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๐ก๐จ๐๐ค๐๐ฒ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐๐ฒ๐๐ซ!๐๐๐๐ฒ ๐๐ง๐๐๐ซ๐ฌ๐จ๐ง ๐ฑ ๐ซ๐๐๐๐๐ซ ๐ฑ (๐ฆ๐ข๐ง๐จ๐ซ) ๐ก๐จ๐๐ค๐๐ฒ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐๐ฒ๐๐ซ!๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ข๐ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ข๐๐ฆ๐ฌ ใ
คโท college alternative universe character study on abby anderson/ellie williams rivalry and love triangles loosely inspired by the song savior complex by phoebe bridgers โท ๐ฐ๐จ๐ซ๐๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐ญ: 4.5k โท ๐ฐ๐๐ซ๐ง๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฌ: angst, friends to somewhat lovers to strangers, emotional infidelity sorta
ellie moves like she was built for this, like the ice is just another home she learned to make hers. you watch her from the stands, the cold biting at your fingers, but your blood runs warmโwarmerโburning, even, in the places where she exists in your thoughts.
she cuts across the rink like sheโs carving something permanent into it, something only she knows how to read. her skates slice through the frozen surface with a sound that makes your breath hitch, sharp and precise, and she barely wobbles when she turns, body tilting, all balance and grace wrapped in something rough-edged. her jersey is loose on her frame, shifting with her movement, the number on her back blurred with speed. you know it by heart anyway. know how she wears it, sleeves pushed up when sheโs warming up, helmet tilted back just enough that you can see the way sheโs grinning, sharp, wolfish, like she already knows sheโs going to win.
you watch the way her arms flex when she handles the stick, the way her hands moveโfast, practiced, like she was born knowing how to hold it. and when she shoots, thereโs a second, just a split-second, where time feels like it stretches out long enough for you to get caught in it, held hostage by the way she looks right thenโfocused, electric, untouchable.
when the puck hits the net, she doesnโt celebrate right away. she skates backward first, watching it settle, like she doesnโt trust it yet. only then does she turn, raises a fist, and through the metal cage of her helmet, you catch the smileโthe real one, the one that makes something inside you come undone.
she skates past where youโre sitting, and for a moment, just a breath of a second, her eyes flick to you. a glance, a heartbeat, a connection so fleeting it might not have happened at all. but you feel it. and in that moment, you swear she knowsโknows the way you watch her, the way you see her, the way you feel her victory in your own chest like it was yours to begin with.
abby anderson, the goalkeeper, is pissed. itโs noticeable in the way she standsโspine drawn tight as a bowstring, gloved hands flexing and clenching like sheโs imagining wrapping them around ellie williamsโ smug, grinning face. sheโs never one to tense after a win but thereโs no point to celebrate when the firefliesโ scoreboard ticks up at the hands of ellieโwouldnโt allow herself to cheer for a goal that comes from the auburn-haired phantom, slipping past defenses like she was never really there to begin with.
abigail has always been too busy behind closed doors, where there is no recognition, playing captain, barking orders, patching the holes left by her less disciplined teammates. too busy grinding her teeth down into something that could, with just a little more pressure, turn to fine white dust. because ellie doesnโt take this seriously. not in the way abby does. not in the way that sits heavy in her chest like an unspoken vow, a devotion carved into muscle and marrow. ellie plays like sheโs untouchable, like she belongs to the thrill aloneโto the victory laps, to the lazy tilt of a beer bottle after the game, to the laughter that rings through locker rooms long after abby has stormed out.
the blonde watches as ellie coasts past her teammates, her skates kissing the ice, that ever-present smirk curving her lips. sheโs not even winded. not even rattled. sheโs won and now can only be found loose-limbed and lazy in her stance, stick slung over her shoulder like this is all just some game to her. and it is. it always is. it should be to abigail too, if she were less tense.
but she isnโt. abby anderson is an anxious wrecking ball of a human and she feels the weight of it all pouncing at her shoulder blades: the hours of training, the bruises bloomed beneath gear, the ache in her muscles that never quite fades. she feels the sting of it worse now with this bitter ellie-shaped win, sharp and searing, watching the green eyed girl get away with it againโanother goal, another stolen moment of glory, another reason for her teammates to slap ellie on the back like she didnโt just drag all of abbyโs effort across the ice with a single, effortless strike.
