Angelica @essensoft - Tumblr Blog

Apr 22, 2025

☆ ┆ SHE'S A LADY AND I'M JUST A LINE WITHOUT A HOOK. ellie williams — ❝ you can hold my hand if no one's home. ❞

CHAPTER 2 : i wanna be so much more. you help ellie with her studies and you start to grow fond of the auburn haired girl.

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featuring. college!ellie x afab!reader content warning ! loser!ellie x popular!student, not really any warnings, mostly fluff, ellie is pretty awkward. 5.9k words.

❀ not much happening yet, this is mostly reader and ellie bonding, im just establishing their dynamic for now, from chapter 3 it's where things start to get interesting, trust

The following days pass in a strange, unfamiliar rhythm. People still whisper when you walk past, eyes lingering a little too long, like they're waiting for something, maybe confirmation, maybe denial or just a spectacle but you've mastered the art of not giving people what they want.

What you weren't expecting was Ellie Williams becoming a recurring presence in your life.

At first it's small things, you catch her watching you in the halls, eyes darting away the second you would look back; then it's the way she lingers near the places she wasn't before, the library, the main courtyard, the coffee shop off campus, never close enough to be obvious but obvious enough for you to notice. Then she finally starts talking to you, not a lot, just a word here, a sentence there, awkwardly mumbling ‘hey’ when you pass each other. She never pushes, never forces herself into your space, if anything she seems hesitant, like she expects you to tell her to fuck off at any moment.

You don't and you don't know why. Maybe because Ellie is easy to talk to in a way most people aren't, she doesn't expect anything from you, she doesn't pry into your life or asks questions she has no business knowing the answers to. Maybe it's because, for the first time in a long time, you're curious about someone, so you let it happen.

It's late when you see her again, tucked away in a far corner of the campus library, the space is quieter now, students having thinned out as the night dragged on. You were just about to leave, stretching out the tension in your shoulders from too many hours of studying, when you noticed her.

Ellie is slumped over a table, one hand buried in her already messy hair, the other one gripping a pen like it personally wronged her, a single notebook is open in front of her, pages scrawled with half written notes and little doodles in the margins– guitars, stars, something that might be a dinosaur. She looks miserable and before you can think better of it, you walk over.

Ellie doesn't notice you until you're practically next to her, she startles, looking up in mild panic, like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't, “uh,” she says intelligently.

You raise an eyebrow, “you look like you're in hell.”

Ellie blinks at you, then she glances at her notes like she forgot they were even there. She exhales, slumping forward onto her arms, “feels like it,” she mutters.

You glance at the page in front of her, it's a mess, half of it is indecipherable, scratched out words and arrows pointing at other notes that don't make sense, you take a seat across her without thinking, “what class?”

Ellie hesitates before sighing, “chemistry.”

You look at her, “the one you almost burned down the lab in?”

She groans, dragging her hands down her face, “Jesus Christ, you too? That was like… months ago.”

You smirk, “i'm just saying, not a great record,” Ellie just mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘gonna kill Jesse’ before shaking her head and slumping further into the table. You don't know why, but the sight of her, clearly frustrated and exhausted, makes something in your chest tighten, you're used to seeing people at their best, their most polished. This is different. Real. “Alright,” you say, reaching for her notes, “let me see.”

Ellie stiffens, “what?”

“Your notes,” you say, already scanning them, “Jesus, Williams, how do you even read this?”

The girl next to you looks deeply offended, “hey, my system works.”

“This isn't a system,” you deadpan, “it's literally a crime scene.”

Ellie groans, rubbing her face, “you don't have to help me, y'know?”

You just shrug, “i know,” a beat of silence after your words and then you hear her mumble a quiet ‘thanks’ under her breath but you pretend to not hear it when she says it.

That night something shifts, you don't know what exactly, maybe nothing at all but when you're finally back at your dorm after helping Ellie your phone suddenly buzzes with a new message.

Unknown number

uhh hey it's ellie

i got ur number from the uni gc hope that's okay

It's fine

Unknown number added as Ellie W (uni)

cool cool

also thx for helping me earlier

ure scary smart

You smirk, hovering over the keyboard before typing.

Scary smart?

yeah like intimidatingly

but in a hot way

Your stomach flips at her text.

Did you just flirt with me through text?

attempted

did it work?

