shoulder. "Hey, you."

You stirred, groaning softly. Your head lifted just barely, and when your blurry eyes found hers, you blinked like you couldn’t believe she was real. "Ellie?"

She ignored the way her heart clenched at the sound of it. "Come on," she muttered, sliding an arm under yours and hauling you up. "Let’s get you out of here."

You barely had the strength to stand. Your legs gave out almost immediately, and Ellie cursed under her breath before looping your arm around her shoulders, taking most of your weight.

"Fuck, you stink," she muttered.

You only hummed in response, your head lolling against her shoulder. She payed for your drinks and dragged you toward the exit. "Where are your keys?" No response.

Ellie tried again, slower. "Do you have your keys?"

You groaned, barely shaking your head. Ellie clenched her teeth. "Fucking great."

That meant she had to take you to her place. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want you anywhere near her space, didn’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and see you there, hungover and regretful. But she didn’t have another choice. She dragged you to her car, helped you into the passenger seat, and slammed the door shut before walking around to the driver’s side.

You were slumped against the window, barely conscious for the entire ride. Ellie kept glancing at you, hoping to see your chest rise.

This wasn’t her problem anymore. You weren’t her problem anymore. And yet, here she was. Again. By the time she pulled into her driveway, she was exhausted. She parked, turned off the engine, and sighed. "Alright, come on."

Getting you inside was a struggle. You could barely walk, and Ellie had to practically carry you through the front door. She kicked it shut behind her, then dragged you to the couch, letting you collapse onto it.

You groaned, curling into yourself. Ellie exhaled sharply. "Un-fucking-believable,"

She should’ve left you there. Should’ve let you deal with the mess you made. But she didn’t. Because she knew you. She knew how you didn't get along with your family, and you didn't have many friends. It didn't surpised her much when the guy said she was your only emercengy contact, but her stomach dropped anyway.

Ellie grabbed a blanket, put it over you, then stood there, staring at you for a long moment. Even like this—drunk, a mess, barely coherent—some stupid part of her still thought you looked beautiful. And that pissed her off even more.

She shook her head and turned away, heading for her room. She needed sleep. Needed space. But before she could leave, you whispered her name. Soft. Broken. She froze. You shifted slightly, blinking up at her with half-lidded, glassy eyes. "I missed you... so much..."

Ellie inhaled sharply. Her throat burned. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just turned off the lights and walked away.

Hours later, Ellie woke up to silence.

For a moment, she thought maybe you were still asleep on the couch. But when she went to the living room, it was empty. The blanket she had thrown over you was folded poorly on the armrest, the glass of water she had left on the coffee table sat untouched. You were gone.

Ellie cursed under her breath, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as a sick feeling curled in her stomach. You had been wasted. Barely coherent. And now, after everything, you had just... left?

She grabbed her phone, quickly opening her messages.

Ellie: Where the fuck are you?

The text delivered. No reply. She waited a minute, then another. Nothing.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to be the one still worrying, still caring when she shouldn’t. But the image of you, barely standing, slurring words, needing her to hold you up, wouldn’t leave her head. She shook her head typed again.

Ellie: You better not have gone out drinking again.

Still nothing. Her chest tightened. You were stupid sometimes. But you weren’t—no, you wouldn’t—Would you?

She tried calling. The phone rang once, twice, then went straight to voicemail. Ellie ran a hand down her face, pacing the length of her room. Don’t freak out. She’s probably fine. She probably just—

Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it so fast she nearly dropped it. But when she looked at the screen, it wasn’t you. It was Dina.

Ellie exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a second before answering. "Hey."

"Hi," Dina’s voice was soft, cautious. "You okay?"

Ellie hesitated. She knew she should tell Dina everything, tell her why she left mid-date, tell her why her hands were shaking slightly—she couldn’t.

"Yeah," she muttered. "Just—tired."

Dina was quiet for a second, like she didn’t believe her. "You wanna come over?"

Ellie stared at the blank screen of her phone, waiting for a text that wouldn’t come. "I—" She stopped. Swallowed, weighting her options. "Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come over."

Because what else was she supposed to do? Sit here and worry about you? Chase after you when you clearly didn’t want to be found? No. She wasn’t going to do that anymore.

So Ellie grabbed her keys, shoved her phone into her pocket, and walked out the door, ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut the whole time.

A year had passed since everything had fallen apart.

Ellie wasn’t sure when it had happened, but at some point, the aching weight of you in her chest had begun to fade. Not entirely, but enough to finally move forward, to let Dina in.

The party was in full swing, neon lights flashing against the walls, music loud enough to drown out anything but the thrum of bass and laughter. Ellie had never really liked these kinds of things, but Dina had a way of making everything feel easy. Effortless.

"You’re staring."

Ellie huffed a laugh, fingers tightening at Dina’s waist as she pulled her back in. "Yeah? Maybe ‘cause you look hot."

Dina rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. "You’re such a flirt."

She leaned in, the scent of Dina’s perfume familiar, grounding. Then, the air shifted. It was subtle—but Ellie felt it before she even turned her head, and found you. You looked so different. And yet, still you.

Your hair was longer, your face softer, fuller, like you had finally started taking care of yourself. And your eyes—god, your eyes. Clear. Sober. Bright in a way she hadn’t seen in years. You looked good. No, you looked great. And it made Ellie’s stomach twist because fuck, fuck, fuck—why did you still have this effect on her?

You stood near the bar, talking to someone, laughing at something they said. But then, as if you had felt her staring, your gaze lifted, landing directly on her.

