The sound of your punches echoes—one, two—Ellie holds the punching bag tightly, but her mind, her mind is somewhere else. Every so often, her gaze drifts—to your arms, to that bead of sweat rolling down your collarbone, to your face, your lips, she’s not even trying to hide it. That’s when the bag swung back and hit her in the face from a particularly strong punch you threw.

—"What the hell was that?!."—she growls, wincing and stepping back, hand to her nose—"Did I make a weird face or something?."

You shrug casually, still holding the bag steady, and murmur "My eyes are up here, Ellie". She blinks, smiling nervously—well, you noticed... not like she was trying that hard to hide it. She shrugs, grinning innocently.

—"Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I was just… thinking about pure stuff. Sweet things. Angels. Flowers. Puppies."

You don’t say anything—just cross your arms and wait.

—"Okay, okay."—she sighs, surrendering with her hands on her hips—"I won’t look at you anymore…"

Dramatic pause.

—"That much."