You bite your lip, staring at the screen.

Maybe :)

Three dots appear on the screen, then they disappear, then they come back. Ellie is hesitating. You smirk to yourself, settling back into your bed, phone warm in your hand.

fuck wait

hold on

i had something cool to say

give me a sec

Should i come back later??

i got this

Sounds fake but okay

There's another long pause, you can practically picture her, sitting in her dark room, hunched over her phone, probably frowning at the screen like she's trying to solve a math equation instead of, you know, holding a basic conversation.

okay

so whats up

You blink, that's it? That's what she spent all that time coming up with?

Wow, that was worth the way

shut up

i panicked

You don't say

look im not good at this okay?

i don't text people

ever

So I'm the first?

… maybe

no actually wait that sounds weird

not like in a creepy way

just like in a normal way

if that makes sense

It really doesn't

fuck

You bite back a smile, turning onto your side, curling into your blankets.

Relax, I'm messing with you

cool cool cool

i knew that

obviously

Obviously

You pause, watching the screen, wondering if she's gonna try again, if she's gonna give up, if she's gonna say something that makes this weird, the thought makes you regret even entertaining this idea.

A new message pops up.

u like music?

No. I hate it.

shit really?

Ellie.

oh wait ure being sarcastic

There you go

fuck off

Your grin widens, this is kind of fun.

What kind of music do you like?

oh umm

i dunno

stuff w guitars???

Wow, such an expert

ill have u know i play guitar

No way

yes way

Prove it

how the fuck am i supposed to do that over text?

Figure it out, Williams

There's a long pause, she doesn't type anything.

brb

You wait, confused, wondering if she's just given up entirely, then, out of nowhere, your phone buzzes with a voice memo. You hesitate before pressing play. There's some fumbling at first, the sound of fabric rustling, something being shuffled around, then a quiet, almost hesitant strum of a guitar. It's not perfect, some notes sound a little off, like she's nervous or playing too fast, but it's nice. Calming in a way.

After some silence, Ellie's voice comes through, soft and incredibly awkward, “uh yeah. So. That's a guitar. That i'm playing. Which is proof that i play guitar. Okay. Uhm. Bye,” the voice memo ends, you stare at your phone and you press play again.

Wow, truly masterful

shut up

No, really. The “uh” at the beginning? Inspired. The “bye” at the end? Groundbreaking

im blocking u

No, you're not

ure right

You bite back a laugh, staring at the screen, feeling something settle into place, something that feels weirdly easy, natural, like you've been talking longer to her than just a few days and some awkward words.

Do you always narrate everything out loud when you're nervous?

maybe

fuck off

Thought so

whatever

did u at least like it?

You pause. You could tease her again, could keep the back and forth going, watch her fluster herself into oblivion but then you remember the way her voice had wavered, how she sounded almost embarrassed, like she was second guessing herself even as she played.

Yeah, i did

You're good

────────────────────────────────────

Ellie doesn't text again for a few days after that message, which is… weird, not that you're waiting for it, not that you care but she'd been the one to start texting in the first place, and it's not like you shut her down or anything. So, what? Did she just change her mind? Decide she doesn't want to talk after all? The thought nags at you longer than it should.

By Thursday, you've convinced yourself you don't care.

By Friday, you're still thinking about it.

By Saturday, you're walking back to your dorm after grabbing a coffee when you spot her sitting outside one of the academic buildings, hunched over a sketchbook, a pencil tapping absently against her knee. The late afternoon casts long shadows across the pavement, catching in the strands of her messy auburn hair, her sweater is slightly too big, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal a tattoo on her forearm and faint ink smudges along her wrist. She doesn't see you, you could keep walking, could ignore the small tug of curiosity in your chest, let her exist in her weird bubble of loser awkwardness. But against all logic, you don't.

“Hey, Williams,” you say, stopping in front of her.

Ellie jerks so hard she nearly drops her pencil, “Jesus— what— hi,” she stammers, looking up at you like she just got caught doing something illegal.

You raise an eyebrow, “that was dramatic.”

She rubs the back of her neck, already avoiding your gaze, “didn't uh— didn't see you.”

“No kidding,” she looks down at her sketchbook, then quickly shuts it as if you were about to snatch it out of her hands, you tilt your head, “you draw?”