Ellie’s grip on Dina faltered. You tilted your head, and then you smiled. Soft. Almost hesitant at first. Ellie felt her chest tighten. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care.

Dina shifted against her, pulling her back. "Hey," she murmured, not noticing the way Ellie had gone stiff, the way her breathing had gone shallow. "You okay?"

Ellie forced herself to look away. “Yeah.” Her throat felt dry. “Yeah, I’m good.”

But she wasn’t. Because you were here. And you were better. And Ellie wasn’t sure if she was relieved or absolutely wrecked by it.

By the time the song finished, Ellie was already excusing herself, and making her way to you. Her body acted before her brain could even catch up. Maybe it was muscle memory—an instinct buried so deep inside her that it didn’t matter how much time had passed, how much she had tried to move on.

Her fingers twitched at her sides as she closed the distance, pushing past dancing bodies, the bass vibrating through her ribs. You were so close now, just a few steps away. But someone else got to you first.

A tall, broad-shouldered woman approached from behind, her presence commanding even in a crowded room. She was built like a warrior, blonde hair gracefully interwined in a long braid. Her hand slid around your waist, fingers pressing into your hip with a familiarity that made Ellie’s stomach churn.

And then, right before she could say your name, the woman leaned down and kissed you. She should’ve looked away. She should’ve turned around, should’ve gone back to Dina, should’ve swallowed down the burning feeling clawing its way up her throat.

But she didn’t. Instead, she just stood there, frozen, watching as you melted into the touch—into her. Ellie clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She had no right to be upset. No right to feel this pit in her stomach, this dull ache in her chest, this overwhelming, gut-wrenching sense of loss.

You looked healthier. Stronger. Happier. And for the first time in her life, she realized that maybe she was the only one who never really moved on. Without another word, without waiting for you to look back at her, Ellie turned and left.

348 notes View Post

1800darling

5 months ago

OH LORD THIS IS ARTTTTT

beautiful job omg

☆ 𓈒 ݁ I wanna hold the hand inside you. ๋ ♩ ⋆ ݁

ellie williams x ballerina! reader Summary: Ellie, an art school dropout working at a bookstore, has a habit of sketching strangers she encounters. One day, she becomes captivated by a rising ballet star practicing at a nearby theater. a/n: Happy holidays, my angels! I'm endlessly grateful for your support and kindness. To show my appreciation, here's a festive little fic to celebrate the season! 🎄

The first flakes of snow swirled against the inky sky, catching the amber glow of streetlights as if they were performing a pirouette in the winter night. Ellie slouched on her stool behind the counter, her gaze drifting to the frost-rimmed window. Outside, the world carried on with its holiday bustle—carolers huddled under lampposts, the tinny strains of their song barely audible over the rush of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. She dragged the edge of her sleeve across her face, smudging lead further down her wrist, and stared at the half-finished sketch in her notebook.

The shop was quiet, except for the soft hiss of the radiator and the muffled strains of an old jazz record spinning in the corner. The Christmas tree, barely taller than her arm, stood crooked in its stand, its few ornaments glittering under strings of mismatched lights. Ellie wasn’t much for festive cheer, but it had been her boss’s idea—a “charming touch” to draw in customers. So far, it hadn’t worked.

The bell above the door jingled, sharp and sudden against the quiet. Ellie glanced up, expecting the usual—a hurried shopper looking for last-minute gifts, maybe another student trying to trade old textbooks for cash. But the figure standing in the doorway was neither.

You hesitated there, framed by the frosted glass, the soft glow from the streetlights catching on the gold buttons of your coat. Snow clung to your hair, melting into shimmering droplets that slid down your scarf. Something about the way you stood—poised yet uncertain—caught Ellie’s attention. You stepped inside, the sound of your boots muffled by the threadbare rug, and the door swung shut with a gust of icy air.

Ellie straightened, wiping her smudged fingers on her jeans. Your eyes flicked around the store, tracing the shelves with a kind of deliberation that made Ellie’s skin prickle. You moved with a grace, like you carried some secret rhythm only you could hear. A dancer, Ellie thought, though she couldn’t explain how she knew.

“Can I help you?” Ellie’s voice came out rougher than intended, the words blunt in the stillness.

You blinked, startled, your gaze snapping to hers. For a moment, you didn’t speak, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your coat. Ellie noticed the way your hands moved, smoothing invisible creases, your knuckles brushing against the buttons as if trying to iron it out.

“Yes,” you said at last, your voice soft but steady. “I’m looking for an old choreography journal. I heard this store might have it.”

Ellie arched an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Choreography journal? That’s pretty specific.”

You nodded, your expression earnest, and Ellie sighed, pushing herself to her feet. “Right. Follow me.”

You trailed behind her as she wove through the maze of shelves. The air smelled of aged paper and pine, and the faint hum of the jazz record followed you into the back corner of the shop. Ellie scanned the spines, her fingers grazing over faded titles until she spotted it—a leather-bound journal, its edges worn with age. She pulled it free and turned, holding it out.

“This the one?”

Your face lit up, a smile breaking across your features so suddenly and so vividly that it hit Ellie like a sucker punch. “Yes! Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you took the journal from her hands, cradling it like something fragile and precious.

She watched as you moved toward the counter, her fingers itching to grab her sketchpad. She didn’t know what it was—maybe the light catching the curve of your cheek, or the quiet determination in your eyes—but she felt the urge to capture it before it slipped away.

