It’s late. The dorm room is quiet, save for the faint hum of the mini fridge and the soft rustle of the sheets as you shift in your sleep. Ellie sits on her bed, back pressed against the wall, one knee drawn up, her eyes locked onto you. You look so peaceful, chest rising and falling, lips slightly parted.

Her mind replays the way you moved today—how oblivious you were to her eyes on you as she trailed behind on campus (stalking you as always), watching the sway of your hips, the way your jeans hugged your curves just right. It was fucking unfair, really. You have no idea what you do to her.

Ellie exhales, sharp and quiet, her hand drifting down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her boxers. It’s not like you’ll wake up. And even if you did… well, she wonders if you’d let her show you just how long she’s been waiting.