Her shoulders shrug, like it's not a big deal, if like she's already prepared for some type of judgment, “kinda. Sometimes.”

You nod, studying her for a beat, then casually take a seat on the bench beside her and she immediately goes rigid but you pretend not to notice, “so,” you say, stretching out your legs, “you gonna tell me why you ghosted me?”

Ellie seems to choke on her own saliva, “what?”

You glance at her, “you heard me.”

“I— i didn't ghost you,” she insists, clearly panicking, grabbing her sketchbook like it was a lifeline.

You can't help but raise a brow, “oh? So you just happened to stop texting out of nowhere?”

She opens her mouth, closes it, open it again, then finally she sighs and mutters, “i didn't know what to say,” her words catch you off guard, you'd expect an excuse, a half assed attempt to brush it off, not honesty. Ellie shifts uncomfortably under your silence, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve, “you're, like, really good at talking to people. And i'm uh. Not,” she says it almost like a confession, voice quiet, fingers still twitching the hem of her clothes.

Something tugs in your chest, you don't think before you move, you just nudge her foot lightly with yours, a small, barely-there tap. Ellie freezes, like, completely.

You fight the urge to laugh at her reaction, “relax,” you say amused, “i wasn't expecting poetic answers. You can just… talk. Or send tragic voice notes. Whatever works for you.”

Ellie exhales, low and measured, “you didn't mind that?” so quiet you almost miss it.

You shake your head with a soft smile at the corners of your lips, “no, it was cute,” and Ellie looks at you with wide eyes, if like you just told her the sky is green, then, almost instantly, she turns red, shoves her hands deep into her sweater and looks anywhere but you, you bite back a smile. It's actually impressive how red she is, her face flushed to the tip of her ears, like her skin is physically incapable of handling any kind for attention

“I– uh,” she stutters then stops, shutting her eyes for half a second before shaking her head like she's trying to reboot her entire system, “shut up.”

You blink at her, wide-eyed with feigning innocence, “i didn't say anything.”

Ellie scoffs with her eyes still not meeting yours, “yeah, well. You're thinking something.”

As an answer you hum, tilting your head, “maybe," she groans and tilts her head back against the bench, eyes shutting again like she's in actual pain, the reaction only makes your grin widen. “So,” you muse, studying her, “do you just malfunction every time someone's nice to you or is it just me?”

Ellie's head snaps back up, her green eyes narrowing in a glare, “i do not malfunction,” you flick your gaze to her hands, still jammed deep in her pockets, like she's physically restraining herself from doing something embarrassing. Then to the way she shifts in her seat, legs bouncing slightly, like her own body is actively working against her, you raise a single eyebrow, Ellie huffs, “okay, maybe a little.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “you're a bit of a loser.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters with voice low, still flustered and awkward, still so very Ellie. It's weirdly endearing.

You stretch your arms out, tilting your head back to look at the sky, the air is crisp, that perfect in between of autumn-cool, enough to make you tuck your sleeves over your fingers, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable; leaves rustle in the breeze, spinning in lazy circles, across the pavement, the campus hums faintly in the background, distant voices, footsteps, the occasional sound of a car rolling by. The silence between you isn't awkward, it's easy, natural.

Still, you break it, “so,” you say, shifting slightly to look at her, “you drawing anything interesting?”

Ellie tenses subtly, her shoulders tightening, fingers curling inside her pockets, you almost expect her to completely dodge the question, but she exhales and mutters, “not really.”

You give her a skeptical look, “can i see?”

She stiffens, “uh– no.”

You smirk, “that bad, huh?”

Ellie scowls, “it's not bad.”

“Oh?” you lean in slightly, peering over her shoulder, “then, what's the problem?”

She immediately yanks her sketchbook against her chest like it's some kind of top secret government file, “personal.”

You can't hold a laugh, holding your hands up in surrender, “alright, alright, no sketchbook invasions today,” Ellie eyes you warily, as if expecting you to lunge for it at any second, you roll your eyes, “relax, i'll keep your little secrets.”

Another beat of silence, the breeze picks up slightly, carrying the faint scent of coffee from somewhere nearby. Ellie shifts beside you, and you can tell something is brewing in her head, something she's debating whether or not to say.