The bell jingled again as you left, the journal tucked under your arm. Ellie sat back down, her fingers already moving, charcoal sweeping across the page in quick, confident strokes. She sketched the tilt of your head, the fall of your coat, the way you had looked when you first stepped into the shop, snow still clinging to your scarf.

When the drawing was done, Ellie stared at it, her chest tightening.

“Should’ve said something,” she muttered, closing the notebook with a sigh.

Ellie’s hands drummed absentmindedly against the steering wheel, the engine’s hum matching the rhythm of her thoughts as she drove down the dimly lit streets. The Christmas lights that adorned the lampposts casted a muted glow over the pavement, reflecting off the windshield in streaks of red and green. She flicked her gaze over to Jesse, her best friend, who sat in the passenger seat with his head tipped back, looking up at the sparse stars through the cracked window.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were starting to like this cold," Ellie teased, her lips curling into a grin.

Jesse smirked but didn’t reply right away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. After a beat, he looked over at her, his expression softening. “It’s not the cold that’s got me in a good mood. It’s this whole, ‘helping out with your job’ thing. Plus, I get to spend some time with you before I clock in at mine.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "You mean the part-time gig as the world’s most underpaid stagehand?"

Jesse chuckled. “Hey, I’m getting better at lifting things.”

The two of them shared a laugh before the silence settled comfortably between them. Ellie had never been one for big plans, but Jesse’s spontaneity had a way of keeping things interesting, even on cold winter nights like this one.

Pulling into the theater's lot, Ellie parked in the space closest to the backstage entrance, and Jesse threw open the door with a flourish. “Wanna come inside for a bit? They’re rehearsing for The Nutcracker, and I don’t feel like sitting around alone.” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve got nothing better to do.”

Ellie shrugged, her hand on the door handle. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got a couple hours to kill anyway.”

The two of them walked inside, greeted by the familiar hum of stage lights and the distant chatter of performers. The backstage area was a chaos of costumes, props, and stagehands rushing about in preparation for the evening’s rehearsal. Ellie had seen it all before—Jesse working his second job, moving props, fixing lights, and usually getting caught in the drama of the theater. But tonight, she didn’t feel like hanging around the cluttered backroom, so instead, she followed Jesse down a narrow hallway, where the low murmur of music seeped out from beneath the door to the rehearsal space.

The room was filled with dancers—some stretching, others running through pirouettes, all wrapped in the familiar warmth of motion and music. Ellie leaned against the wall just inside the door, watching them with a quiet sense of awe. The elegance in their movements, the sharp precision of each turn and leap—it was a world so different from her own, so alien in its grace.

But then, her eyes caught you.

You were at the front of the group, gliding effortlessly across the polished floor, your body flowing in perfect synchrony with the music. There was something magnetic about the way you moved, something Ellie hadn’t been able to shake since that first moment she saw you in the bookstore. She hadn’t known it then, but seeing you now, so focused, so composed—her heart gave an unexpected thump.

You paused mid-step, adjusting the position of your arm as the instructor called for the group to repeat the sequence. Ellie’s breath hitched in her chest as she watched you. She didn’t know much about ballet—hell, she didn’t know much about anything that required that level of discipline—but she knew that you were a star in the making. And something about you standing there in that moment made her feel like an outsider, unsure of whether to approach you or simply watch from a distance.

Her fingers twitched, the urge to capture you on paper bubbling to the surface before she could stop herself. The sketchbook she always carried with her was nestled in the crook of her arm, the familiar weight comforting in its presence. Without thinking, she pulled it free, the pages flipping open with a soft rustle, and she found the nearest bench, settling down with a practiced ease. The dancers continued to move in their own world, their rhythm uninterrupted by her quiet intrusion.

Jesse, oblivious to the change in the air, slapped her shoulder as he walked by, his voice laced with his usual lighthearted teasing. "I’m gonna go clock in."

Ellie gave him a sharp nod, her focus already elsewhere. “Go do your thing.”

He gave her a crooked grin before disappearing into the back, leaving Ellie alone with her sketchbook and the image of you in her mind. Her pencil hovered over the paper for a moment, and then she was moving, sketching you in a flurry of strokes.

The movements were swift but careful, each line drawing out the fluidity in your form—the arc of your arm, the curve of your body as you turned, the elegance in the tilt of your chin. Ellie’s hand moved instinctively, following the rhythm of your dance in a way she never had before, as if the beat of the music pulsed through her own veins. The sketch began to take shape quickly, a blurry but vivid impression of you.

She glanced up briefly, just to catch the way your foot landed on the floor with a light thud before you floated effortlessly into another spin, and Ellie was back to the page, her pencil pressing harder now, as if she could make it feel more real. The slow burn of the sketch was intoxicating—each movement of your body translated into a new line, a curve, a shadow on the paper. There was something about watching you from here, at a distance, that felt so… personal, like she was drawing you in a way that words never could.

Her pencil moved faster as you paused in a stretch, your back arching in a way that made Ellie’s breath catch in her chest. A small frown creased her brow as she captured it, the lines growing more confident, more precise with every passing second.

You were beautiful.

Ellie bit her lip, feeling a warmth creeping up her neck at the thought. It was like you were a part of the drawing now, and she didn’t know whether that made it feel more real or less. She wanted to show it to you, somehow, but the thought of speaking to you—really speaking to you—sent a quick pulse of anxiety through her chest.

