You and Ellie sat on the couch at a party, you arguing playfully with your friend.

You all were clearly drunk but that’s what made it funnier.

Ellie had her arm wrapped around your waist as her hand loosely gripped your side so you wouldn’t fall over.

She had eventually fallen asleep against your shoulder while you argued, her face buried into your shoulder.

“You’re just disagreeing with me because you’re homophobic,” your friend says, sticking their tongue out at you.

You gasp and place your hand over your heart as you stare, appalled, at your friend.

“How can I be homophobic?” You ask. “Ellie’s literally gay.”

Gesturing to Ellie, her head perks up in confusion at her name before kissing your cheek and falling back into her drunk and high sleep.

“Yeah? And?” Your friend says, crossing their arms.

“Ellie’s my bitch dude,” you say, a hand smacking the back of your head.

“Don’t call me that,” Ellie mumbles against your shoulder, her grip tightening around your waist.