“I wasn't actually trying to ghost you,” she says quietly, you blink turning to her, Ellie isn't looking at you, her jaw is tight, her fingers twitching against the edges of her sketchbook. She exhales, like forcing the words out is physically painful, “i just– sometimes i don't know what to say. And i figured you probably had like… actual people to talk to.”

Something tugs in your chest, you don't know why, but the words sit strangely, like they hold more weight than Ellie wants to admit, “you're an actual person, Ellie.”

She shifts uncomfortably, staring down at her lap, “yeah but like… you know what i mean.”

You do.

You tilt your head slightly, studying her, it's not hard to piece together what she's saying, what she thinks is obvious. That you're popular, well liked, surrounded by people who actually belong in your life, that she isn't one of them. Which is funny, because for some reason you want her to be.

You nudge her foot again, this time softer, “i meant what i said, you know.”

Ellie hesitates, “about what?”

You meet her gaze, “i wanna talk to you.”

Her throat bobs and barely above a whisper, she says, “oh…” then silence. The wind stirs the leaves, somewhere in the distance you can hear some laughs, Ellie still hasn't moved, for a second you wonder if she's actually broken this time, like full system failure, but then she clears her throat and looks down again, fidgeting with her frayed sleeve, “uh, cool.”

She really is nervous, tapping her fingers against her sketchbook, bouncing her knee, shifting in place like she wants to run but also doesn't want to leave. The movement is restless, jittery, like an animal caught between fight or flight, her entire body radiates nervousness, shoulders hunched, muscles tight.

You watch her for a moment, amused, taking in the way her fingers drum against the worn cover of her sketchbook in uneven, erratic beats. She's always like this, you've noticed, always buzzing, always on edge, like she's just waiting for something to go wrong.

“You always this awkward?” you ask, lips twitching into a smirk, “or is it just me?”

Ellie groans, dragging a hand down her face like she's trying to physically wipe away the embarrassment, “i swear i used to be normal.”

You raise a brow, tilting your head, “used to be?”

She hesitates, mouth twitching as if she's debating if she should be honest. With a resigned sigh, she mutters, “okay, maybe not normal but like… less of a fucking disaster.”

You snort, shaking your head, “well, i think it's cute.”

Ellie chokes, like full on chokes. A sudden, violent cough that nearly knocks the wind out of her, she sputters, hacking into her sleeve, her grip loosening on her sketchbook enough that it almost slips from her lap, her entire face goes bright red once again.

For a second, you actually think you might need to call for help, “Jesus,” you laugh with wide eyes, “breathe, Williams.”

The girl waves you off, still coughing, trying, but failing, to regain composure, “i'm– fine.”

You smirk, taking a sip from your coffee, “if you say so.”

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head, “you really need to stop saying shit like that.”

“Why?”

Ellie finally looks at you again, cheeks still tinted with pink, lips parted like she wants to say something but thinks better of it. Her eyes flicker before she drops her gaze, rubbing the back of her neck, “because,” her voice quieter now, “some of us don't have the mental stability to handle it.”

“Good to know.”

She groans, slumping against the bench, like she's trying to disappear into it, “i hate you.”

You just smile, watching the way she avoids your eyes, watching the way she fidgets with the hem of her clothes. For a while neither of you say anything, it feels nice and comfortable.

Ellie isn’t fidgeting as much anymore. She’s still tense in that way she always seems to be but there’s a difference now, a slight shift, like she’s settling, even if just a little.

You check your phone, a message from Hana popping on your lockscreen, asking you to go back to the dorm, you sigh, shoving your phone back into your pocket, “i should go.”

Ellie sits up slightly, posture stiffening, like she wasn’t expecting that, “oh. Yeah. Right.”

You stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “try not to die of embarrassment while I’m gone.”

Ellie glares, but there’s no real heat behind it, “no promises.”

You laugh, stepping away, tossing one last glance over your shoulder, “see you around, Williams.”

Ellie hesitates, “…see you.”

You turn, heading toward the dorms building, the sound of your footsteps fading as you disappear into the crowd. Ellie watches you go, the way you move, the way you disappear into the blur of students, the way you didn’t hesitate when you said see you around.

Her fingers tighten around the edges of her sketchbook, her heart hammers against her ribs.

What the fuck is she supposed to do now?

