Ellie knows this is a bad idea.

Not in a vague way. Not in a “maybe this could go wrong” way.

Like… a very obvious, very real, she-should-not-be-doing-this kind of way.

You’re her best friend’s girlfriend.

That’s it. That’s the whole situation.

It should end there.

But it doesn’t.

Ellie doesn’t even remember when it started.

Maybe it was the first time you came over, sitting a little too close on the couch, smiling at her like she wasn’t just your girlfriend’s awkward friend in the corner.

Maybe it was the way you laughed at something she said — like actually laughed, not just polite — and it caught her so off guard she forgot how to respond.

Or maybe it was just… everything after that.

Now it’s constant.

She notices the dumbest things.

The way you say her name. The way you look at her when she’s talking, like you’re actually listening. The way you sometimes sit next to her instead of next to your own girlfriend.

And Ellie doesn’t know what to do with that.

So she gets weird.

She stumbles over her words when you talk to her.

Laughs at the wrong time.

Starts saying something and then immediately regrets it halfway through.

Avoids eye contact—

and then looks anyway.

It’s embarrassing.

Like, painfully obvious to her.

But somehow… no one says anything.

Except sometimes it feels like you notice.

That’s the problem.

Because every once in a while—

you’ll look at her a little too long.

Or your hand will brush hers and neither of you pull away right away.

Or you’ll say something small, something normal, but the way you say it feels… different.

And Ellie’s brain just short-circuits.

She writes about it instead.

Her notebook is a mess.

Pages filled with crossed-out sentences. Your name written and scribbled over immediately. Half-formed thoughts she doesn’t even understand herself.

She keeps it hidden. Always.

Especially from you.

One night, the three of you are hanging out in your best friend’s room.

It’s normal. It’s always supposed to be normal.

Ellie’s sitting on the floor this time, back against the bed, guitar in her lap. She’s not really playing — just picking at the strings absentmindedly, trying to look busy so she doesn’t have to talk too much.

You and your girlfriend are on the bed above her, talking about something she’s definitely not listening to.

Because she can feel you.

Not in a weird way.

Just… aware.

Like she knows exactly where you are without looking.

And then she does look.

Just for a second.

And you’re already looking at her.

Ellie immediately looks away.

Too fast.

Her fingers slip on the strings, making a dull, awkward sound.

“Shit—” she mutters under her breath, adjusting her grip like that’ll fix anything.

Her heart is beating way too fast now.

For no reason.

No good reason.

She risks another glance.

You’re still looking at her.

Not confused.

Not distracted.

Just… looking.

Ellie swallows, shoulders tensing slightly.

She doesn’t smile.

Doesn’t know how to.

Because something about it feels too real.

Like you see her.

Not just as your girlfriend’s friend.

Not just as the quiet, awkward girl in the room.

Just… her.

And that’s terrifying.

Because if she’s wrong, she ruins everything.

But if she’s right—

Ellie has no idea how to handle that.