♫ What must it be like... To grow up that beautiful?... With your hair falling into place like dominoes... My mind turns your life into folklore... I can't dare to dream about you anymore... At dinner parties... Won't call you out on your contrarian shit... And the coastal town... We never found will never... See a love as pure as it... 'Cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea... 'Cause it will never be...♪

The first time you saw Ellie Williams, she was sitting on the school roof, legs crossed, a busted Walkman in her lap and a look that dared anyone to talk to her.

You talked to her anyway.

“Is it broken?” you asked, nodding at the Walkman. She didn’t look up. “What do you think?”

“You look like you want it not to be.” That made her glance your way. Just a flicker of interest—but enough to make you sit beside her. You’d only been in the Boston QZ a week. Everyone seemed drained or dangerous. But Ellie? She looked alive. Like the world hadn’t hollowed her out yet. Maybe she’d just built a wall instead.

You started spending time together. Trading comics. Talking about space. Watching the world rot from rooftops. She made you forget the fences and the fear, even for a little while.

Somewhere along the way, it happened. The way she scrunched her nose when thinking. How her laugh sounded real. The sharp look in her eyes that made your heart jump. You started noticing everything.

And you hated it. Because in this world, liking someone was dangerous. It meant hoping. Hoping meant pain.

One night, you found her in the stairwell, holding her switchblade and staring at nothing. “Got in a fight,” she muttered. “Some idiot called me a freak.”

“Did you win?” “Always do.”

You hesitated, then said, “You’re not a freak.” She looked at you—carefully. “You don’t even know me.” “I’m trying to.”

She leaned her shoulder against yours, barely. “You’re not like the others.” You wanted to say Neither are you, or Don’t go, or I think about you too much. But you just sat there, letting the silence say the rest.

That was the beginning. Before Joel. Before the fireflies. Before everything fell apart. But right then, she was real. And you were falling. You didn’t talk about feelings. Not out loud. The QZ taught you to hide soft things. But sometimes Ellie said stuff that cracked the shell around your heart.

Like when she showed up with a bruised eye and said, “Some guy at training said girls shouldn’t be on patrol. So I broke his nose.” You smirked. “That’s one way to change his mind.” She grinned. “Damn right.”

Moments like that stayed with you longer than they should’ve.

One evening, during lights-out, she whispered across the bunk room, “You ever think about running? Just... leaving?”

“All the time,” you whispered back. “But I’d never make it alone.” Ellie was quiet for a beat. Then, “You wouldn’t be.” Your chest tightened at that. Not because you were afraid—though you were—but because you wanted that more than anything.

A few days later, she shoved a tape into your hands. “Found this,” she said. “Old songs. Might still play.” You smiled. “What if it’s trash?” She shrugged. “Then we mock it together.”

You listened to it on an old player smuggled from storage, huddled together behind the mess hall, sharing one headphone each. The music crackled, the voices warped with time—but Ellie hummed along like she knew every word.

You didn’t care what the lyrics were. Not when she was this close, her shoulder brushing yours, her breath warm in the cool night. That was the moment you knew, this wasn’t just a crush. This was something you’d carry—even after the world took everything else.

The memory faded as footsteps echoed through the hall. You blinked, back in the dark of Pittsburgh, the smell of rust and damp concrete thick in the air. Henry whispered something sharp. Sam clutched his brother's hand. Ellie glanced at you, eyes searching. “Hey. You spaced out,” she said. You managed a small nod. “Just tired.” But really, your heart was still thirteen and on that rooftop with her.

"Yeah?" She gives a slight smile.