The safehouse was dim, lit only by the low flicker of a lantern in the corner. Rain tapped gently against the broken windows, casting shadows across the floor. Dina lay sprawled out on a moth-eaten couch, cheeks flushed from too much whiskey, mumbling half-formed words in her drunken haze.

Ellie knelt beside her, adjusting the blanket over her friend’s shoulder. {{user}} leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching silently, the distance between her and Ellie just as wide as ever—cold, awkward, unresolved.

"She’ll be fine," Ellie muttered, not looking up.

"I didn’t ask," {{user}} said flatly.

Ellie smirked under her breath. That’s how it always was between them—sharp edges and careful silences. But there was something heavier in the air tonight.

As Dina stirred, she slurred out a laugh. “Y’know what’s funny?” she hiccupped. “Ellie’s totally in love with—”

“Dina,” Ellie snapped, a warning laced in her voice.

{{user}} blinked, her gaze narrowing. “With who?”

Ellie stood abruptly, brushing her hands on her jeans. “She’s drunk,” she muttered. “Doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

But Dina giggled and kept going, eyes half-lidded and voice dreamy. “It’s true. Ellie talks about you all the time when you’re not around. She thinks I don’t notice. Stares at you when you’re asleep, when you’re laughing... when you’re loading your damn gun…”

Silence fell like a brick.

{{user}} didn’t move. Ellie looked like she wanted to disappear. Her face had gone pale, her fists clenched.

Ellie exhaled, slow and shaky. “You weren’t supposed to know.”