their captain exhales sharply through her nose, fists curling. she wants to wipe that look off ellieโs face. wants to shove her against the boards until she takes this seriously, until she understands that thereโs more to the game than just the win, than just the celebration afterward. but ellieโs already skating away, head thrown back in laughter, arms raised in a careless kind of triumph. abby allows herself to wish then, just for a second, that the puck had found her features instead. that she could watch ellie take a hit, drop to the ice, see if sheโd still be grinning through the blood.
but then ellie turns, slightly, just enough, and meets abbyโs glare head-on. her lips twitch, and her expression sharpens with something knowing, something tauntingโabby realizes then that ellie already knows what sheโs thinking. and worseโshe enjoys it. in the midst of celebration, nobody catches the blonde banging her own puck against the goalโs border to have the metal clanking reverberate across her muscled body and claim it calm through this aggression.
โyou did great out there today, abs.โ your voice cuts through the static in her head, melodic and soft, the kind of softness that cushions impact, keeps things from breaking on collision. like an airbag between her and the inevitable crashout. abby blinks, as if surfacing from something, the roar of the rink still thrumming behind her ribs, but youโre here now, standing before her, dragging her back into the present.
sheโs finally sitting down, shoulders heavy with exhaustion, on the wooden bench in the middle of the locker room. the air still smells like ice and sweat and something sharperโfrustration, maybe, or the lingering taste of ellie fucking williams getting the last laugh again. but then thereโs you. and you look pretty, painted in twilight blue, shades of midnight smudged in twin streaks across your cheeks like festive war paint.
your hands are loose at your sides, decorative pompoms slipping between your fingers, the leftover remnants of enthusiasm, of cheers shouted into the cold air. abby wonders if you cheered for her. if your voice was in the sea of noise she mostly drowned out, too focused on the game, on the sting of losing control, of letting something slip through her fingersโof letting her slip through her fingers.
but youโre here now, looking at her like sheโs done something worth smiling over, and it twists something inside her, something she isnโt sure how to name. she watches the way your eyes trace her face, the unspoken question lingering there. she exhales, slow, stretching her fingers against her thighs before glancing up at you.
โyeah?โ her voice comes out rougher than she intends, but you donโt seem to mind. if anything, you soften even more, shifting your weight from foot to foot like youโre waiting for her to let you stay. and maybe itโs the way the dim locker room light catches on your skin, the way your gaze holds her steady when everything else feels like itโs slipping, but for once, abby lets herself lean into it. just a little. just enough.
โthanks,โ she mutters, and when you grin, bright and easy, like she just gave you something, she thinks maybeโjust maybeโsheโs okay with losing this tug of war, as long as youโre the one pulling her back from it.
is it really a loss if your teammate-slash-opponentโs girlfriend is the one cheering you up afterward? abby thinks not. if anything, it feels like a different kind of victory, one she wants to sink her teeth into. she should get a camera, frame the moment just rightโmake ellie fucking williams watch as her pretty little girlfriend softening up to her amongst completely empty stalls, offering her comfort that should belong to someone else. the thought emboldens her, sends something dark curling up her throat, something close to a laughโlow, rough, almost cruel. she bites it back before it can escape, before it can startle you, before it can turn the moment into something else. but it sits there, thick at the back of her tongue, waiting.
instead, she lets out a slow breath, rolls her shoulders like sheโs shaking off the game, shaking off the weight of losing, shaking off the ghost of ellieโs grin and the sharp, teasing edge of her gaze. she levels you with a half-smile, the kind that sits lopsided on her lips, unreadable, almost amused.
โwonโt you go celebrate with williams?โ she asks, voice dipping just enough to make it something more than casual. something leading. she watches you closely now, eyes dark and steady, waiting to see how you move, how you shift, how you react to the way her words curl in the space between you. itโs a test, maybe. or a taunt. or just curiosity, the slow-burning kind, the kind that wants to see how far she can push before you pull awayโor if you pull away at all.
โyeah,โ you say, soft, almost absentminded, like youโre testing the word out in your mouth before committing to it. then you clear your throat, straighten your shoulders, repeat it louderโfirmer, like saying it twice makes it more true. โyeah, i will! i just thought you didnโt seem too happy with the game even though we won, and i wanted to check up.โ
thereโs something tentative in the way you say it, a nervous giggle bubbling up after, light and awkward, like youโre trying to smooth out the edges of something unsaid. โwe used to be friends too, abs, you know.โ
abby raises an eyebrow, and the half-smile lingers, but it sharpens at the edges now, like a blade catching light. friends. the word lands heavy between you, thick with history, with all the things that have shifted and changed between then and now. you, standing before her in ellie williamsโ spare jersey. her, still gripping onto the remnants of a game she should have let go of the moment the final whistle blew.
