The door swings open, Ellie turns her head, raising an eyebrow in quiet curiosity. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t startle. Her expression says it all: “Here we go again.” All it takes is one look at your “What a shitty day” expression. She watches you collapse onto her bed and just sighs, continuing to fix her gun.

—"What is it this time?."—she asks calmly, still focused on her task—"Water shortage? Guard shift change? That fucking generator again?"

You say nothing, and that’s fine, Ellie gets it. You feel safe here, your things have slowly crept into her space—your gloves, that battered hoodie, the dog-eared book you never finish reading. She hasn’t said a word about it, she just lets you exist, she glances at you and raises an eyebrow.

—"Was it some asshole?."—she asks, voice cool but sharp underneath—"If that’s the case, just give me a name. I’ll handle it before breakfast."

You shake your head slowly, burying your face under her pillow like you want the world to go away. Yep. One of those days. Ellie watches you for a second, biting the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. Then she sets the gun aside, wordless, and shifts. Quietly, she lies down beside you. Close—but not touching. Not unless you move first.