The dancers were in full flow now, the music swelling with urgency. They executed one complex sequence after another, their bodies bending and stretching with fluidity. But at the front of the room, where you were, the music seemed to swell around you, highlighting every intricate move, every flick of your wrist, every lift of your leg. You were the center of it all—focused, your concentration as sharp and precise as the form of your body, each movement a well-practiced line of choreography.

But then, in the middle of a delicate turn, it happened.

Your foot slipped.

It was almost imperceptible at first, a slight misstep—a mere second of imbalance—but it was enough to unravel the perfection of your movement. Your ankle buckled, the graceful arc of your body faltering. Ellie’s breath caught in her throat as she watched you lose control, your arms flailing for balance, but your foot twisted in a way that left you no choice.

You crumpled to the floor with a soft thud, the sound of your body hitting the hardwood echoing in Ellie’s chest. A sharp intake of breath escaped your lips as you caught yourself on your hands, but it was clear you weren’t going to recover quickly. For that split second, time seemed to freeze—there was only the sound of your pain hanging in the air, as still as the tension that gripped the room. Ellie felt her stomach drop, her hands instinctively tightening around the edges of her sketchbook as she kept her gaze locked on you, her heart pounding wildly.

The other dancers rushed to your side, their faces a blur of concern and urgency, but Ellie couldn’t tear her eyes away. She felt as if her whole body had gone rigid, her muscles taut with the sudden, overwhelming need to do something, anything—but she couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot, her mind frozen with the image of you crumpled on the floor.

"Shit," Ellie muttered under her breath, her voice barely above a whisper as she clenched her jaw, frustration building in her chest. Her fingers, stiff with worry, drummed against the pages of her sketchbook, but she barely noticed the paper crinkling beneath her touch.

It felt like hours before Jesse reappeared, though it was only a minute or so later. He stepped lightly into the space beside Ellie, his shoes tapping against the floor. He scanned the scene in front of them, his eyes flicking over to where you were being helped up by one of the instructors.

Jesse plopped down next to Ellie, stretching his legs out in front of him and settling in with the ease of someone who had been here a thousand times before. His tone was casual, but Ellie could hear the concern that lingered beneath it, the weight of the situation finally beginning to register in his voice. "You good?"

Ellie’s focus was still completely fixed on you. Her mind was a swirl of confusion, worry, and something deeper she couldn’t quite place. She didn’t know how to process it, how to feel about seeing you like this. She’d watched you dance so effortlessly before. But now, this—this moment—felt different. “I don’t know… I think she’s okay, but—” She trailed off, her voice trailing behind the question, as she watched the instructor gently guide you off to the side. Your movements were slow now, the instructor’s arm around your shoulders, offering what little support you might need.

Jesse leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. He folded his arms across his chest, the casual way he settled back into his seat making it clear that this wasn’t his first time seeing something like this happen.

“Ohh, her. She’s a rising star, man. You wouldn’t know it from how quiet she is, but she’s a big deal around here. Preparing for The Nutcracker… it’s like, a huge role for her.” His voice softened as he spoke, but Ellie could still hear the admiration in his words, the way he seemed to know something more about you than she did.

Her brow furrowed, her thoughts racing in a dozen directions.

Jesse’s gaze shifted back to you as you sat on the bench now, resting your injured ankle. There was a brief pause before he continued, his voice quieter now.

“Last year, though… she had a huge setback. Bad performance, all the pressure got to her. She messed up, and it cost her. Big time.” He glanced at Ellie, gauging her reaction, before he continued, his voice more subdued. “She twisted her ankle during the performance. It’s been hard for her to bounce back.”

Ellie’s stomach tightened at the revelation, her heart sinking. “Are you sure she’s gonna be okay?” Ellie asked, her words tumbling out before she could stop them. There was a tightness in her chest now, a knot she couldn’t unravel as she watched you—still holding yourself, but now with a limp, a hesitation in your steps.

Jesse let out a long sigh, his expression softening with something like sympathy. “She’s tough. But… yeah. It’s gonna take a lot to get back to where she was before. The injury’s made it harder to balance sometimes. I think it messes with her head more than anything.” He paused for a beat, his eyes lingering on you, still sitting off to the side, the pain evident in your movements even though you tried so hard to mask it.

Ellie couldn’t look away. The sight of you made something inside her ache, something she couldn’t name.

Ellie walked into her apartment, the door creaking as she pushed it open, the familiar scent of stale air and dust greeting her like an old friend. The heater was a noisy beast that struggled to keep the cold at bay, but she couldn’t afford anything better, not when every paycheck was stretched thin between groceries, rent, and whatever scraps of art supplies she could scrape together. She sighed, a breath that carried the weight of the long day, as she kicked off her boots.

The floor was cold under her feet, but it didn’t matter much—everything in this place was a little broken, a little worse for wear. She shrugged out of her coat, letting it drop onto the couch, and peeled off her layers one by one. The thick sweater, the scarf she had wrapped too tightly around her neck, the faded jeans—she tossed them all aside like they didn’t matter anymore. She had long given up on caring about how she looked or how this place looked. No amount of rearranging could fix the fact that it was barely livable.

Ellie crossed the small living room to the heater, cranking it up to the highest setting, watching the way it sputtered to life with a half-hearted groan. The warmth was slow to come, but she didn’t mind the wait. She needed to lie down. She needed to close her eyes for just a moment before the thoughts crowded in.