โfriends, huh?โ she repeats, leaning back against the locker, arms crossing over her chest. her gaze doesnโt waver, doesnโt soften. if anything, sheโs studying you closer now, trying to peel back the layers of your hesitation, trying to see whatโs really underneath. because sheโs sure friends donโt look at each other like this. more so that friends donโt hesitate like theyโre caught in the space between running away and staying too long. and friends donโt come seeking each other out, all twilight blue and smudged war paint, when they should be celebrating with their girlfriend. so abby just hums, tilts her head slightly. โguess i mustโve missed that memo.โ
โdonโt be like that.โ the words drag themselves out of you, slow and tentative like a plead. fragile, something careful. youโre begging. that entertains the blonde, sheโs got furrowed eyebrows now, wondering what she might even say to that.
she furrows her brows, considering, turning the words over in her mind, tasting them, wondering what she might even say to that. because you were half-rightโmaybe you were friends. to you, at least. never to abby. abigail never let herself believe you could have been something so small, so insignificant, so weightless. friends. such an evergreen little label, something that fit into back pockets and yearbooks and group photos. something that was easy to say while you were never easy. you were a weight, heavy as gravity, pressing down on her lungs, her ribs, the space behind her teeth where words she never spoke still sat.
her dad used to stick glow-in-the-dark stars to her ceiling, and she would lie in bed for hours with her face tilted up, staring so hard her eyes ached, flicking the light on and off just to watch them glow, burning them into her retinas like theyโd stay forever. sheโd trace them with her fingertips, connect the dots into constellations that didnโt exist, whisper names for them under her breath. she wanted more, always more, begged for extra packs to scatter across her walls, to drown her bedroom in artificial starlight. you were so much like those ten-dollar stars, the ones that made her younger self dream. something so close, so tangible, yet so utterly untouchable. something bright in the dark, something she could stare at until her head hurt. but she didnโt really know much about space beyond her yearning, and ellie williams was in jackson college for fucking astronomy. of course youโd pick her. abby was sure you never even realized she was ever a choice.
you shift, just barely, like you feel the weight of her silence, the way sheโs watching you too hard, like sheโs trying to pin you down with nothing but her gaze. maybe she is. maybe she wants you still and blinking under it, just to see if youโll glow. but you donโtโyou fidget. adjust the grip on your pom-poms, shift your weight from one foot to the other, like youโre searching for solid ground.
โabby,โ you say, softer this time. thereโs something hesitant in it, something that makes her clench her jaw.
โwhat?โ her voice comes out rougher than she means it to.
you look at her for a long moment, like youโre figuring something out. like youโre trying to read the spaces between her words, the ones she doesnโt say, the ones sheโs swallowed down a thousand times before. โyou know i care about you, right?โ
abby scoffs, and itโs instinct more than anything, a sharp exhale of breath through her nose. โyeah, like how you care about the whole damn team, right? real comforting.โ
โno,โ you say immediately, too quickly. โnot like that.โ
and thatโthatโmakes something inside her go still.
her fingers curl into her jersey, her knee bouncing once, twice. she doesnโt look at you, just shakes her head slightly, like she doesnโt believe you, like she canโt believe you, not when youโve spent the whole season cheering for williams, not when youโre painted in twilight blue, not when youโre standing in front of her saying things that make her chest feel too tight.
โthen how?โ she finally asks, and itโs quiet, low, something almost vulnerable hiding in the edges of it. you hesitate. you open your mouth. then close it. and abbyโabby doesnโt know if she wants to hear it or if she wants to stop you before you can say something she canโt come back from. you sense her hesitancy at your open mouth, so you donโt say anything, not really. you let the silence stretch between you, thin as a thread, fragile as glass. and maybe you think thatโs an answer in itself, that the weight of unsaid things will fill the space where words should be. but all it really does is fuck with abbyโs head, lets the wind slip through the cracks and whisper things sheโs not sure are real.
because thatโs the thing about silenceโit plays tricks. it warps and distorts, lets her hear what she wants to hear, lets her believe in things that arenโt there. and right now, in this dim locker room, in the absence of anything concrete, abby thinks maybe sheโs imagining it all. maybe the way youโre looking at her isnโt what she thinks it is. maybe sheโs just another fool staring at plastic stars in the dark, making up constellations out of nothing. so when you finally do speak, soft and careful, your words barely settled in the air before she reacts, abby scoffs. sharp, abrupt. like sheโs trying to break something before it can settle in her chest.
