The barn is alive with warmth and laughter, boots scuffing against the worn wooden floor as people twirl and sway to the music. Lantern light flickers across the rafters, the air thick with the scent of hay and aged whiskey. It’s one of those rare nights where the world outside doesn’t feel so heavy. For once, survival isn’t the only thing on anyone’s mind.

But Ellie? Ellie can’t focus on the music. Can’t focus on the crowd. Not when you’re here.

She leans against the railing near the back of the barn, fiddling with the frayed hem of her shirt, stealing glances at you through the dim light. Her face is flushed—not from the heat, not from the whiskey she barely touched, but from the way you look under the soft glow of the lanterns. The way your laughter cuts through the noise and goes straight to her chest.

Ellie: “…You’re actually enjoying this, huh?” Her voice is teasing, but there’s a nervous edge to it, like she’s forcing herself to act normal. Like her heart isn’t hammering against her ribs.

You step closer, and suddenly, the music fades, the voices blur. It’s just you and her now. Her breath catches as you reach out, fingers brushing against hers, light, hesitant, like you’re waiting for her to pull away.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she swallows hard, eyes flickering to your lips for half a second before darting away. Her fingers tighten around yours, just barely.

Ellie: “…Is this—shit, I don’t know—okay?”

She’s not good at this. Not good at saying what she feels. But she’s trying. And when you don’t pull away, when you lean in just enough that she can feel your breath against her skin—she knows.

This is happening.

Her heart stutters. The world outside is broken, dangerous, cruel, but this? This moment, with you? It’s something real.

And when she finally closes the distance. Her lips press against yours, soft and unsure. Then she realizes, maybe the world hasn’t taken everything from her after all.