She dropped onto the couch, sinking into the familiar, sagging cushions. The spot had molded to her body over the years, each depression a reminder of how many sleepless nights she had spent in this place—thinking, drawing, wasting time. Her sketchbook was always within reach, a constant companion even when she hated it, when the pages felt too full of the messy, unrefined parts of herself.

Ellie was a scrappy art school dropout with no grand dreams of gallery shows or fame. After her dad—Joel—had passed, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. He’d been the one who held things together, who made sure she had everything she needed, even when things were hard. His sudden death shattered her world, leaving her with no safety net. Without him, there was no way she could afford the tuition. So she quit.

Her shifts at the bookstore paid for the crappy apartment, but it didn’t cover the bills, let alone the art supplies she burned through. Still, she kept coming back. It wasn’t the job she wanted, but it kept her from starving, kept her from getting evicted. Her fingers were always covered in ink and graphite from sketching during breaks, filling pages with fragmented portraits and half-formed ideas.

Ellie had been lying on the couch, the irritation of the thumping bass from next door creeping under her skin like an itch that couldn't be scratched. She'd pulled her pillow over her head, hoping it would drown out the noise, but it only seemed to make the thudding louder. The muffled music bled through the walls, a constant, annoying reminder of how small and stifling her apartment had become. She felt trapped—trapped by the noise, by the walls, by the life she couldn't quite get out of.

And then the moment came. Another wave of pounding bass rattled the floor, sharp and insistent, until Ellie couldn’t take it anymore. Her frustration built up until it was a tight knot in her chest, and before she even realized it, she was on her feet, storming out of her apartment without a second thought.

Her feet barely made a sound as she walked down the hall, her breath shallow, fists clenched. The door to the apartment was slightly ajar, as if inviting her in, and Ellie, in her agitated state, didn’t pause to knock. She pushed the door open, ready to confront the source of the noise, but then everything stopped.

You were there.

In the soft glow of the moonlight, you moved with a grace that stole Ellie’s breath away. The warm, golden light wrapped around your figure like a blanket, casting your silhouette in a soft, delicate glow. Your body spun through the air, each movement flowing effortlessly into the next, as if you were part of the rhythm of the world itself. Your form was fluid, every line of your body a quiet expression of something beautiful.

She stood frozen in the doorway, her chest tight as she watched. The world seemed to slow down around her. There was no harsh music blaring, no noise at all—just the sound of your movements and the occasional soft swish of fabric. The way you danced was mesmerizing, like you were lost in a world of your own.

Your focus was total, your expression one of quiet concentration, but it wasn’t just your skill that held Ellie’s gaze. It was the way you seemed to move so effortlessly, as if you were floating. You were lost in your dance, your body becoming an extension of the space around you. For a brief, fleeting moment, Ellie forgot everything—the irritation, the frustration, even the reason she’d come here. All that mattered was the way you filled the space with your presence.

God, you're everywhere.

Ellie’s heart thudded in her chest, each beat louder than the last. The thought hit her, unbidden and sharp: fuck, I can’t escape you. You were a constant presence, even if Ellie hadn’t fully realized it until now. In the bookstore, in the theater, in the quiet of her own apartment, and now here, in the soft glow of your world. It was as if fate had tied her to you, whether she liked it or not. And in that moment, Ellie couldn’t decide if she was terrified or intrigued by that pull.

You finished your spin, landing with the kind of grace that left Ellie almost breathless. The room around you felt smaller, quieter, as if your very presence had claimed it..

But then, in that instant, your movements faltered. Your eyes flickered toward her, and suddenly the connection snapped. Your gaze locked with hers, and Ellie felt a jolt run through her body, as if her entire world had shifted. The stillness of the moment was broken by the uncomfortable tension that now hung between them.

You froze mid-spin, your wide eyes betraying a mixture of surprise and fear. The tension in your body was palpable as you instinctively took a step back, your shoulders tightening, your lips pressed together in discomfort. Ellie saw the way you hesitated, a quick breath caught in your chest, as if you weren’t sure whether to move or stay.

You were scared. Unnerved by her presence.

Ellie raised her hands slowly, palms out in a gesture of apology, her voice coming out softer than she intended. “I—I didn’t mean to—your door was open, and the music… I just…” She trailed off, words tangling on her tongue as her gaze flickered over you, taking in the guarded way you stood, every muscle taut as if ready to defend yourself.

The silence between you stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside and the soft tick of a clock somewhere in your apartment. Ellie swallowed hard, the warmth of the space and the sheer presence of you making her feel like an intruder in a world she didn’t belong to.

You folded your arms, your expression shifting from wary to something unreadable. The moonlight poured through the wide windows, catching on the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin. Your hair framed your face, slightly disheveled but effortlessly stunning, and the tension in your jaw made Ellie’s chest ache in a way she didn’t fully understand.

“Look,” Ellie started again, shifting awkwardly, her fingers curling into the strap of her bag. “I wasn’t trying to spy or anything. I live next door, and the music was… loud.” She winced inwardly at the weak excuse, the words sounding hollow even as they left her lips. Her frustration from earlier had long since dissipated, leaving only a raw mix of nerves and something else—something she couldn’t quite name.

“Loud?” you repeated, your voice soft but edged with incredulity.

Ellie nodded quickly, her cheeks burning. “Yeah. But, uh, you dance… really well. Like, beautifully well.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, your arms still crossed, but the sharpness of your gaze seemed to dull just a fraction. Ellie could’ve kicked herself. Compliments probably weren’t what you wanted to hear from the stranger who’d just barged into your apartment uninvited.