โwhy do you hate ellie so much?โ the question hangs between you, heavier than the absence of sound ever was.
abbyโs eyes donโt waver, sharp and expectant. your question hangs in the air, waiting for her to crumble under it or push it away. you can feel her watching, feeling her way through the words you havenโt said yet. itโs like a game, and sheโs playing to win. โyou think i hate her?โ she asks, voice low but sharp, like sheโs already deciding what your answer will be.
you canโt help it. thereโs something in your chest that tightens. a knot you want to untangle, but itโs tangled in a way that feels impossible to explain. itโs too much, but itโs not hate. not exactly. not the way sheโs asking.
โno,โ you say, the word slipping out before you can stop it. it sounds smaller than you want it to, like it doesnโt cover everything. but itโs the truth, and the truth never feels like enough.
abbyโs eyes cut through you, searching. โthen what?โ she presses, voice cutting through the quiet between you two. โif itโs not hate, what the fuck is it?โ and you want to answer, to give her something that makes sense, something clean, but everything inside you is messy.
your voice is a whisper, soft but heavy, like itโs made of something fragile, something barely holding together.
โi donโt know,โ you breathe, like youโve been holding it back for too long, like itโs an answer youโve been circling but never let yourself say.
abby leans in a little, just a fraction, eyes still burning with something thatโs half curiosity, half hungerโlike sheโs waiting for you to break open, spill something she canโt quite reach, but needs to. her breathโs a little too loud in the space between you two.
โdonโt bullshit me,โ she mutters, her voice cracked, almost pleading, but she hides it with the roughness she wears like armor. sheโs watching you like she knows, like sheโs felt this weight pressing in, a little too close to the skin. you almost say something, almost open your mouth again, but instead, your eyes find herโher lips tight, jaw clenched, that glimmer in her gaze almost violent, and for a split second, you wonder if sheโs ever been this close to you, this close to whatever it is youโre holding back, if she could reach in and rip it all out, if youโd let her. but the thought hits you like a slap. you step back, just enough to stop her, your hand almost reaching for her wrist but pulling back, like youโre afraid youโll burn yourself on the skin of it.
โi canโt,โ you murmur, voice cracking, like itโs a confession you didnโt plan on making, didnโt mean to. itโs not an i donโt want to itโs an impossibility.
abbyโs eyes flicker, a quick flash of something raw, before itโs buried under layers of frustration. she leans against the lockers behind her, a wisp of a smile tugging at her lips, but itโs cold, hollowโlike a challenge she knows you wonโt take.
โellie, huh?โ her words are sharp, like theyโre meant to cut through you, a challenge you donโt want to answer, but you do anyway, because you canโt stop yourself, because the space between you and her feels like itโs suffocating you.
โyeah,โ you say, barely above a whisper, the word heavy with everything youโre not saying, with the things you wish you could, but donโt. you catch a flicker of something behind abbyโs eyes, some dark thought, something that feels too much like a promise, but she just nods, as if sheโs satisfied with the silence that follows, with the way youโre both standing there, waiting for the line to be crossedโbut it never is, and you donโt know if thatโs a relief or a regret.
the air hangs heavy between you, thick with unspoken things, with the weight of every word thatโs never been said. abbyโs gaze softens just a little, though she doesnโt let it showโdoesnโt let you see it. sheโs not one for softness, not when it means losing control of everything sheโs been holding onto. but itโs there, just beneath the surface, like a quiet ache sheโs learned to bury. and youโyouโre standing on the edge of something, on the verge of something you canโt name, canโt even admit to yourself.
you shift again, your feet restless, like they want to carry you away, but youโre rooted in this moment, anchored to it in a way that feels both necessary and terrifying. the silence between you two is louder now, more oppressive, until you can barely breathe through it.
โshe doesnโt even fucking care youโre not out there celebrating with her. thereโs probably a thousand girls drooling right now. i know. i know you fucking hate that. so why do you stay?โ the question spills out of abby before she can stop it, the words jagged and raw, like theyโve been clawing their way to the surface for far too long.
you blink, caught off guard by it, but thereโs no hesitation in the way she answers. no pause for thought.
