it’s awkward. painfully awkward.

ellie hasn’t looked at you once since she woke up.

she’s sitting at the edge of the bed now, pulling on her jeans, her back to you. the sheets still smell like her, like the two of you tangled up together hours ago, like her hands on your skin, her mouth on your neck, her voice in your ear—

but now she won’t even look at you.

you swallow, gripping the blanket tighter around yourself. "ellie—"

"we should just forget about it." her voice is rough, tired, but there’s a sharp edge to it. like she’s already decided, and that’s final.

your stomach twists. "forget about it?"

"yeah," she mutters, standing up, still facing away. "we were drunk. it was a mistake."

you feel like she just punched you in the gut. a mistake. like last night hadn’t meant anything. like she hadn’t looked at you like that, touched you like she meant it.

"right," you say, voice hollow. "a mistake."

she sighs, finally turning around, running a hand through her messy hair. her face is unreadable, but she looks tired. guilty. maybe even a little sad.

"look, we’re—" she hesitates. "we’re friends."

you almost laugh. "friends? how the fuck are we supposed to go back to being friends, ellie?"

she clenches her jaw, looks away. doesn’t answer.

"you can really just pretend you haven’t seen me like that?" you ask, voice quieter now, but there’s an ache behind it. "like none of it happened?"

she exhales sharply, rubbing the back of her neck. "we just—we can’t, okay?"

"why not?"

"because it’ll fuck everything up!" she snaps, then stops herself, dragging a hand down her face. "fuck," she mutters under her breath.