“Thanks,” you said finally, your tone clipped. But there was something in the way you said it—something quieter, almost hesitant—that made Ellie’s stomach twist. The tension in your frame didn’t ease, and you kept your distance, clearly not ready to let your guard down.

Ellie shifted on her feet, the urge to say something—anything—gnawing at her. “Right. I’ll, uh, get out of your hair.” She took a step back toward the door, but her movements were sluggish, reluctant. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, louder than the muffled music still playing faintly in the background.

She hesitated, glancing back at you over her shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” she said, her voice quiet, almost shy, “you’re… incredible. I can tell how hard you work. ”

The tension in your face softened ever so slightly, a flicker of something Ellie couldn’t quite place crossing your features. But you didn’t say anything, just leaned lightly against the edge of a small table near the window. The moonlight caught on the curve of your shoulder, illuminating the quiet strength in your posture, the determination etched into the lines of your body even in stillness.

“Next time,” you said finally, your tone even but laced with a sharp edge, “knock.”

Ellie nodded quickly, a sheepish, almost apologetic smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Totally. Got it.”

Without another word, she slipped back into the hallway, the door clicking shut softly behind her. Ellie leaned heavily against the wall, running a hand through her unruly hair as she exhaled a shaky breath. Her heart was still racing, the image of you under the moonlight burned into her mind.

The faint glow of the Christmas lights bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of colors, soft blues and reds dancing across the walls of Ellie’s small apartment. The space felt warmer than usual, though the heater sputtering in the corner certainly wasn’t responsible for that. It had everything to do with you being here—sitting cross-legged on the floor with a box of ornaments balanced in front of you, a soft smile playing at your lips as you unwrapped another bauble.

Ellie glanced at you from the corner of her eye as she worked to untangle the mess of lights in her lap. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught herself watching you, though she’d gotten better at not staring outright. You’d been coming around more often lately, showing up with little excuses to see her: a borrowed book you’d “forgotten” to return, a leftover pastry from the café near your place that you thought she’d like, even a random bottle of wine to “celebrate surviving another week.”

At first, Ellie had been cautious, unsure of what to make of your easy smiles and playful teasing. But slowly—so slowly she hadn’t even realized it at first—her defenses had begun to drop. You’d found a way to fit into the cracks of her life, easing past her guarded edges with a kindness that felt effortless.

And Ellie, despite herself, had started to let you in.

The moments you shared now felt natural, unforced. Like when you’d taken it upon yourself to help her pick out a Christmas tree after learning she’d never had one. You’d teased her mercilessly about her bare-bones apartment, joking that she needed “at least one thing in here that screamed holiday cheer.” And she’d let you, because even when you were poking fun at her, there was something so warm and genuine in the way you spoke to her, like you’d known her forever.

“Ellie,” you said now, breaking her from her thoughts. She blinked, looking up to find you holding out a small ornament shaped like a snowflake. “This one’s cute. Front and center?”

She shrugged, the corners of her mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “Sure. You’re the boss.”

You laughed softly, reaching up to hang the ornament near the middle of the tree. Ellie couldn’t help but notice how easily you seemed to fill the quiet spaces in her apartment, your presence bringing a lightness to the air that hadn’t been there before.

Tonight felt like another step forward, a bridge you’d both unknowingly been building.

Ellie stood beside you now, her hands tucked into her pockets as she stared at the tree. She was close enough that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from her, close enough that her quiet presence felt like an anchor in the room.

“It’s… not bad,” Ellie said, her voice soft.

You turned to her, arching a brow. “Not bad?”

She smirked, her gaze flicking toward you. “Yeah. Not bad.”

You nudged her lightly with your elbow, grinning as you shook your head. The ease between you was palpable, the kind of comfort that only came after spending hours together—sharing stories, laughter, and the occasional comfortable silence.

Ellie’s apartment, once cold and cluttered, now felt warmer somehow. The pile of sketchbooks on the coffee table no longer seemed like a chaotic mess but a testament to the creativity Ellie carried in her bones. The tree, crooked and adorned with mismatched ornaments, added a glow that felt almost magical.

“Thanks, by the way,” Ellie said, breaking the silence. Her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “For, you know… doing this.”

You looked at her, surprised by the vulnerability in her tone. Ellie was many things—sarcastic, quick-witted, and guarded—but moments like these reminded you of how deeply she felt things, even if she didn’t always show it.

“Of course,” you said softly, your smile gentle. “Everyone deserves a Christmas tree, Ellie. Even you.”

Ellie let out a soft laugh, glancing down at the floor. “Never really had one growing up,” she’d admitted, “Joel tried once, but it just… didn’t stick. Felt weird, I guess."

“Guess it’s time to start” you teased, your voice playful but warm.

Ellie glanced up at you, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. The Christmas lights twinkled softly in the background, their glow reflecting in your eyes, and Ellie felt the faintest tug of something deeper, something she didn’t yet have the words for.

But as the silence stretched on, you glanced at your phone, noticing the time.

"I should probably head out," you said, your voice breaking the calm. Ellie looked over at you, blinking as if snapping out of her own thoughts.

"Oh, yeah. I didn’t mean to keep you," Ellie replied, a trace of reluctance in her voice.

You stood, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. "It’s fine. I’m just—" you paused, then smiled. "I’ve got to get back to the theater. You know, practice."

Ellie nodded, walking over to the door with you. She hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed, how easily it had slipped away in the comfort of your presence. It felt almost too good to be true, this—whatever it was between you.