โbecause i have to,โ you say, voice steady, even if thereโs a flicker of something beneath it. โbecause thereโs no way out, not yet.โ itโs not an answer. not really. itโs just another piece of the puzzle, another layer to peel back, but she doesnโt you to explain further. not now. not when you both know that the more you says, the more you reveal, the harder itโll be to keep anything inside. you glance down at your hands, at the pom-poms still gripped tightly in your fingers. you could go on pretendingโpretend like this doesnโt matter, like itโs just another conversation, just another moment. but it does matter. it matters more than youโre willing to admit, more than youโre ready to face. and maybe thatโs what scares you the most.
abby watches you, her expression unreadable, like sheโs waiting for you to make the next move, but youโre frozen. stuck in this space between you, caught in the tension of everything unsaid.
โellieโs not the problem, is she?โ abby says, her voice softer now, though it still carries that edge of something sharp. โitโs me. always been me.โ scoffs now โor rather, wonโt ever be me.โ
you look up at her then, meeting her gaze for the first time in what feels like forever. thereโs something in her eyes, something thatโs both daring and desperate, like sheโs daring you to see it, to understand it. and you do. you understand more than youโre willing to admit. but you donโt say it. not yet.
โno,โ you answer, and for the first time, it feels like the truth. โitโs not you. itโs us.โ and for a moment, itโs like everything stops. all thatโs left is the space between you and her, thick with everything you both know but canโt say. and you wonder if maybe thisโthis quiet understandingโis all youโll ever have.
โwhatever,โ the blonde breathes, but itโs not a dismissal. not really. itโs the kind of word you say when youโre not ready to face whatโs hanging in the air, when you canโt quite stand to look at it any longer. her back is to you now, but you can still feel the sting of her presence, the way her walls go up with a finality that leaves you aching. you want to stop her, to reach out, but your hands stay still.
the door closes softly behind her, and youโre left with the quiet hum of your own thoughts. the air in the room feels colder now, emptier. your breath shakes, but itโs the only sound you can hear. you wonder if youโre ever going to say what you need to. wonder if itโll ever be enough to fill the space between you two, to break through the distance youโve been building without even realizing it.
the phone rings, and the sound slices through the dim quiet of the locker room. itโs herโyou donโt need to look to know. ellie. you hesitate for just a moment, but itโs enough for her to speak first, her voice cutting through the distance between you like it always does. โwhat are you doing?โ her words are soft, but thereโs an edge, like sheโs asking more than the question implies. itโs a challenge, an invitation, a demand, all in one. โeveryoneโs waiting for you. get your ass out here.โ
you can hear the music in the background, the laughter, the cheer. and yet, sheโs calling you out of it, like sheโs the only one who matters, the only one you should be paying attention to. you donโt know what it isโmaybe itโs the way she says your name, or maybe itโs just the tone of her voice, like sheโs pulling you in, pulling you towards something youโre not sure youโre ready for. you lean back against the cold metal of the locker, feeling the weight of her voice settle in your chest, thick and unyielding. you can almost feel her presence, the way sheโs standing there, waiting for you to make the next move.
โelsโฆโ your voice comes out softer than you want it to, barely a whisper, but she doesnโt wait for you to finish.
โno excuses,โ she interrupts, her voice a little rougher now, but thereโs a hint of something beneath itโa kind of desperation, like she needs you there more than sheโs letting on. like she needs you now. โget the fuck out of that room. the partyโs already dead, and itโs even worse without you. donโt make me come in there and drag you out.โ you can almost see her smirk, the way sheโs half-joking, but you know sheโs not. you know she means it. she always means it when it comes to you.
and youโre torn, caught between wanting to stay where you are, lost in the silence, and needing to go, to be where she is, even if itโs only for a moment. you exhale a shaky breath and glance at your reflection in the locker room mirror, the tension of everything youโve been holding back hanging heavy on your shoulders. โiโll be there soon,โ you say, the words barely forming, like theyโre too fragile to hold.
thereโs a pause on the other end of the line. itโs brief, but it feels like a lifetime, like sheโs waiting for something more, something deeper, something youโre not sure youโre ready to give. then she speaks again, and this time, her voice softens, like itโs just for you. like youโre the only one who matters in that moment.
โhurry up, alright?โ itโs a command, but thereโs tenderness underneath it, a quiet plea, like sheโs unraveling just a little for you. the call ends, and the silence returns, but it feels different now, heavy with everything that was unsaid, everything that should have been said but never was. and as you stand there, staring at your reflection, you wonder if this is the moment youโve been waiting for. the one where you stop pretending, stop hiding in the locker room, and finally step into the chaos of the party thatโs waiting for you. waiting for both of you.
but even now, you canโt shake the feeling that once you step out, everything will be different. that everything will change in ways you canโt control, no matter how much you try to keep your distance.
