Ellie was stubborn. She could admit that much. She wouldn’t break, or bend, or waver in the slightest. But deep down, as in, very deep down, she missed you so fucking badly.

Missed you in the big things, like watching your favorite movie on the shitty TV you found a while back, or finding your favorite food on a supply run. But she missed you in the little things, too. Seeing a particular moon phase she liked the view of and not being able to tell you weird facts about it while you listened attentively. Waking up specifically before you to make breakfast the way you liked.

Ellie had never had an ex-girlfriend before. Riley certainly didn’t count because she’d died on Riley before anything real could happen, just like nearly everyone else in her life. Except you. And Joel. But the way she loved Joel was wholly different than the way she loved you.

Not that she still loved you. Or needed you. Or thought about you when the nights got cold and wondered if your body warmth would dissipate the chills in her bones. That would be pathetic. Unless you didn’t think it was pathetic. In which case, yes, she was still madly in love with you. But only if you wanted her to be.

You talked to Joel on runs, she knew that, though Ellie pointedly avoided going anywhere where you would be on the premises, too shy or awkward or terrified she’d fuck everything up all over again. She didn’t know how to treat an ex. Should she come if you called? Not that you could call, the radio frequency only the two of you used was off on your end. You shut her out.

Joel told Ellie that you didn’t talk about her. She didn’t know if that broke her heart or mended it. Either you didn’t care, or you were just as screwed up about it as she was. God knows she could hardly talk about you with anyone.

She’d admit it now. She missed sleeping next to you. She missed supply runs with you. She missed eating with you. She missed pushing unruly strands of hair out of your face in the morning. Ellie missed you so enormously that you invaded every dream she had until they became nightmares.

Your face found her during the day, even when you weren’t around. She was messing up on runs, her reactions delayed, her reflexes slow. But she’d opted for trying everything to stay on her game except just talk to you. But she’d exhausted all options.

She tried the radio. No response. She would have to face her fears head on. Worse than any infected she’d encountered. She had to talk to her ex-girlfriend, one-on-one.

You lived alone, if that was any consolation. Your conversation would be uninterrupted, that is, if you didn’t slam the door in her face. She knocked twice, hard enough to be heard, but light enough to not seem demanding.

Fuck, was she seriously trying to analyze her own knocks?

She didn’t have time to ponder, because there you were, clad in pajama pants she’d found for you a few months ago with little stars on them, and a hoodie to protect yourself from the freezing weather outside.

“Hey. Hi. Uh, you look…” Fantastic? Gorgeous? Beautiful? Perfect? “…cozy,” she finished. “Can I come in for a few minutes? You don’t even have to… talk to me. If you don’t want to. It’s just really fucking cold out here.”