Before you opened the door, you paused, turning back to Ellie. Your eyes met hers, and for a moment, everything seemed to quiet around you both.

"Hey," you said softly, catching her off guard. "I, uh, I know it’s short notice, but the performance is next week." You hesitated for a beat, your words coming out a little more uncertain than you’d intended. “I’d really love for you to come. If you’re free, of course."

Ellie blinked, taken aback for a moment. She hadn’t expected the invitation—hadn’t expected you to even consider asking her.

"Of course I’ll come," she said, a little more quickly than she’d planned, but the sincerity in her voice made the words ring true. "I wouldn’t miss it."

You smiled, the warmth in your expression spreading like sunlight. "Thanks. It means a lot."

With one last look, you opened the door, stepping into the cool air of the hallway. Ellie stood there for a moment, watching as you disappeared down the stairs, your footsteps echoing in the stillness.

She stood there, frozen, for a beat longer than she should have, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

Ellie sat on her worn couch, the edges of her sweater tugged absently as she focused on the task at hand. Her sketchbook lay open before her, its pages worn and filled with sketches that had been born out of moments stolen in the corners of her day. Some of them were hurried, some more thought-out, but all of them were tied to the presence of the girl who had so unexpectedly woven herself into Ellie’s life.

She looked at the sketchbook for a moment longer, her eyes tracing the lines of the last drawing—the one of you, mid-spin, your hair a blur, your focus sharp. The way your body seemed to stretch toward something greater, something just out of reach, resonated with her more than she'd care to admit. The way you'd looked at her that night, vulnerable but powerful, it felt like something she couldn't just forget.

Ellie’s fingers grazed the edges of the book, her mind racing for the right words, the right moment. She didn’t have much, but she had this. She didn’t know how to express what she felt with words, but a drawing? That she could do.

She pulled a strip of brown wrapping paper from a roll on the floor beside her, laying it across the table. Her fingers worked quickly, folding the paper neatly around the book, securing the corners with tape, the sound of the tape cutting through the quiet air like a small, deliberate movement. Ellie’s tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she carefully placed the final piece of tape in place.

The book, now wrapped, felt heavier than it had before. Maybe it was the weight of her unspoken words. Or maybe it was the anticipation of tomorrow—the performance, the moment where she'd see you again.

Ellie sat back, her hand resting on the wrapped gift for a moment. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the heater and the occasional rattle of the windows from the breeze outside. She glanced over at the corner of the room, where the small Christmas tree flickered faintly.

She didn’t know if it was enough. She wasn’t even sure if you’d like it, but the thought of not giving it to you felt unbearable.

With a final glance at the tree and the city lights dancing through the window, Ellie slid the wrapped book into a small gift bag, adjusting the top with practiced care. It wasn’t perfect—her hands a little too quick, her movements too hurried—but it was hers. She picked it up, feeling its weight, her heart thumping a little faster than it should have.

Tomorrow. Your big performance.

Tomorrow, she’d give it to you.

The room was heavy with the weight of unspoken pressure as you stood in the center of the rehearsal floor. The mirrors reflected back not just your movements, but your fears, your frustrations, your self-doubt. The music swelled, a familiar, haunting melody that once had felt like second nature. But today, it sounded distant. Out of reach. Your foot faltered again. Just a small stumble, but enough to make your heart skip a beat, enough to draw the instructor's sharp, disapproving gaze.

"Again, you're off balance," the instructor said, voice cold, piercing the silence like a dagger. You clenched your jaw, trying to steady your breath. The words sliced through you, but you refused to let them break you.

You fought for this role. You had fought for months after the injury, after last year’s disastrous performance that still haunted you like a nightmare. You had pushed your body beyond its limits, rebuilt what had been broken, and now, you were here—fighting to keep this role, to prove you were strong enough. You were enough.

The music began again, faster this time, more demanding. You forced your body to move with it, the rhythm pulling at your every step. Each pirouette felt like it could crumble beneath you, each jump a risk you couldn’t afford to take. Your ankle, still fragile, sent a twinge of pain with each landing, but you fought it back, pushing through the discomfort. Your focus was sharp, despite the sweat beading down your forehead, despite the exhaustion gnawing at your muscles.

You would make it. You had to make it.

"Again!" the instructor snapped, crossing their arms. "You're losing control."

You swallowed hard, grinding your teeth, the bitterness of those words tasting sour in your mouth. Your legs burned, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn't stop.

You spun into the next movement, a leap that felt too high, too far—but you made it, landing with a soft thud that sent a jolt of pain through your ankle. But you didn't falter. You didn't let it show. You pushed through the sting, lifting your chin as you reset yourself. You had to prove them wrong.

But then, as the music paused for a breath, your instructor spoke again. Their voice, though calm, was final.

"You’re getting replaced."

The words hit you like a cold wave, crashing over you and pulling the air from your lungs. Your world seemed to tilt, and for a brief moment, everything blurred. Your heart hammered in your chest, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You forced yourself to meet the instructor’s gaze, but the sting of their eyes was unrelenting. The disappointment was clear, written in the subtle shift of their posture, in the way they avoided your eyes.

"What?" you whispered, your voice cracking, but the question hung in the air like a dead weight, swallowed by the silence.

The instructor didn't respond, just stared at you, impassive. You tried to steady your breath, trying to hold onto something, anything. Your pulse thudded in your ears, but you couldn’t let it break you. Not now.

But they didn’t move. Didn’t soften. Their gaze was colder than you’d ever felt it before.

