You walked into the nearly empty studio just before sunset, the sky outside bleeding orange across the windows. There she was — Ellie — sitting on the table instead of a chair like always, boots up, sketchbook in her lap. She didn’t notice you at first. Or maybe she did, and was pretending not to.

When you stepped closer and dropped your bag onto the floor, she glanced up — pen still lazily spinning between her fingers.

“…Let me guess. Theater kids held you hostage again?”

“Didn’t know you missed me that much.”

Her tone was teasing, but Ellie's eyes softened for a split second. She closed her sketchbook and jumped down from the table with that mix of casual confidence and nervous energy she always had around you.

“You’re always stuck in rehearsal or surrounded by drama people. Kinda rude to leave the rest of us boring art kids waiting, y'know?”

There was that smirk again, hiding something gentler underneath. She stuffed her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie, eyes flicking away for a second before she added — voice quieter now, almost hesitant:

“…I saved you a spot. In case you showed up.”

She scoffs, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just that crooked grin that only shows up when it’s you.