It was casual. Or so you thought.

To Ellie, you were everything. She’d kill for you, take on hordes of Bloaters alone, do anything if you asked. But she’d never admit it. She was too scared to drive you away.

Still, hope was a funny thing. And Ellie was a fool for holding onto it. She dreamed of a future where you’d call her your girlfriend, move in as proper couples, where you’d finally see what had been in front of you all along. But you didn’t.

You crushed it.

It happened so easily—out with friends, laughter ringing around you both. Someone asked what Ellie was to you, and you giggled. Just fooling around, you said.

She knew. Of course, she knew. You always insisted you didn’t do attachments. But how could she not hope? You’d met each other’s families. Joel liked you. Your mother adored her. You still kept Ellie’s favorite bra in your dresser from the first night you made love. A souvenir, you had teased.

And yet, to you, it was just sneaking around. Just casual.

Everyone laughed at your words. Everyone except Ellie.

She stood there, frozen, heart sinking. But she didn’t cause a scene. She wasn’t that kind of person. She’d hold onto it. For now.

But back in her bed, tangled in her sheets, your body melting into hers, when your skin was against her skin, things weren’t the same.

As always, you curled against her, seeking warmth, your habit as much as hers. But this time, her arms around you felt different—no soft touches, no kisses pressed to your skin.

You might not have noticed if she hadn’t spoken.

A pause. Then, quietly—“So, is it still “casual” now?”