"You're not ready," the instructor continued, the finality in their tone wrapping around you like a chain. "We can’t afford to keep you in this role. Your balance is off. We need someone more stable."

A dull ache spread through your chest, hollowing you out from the inside. Stable. They might as well have said you weren’t good enough. You weren’t enough, not after everything.

"Just... give me one more chance,. you found yourself saying before you could stop it. You stepped forward, but they didn’t flinch. Your hands clenched at your sides, your legs trembling beneath you, but you didn’t let yourself collapse.

But the instructor's response was curt. "The decision is final."

The air in the room thickened, the weight of it suffocating. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only felt your legs shaking as if the floor had disappeared beneath you. You had fought so hard, put everything into this role, this comeback. And now… you were being replaced.

The music that had once felt like a lifeline was now silent, and in its place was only the sound of your own heartbeat crashing in your chest.

"You're done here," the instructor added, turning away, leaving you standing alone in the center of the room, your body trembling and your breath shallow.

The silence stretched on, but it felt like hours. You stood there, fighting against the overwhelming rush of emotions—defeat, frustration, disbelief—and yet, a part of you felt something else, something deep and burning. You were not done.

The city’s stillness hung in the air, thick with the weight of dawn, as Ellie leaned against the railing of her balcony, her breath fogging up in front of her. The faint hum of the early morning felt too quiet, too empty for the chaos that had built up in her chest the past few days. But it was all muffled now, drowned out by the image of you standing there, on your balcony in the freezing cold. It was 5 a.m., and there you were, just... staring into the distance, your body wrapped in a sweater too thin for the chill that had already crept into the world around you.

Ellie’s mind raced, worry creeping in. She had seen you around for months now, your quiet, focused presence tugging at something inside her, something she didn’t want to admit. She could never ignore you, even from afar. And now here you were, vulnerable and alone in the cold, your shoulders hunched against the wind, and all Ellie could think about was how wrong it was. How you should be inside, getting rest before tonight—before everything hinged on tonight—and yet here you were, standing in the dark. Alone.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Ellie called, her voice cracking through the silence.

You jumped slightly at the sound, and when your eyes landed on her, it felt like a punch to the gut. There was something about you in that moment—lost in thought, distant, wrapped in the cold, but so incredibly... beautiful. It was in the way you carried yourself, how you seemed to light up even in the darkness. It was so raw, so vulnerable, it made Ellie’s heart tighten in her chest.

You looked confused at first, blinking at her, then a little embarrassed, as if you hadn’t realized how cold it was out there. “Just... thinking,” you said softly, your voice carrying a layer of fatigue that Ellie could almost feel.

“Thinking?” Ellie’s brow furrowed. She couldn’t stop the concern from bleeding into her tone, the need to pull you inside, to wrap you in something warm. “It’s freezing out here. And it’s... it’s 5 a.m., what are you doing?”

You didn’t respond immediately, your gaze dropping to the ground, the quiet tension hanging thick between you both. Ellie could feel it, a thick pulse in her chest, like she was waiting for something—anything—to break the silence.

Then, she noticed the gift bag in your hand, something carefully wrapped, something she had almost forgotten about in the chaos of everything else.

“Shit,” Ellie muttered under her breath, stepping closer to the railing. She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but the words just slipped out. “I brought you something.”

You looked up at her then, surprised, as Ellie held out the gift bag. It was awkward—too much, maybe—but it was all she had in that moment.

“It’s—uh, it’s for the show tonight. You don’t have to open it now, though,” she said quickly, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to hide the sudden, nervous flush creeping up her neck. The words were tumbling out too fast, her chest tight.

You took the bag from her, your fingers brushing hers for a moment, and Ellie felt a spark of warmth flood her skin. She watched you, her breath coming a little quicker now, unsure of how to feel about this. You glanced down at the bag, your expression unreadable, before you pulled the tissue paper aside and peered inside.

Ellie’s stomach flipped as you pulled out the sketchbook. She hadn’t thought about how it might feel to have someone open it, not like this. Her sketching had always been so personal, something she kept to herself, but this felt... different. Watching you flip through the pages, her sketches of you—sketches she’d never planned to show anyone—made her feel exposed, too visible. She could hear the soft, surprised intake of your breath as you saw the drawings, but Ellie didn’t dare speak, afraid of breaking the moment.

“Ellie,” you said her name like a whisper, your voice catching in her chest. She met your eyes, her heart skipping a beat at the softness in your gaze. "This is... " There was a pause, and then your eyes darted up to meet hers.

Ellie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The way you said her name, the way you looked at her—there was something in it that made her feel like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as awkward as it felt. That maybe, despite her nerves, it was okay.

“I…,” she muttered, her fingers twisting nervously. “I just... I wanted you to have it. You know, for the show.” She let out a small laugh, but it sounded more like a sigh. “I’ve been sketching you for a while now. I—uh, I wanted to give you something.”

You smiled, your lips curving up in the smallest, softest way, and Ellie felt her heart race at the sight. “Thank you, seriously.,” you said, your voice full of sincerity, and Ellie couldn’t help the flush that spread across her cheeks. It was too much, too real, and yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“You don’t have to say that,” Ellie muttered, shifting on her feet, her gaze avoiding yours for a moment. “I just wanted to do something for you. I don’t know, I just... figured you might like it.”

“Ellie," you said, and your voice was steady now, the uncertainty that had clouded your face earlier gone. “Let me perform for you.”

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1800darling

4 months ago