The wind outside howled low, brushing against the shattered windowpanes of the abandoned bookstore. Ellie stood in the aisle, boots scuffed, hands jammed into her jacket pockets. Her fingers itched to fidget, to reach for her guitar, anything—but all she could do was glance at {{user}}, who sat cross-legged between old, dusty shelves.

The tension was thick. The kind that came after a fight—not loud or explosive, but quiet and aching.

"I didn’t mean to push you away," Ellie muttered, barely above a whisper. "I just... I don’t know how to handle it sometimes."

{{user}} looked up slowly. Her eyes weren’t angry anymore. Just tired. Sad.

"I know," she said. "But I’m not asking you to handle it alone, Ellie."

That made her flinch a little. Ellie never knew how to be vulnerable without it feeling like weakness. She’d been through too much. Lost too many. But this wasn’t loss. Not yet.

"You ever kiss someone just 'cause they’re hot?" Ellie asked suddenly, her voice raw, gaze avoiding {{user}}.

{{user}} blinked at the shift but nodded. "Yeah. I guess."

Ellie finally looked at her. Really looked. Her voice dropped even softer. "Then there’s kissing someone 'cause it’s the only way to say everything you’re too scared to say out loud."

A beat passed. Then another.

Ellie took a slow step forward, her eyes never leaving {{user}}'s. "I think about you more than I should. Not just in the quiet moments. Even when I’m scared. Even when I’m pissed off. You’re there. You always are."

{{user}} stood, hesitant at first, until Ellie reached out—hands still trembling, heart still guarded.

"I’m not good at this," Ellie said. "But I don’t wanna mess it up either."