──────────────────────────────────

You don’t hear from Ellie for the rest of the day, not in person at least, she lingers in your mind, though. The way she fumbled over her words, the way she reacted to the smallest bit of teasing, how she looked at you like she couldn’t believe you were actually talking to her, it’s funny, in a way. She’s so awkward, so bad at hiding how flustered she gets, but there’s something about her that keeps pulling your attention back.

By the time you’re back in your dorm, laptop open, trying to focus on notes for your upcoming test, you realize you’re waiting.

For what, exactly?

Your phone buzzes, and you don’t even have to check to know.

hey

You fight a smile.

Hey

how’s ur night

It’s fine

Studying

You?

same

Are you actually studying?

kinda?

does it count if i’m staring at an open textbook but not actually reading anything

Not really

shit

well

i’m trying that counts for something right

Sure

There’s a pause, a long one, you assume the conversation is over since Ellie isn’t exactly the type to keep things flowing effortlessly but then your phone vibrates again.

do u wanna help me?

again…

Help you how?

with studying

y’know like the other day

since ur smart as hell and i’m dumb as fuck

I thought you were trying

i am

it’s just not working

That’s tragic

it really is

thoughts and prayers

Fine

But if I help you, you actually have to try

No half-assing it

deal

when

You glance at your schedule, thinking.

Tomorrow. Library, after class

cool

yeah

see u then

Try not to fail before then, Williams

Ellie doesn’t answer right away, when she finally does, it’s short.

no promises

You put your phone down, smiling to yourself before getting back to your work.

──────────────────────────────────

The next day moves at its usual pace, classes, assignments, the endless rhythm of routine but there’s an undercurrent of anticipation beneath it all. You don’t acknowledge it outright, don’t let it settle too deeply in your thoughts, but it lingers at the edges, an unspoken thing that refuses to fade. Ellie Williams.

You’re going to see her after class. Alone. And it shouldn’t be a big deal, it really shouldn’t be. You’ve helped people study before and you've helped her before, you’ve spent late afternoons cramming for exams with friends, tutoring classmates who needed a little extra help, staying late in the library to go over notes with someone who begged for a last-minute review session. It’s normal, something you’ve done a hundred times before but this feels different this time. Maybe it’s the way Ellie looked at you yesterday, like she wasn’t sure if you were real, like she expected you to disappear if she blinked too long, or the way she texts, so hesitant, so careful, like she’s constantly waiting for you to decide she’s not worth the effort.

She intrigues you. You’re not sure why, but she does.

By the time your last class ends, the quiet weight of the library calls to you, you shift your bag over your shoulder as you walk through the door, the scent of old paper and printer ink familiar in a way that feels grounding. The hum of hushed voices drifts through the aisles, the occasional rustle of a turning page filling the space between them, you scan the room, eyes drifting past occupied tables, past students hunched over laptops and stacks of books, until you see her.

Ellie is already there, she’s easy to spot, tucked away near the back, hunched over a table like she’s trying to disappear into it. Her sweater is slightly too big, the sleeves bunched around her wrists, the fabric worn soft from years of use, a battered notebook sits open in front of her, but she isn’t even pretending to look at it. Instead, she’s flipping a pen between her fingers, staring off into space with an expression that’s equally distracted and vaguely troubled.

You approach, setting your bag down with a quiet thump before sliding into the chair across from her, “you look so studious right now,” you tease.

Ellie startles, her pen slipping from her fingers, it clatters against the table, rolling toward you before coming to a stop near the edge. For a second, she just stares at it, then at you, then back at the pen, like she’s trying to process what just happened, “uh,” she clears her throat, straightening slightly, “yeah. Totally.”

A smirk tugs at your lips as you pick up the pen, twirling it between your fingers, “i can tell you’re working very hard.”

Ellie shifts in her seat, rubbing the back of her neck, she looks guilty, like a kid caught sneaking candy before dinner, “i was, uh– about to start.”

You lean forward slightly, placing the pen back in front of her, your voice laced with mock sternness, “good, because if i’m wasting my time, i’m going to be very disappointed, Williams.”

Ellie swallows, “right. Yep. Got it. No time-wasting.”

You raise an eyebrow, “so, what do you need help with this time?”

Ellie exhales sharply, shifting her attention to her notebook, she flips a page, then flips it back, Hesitates, “um. Well. Pretty much… everything?”

You sigh, resting your chin in your palm, “Ellie…”

She winces, “okay, okay. Specifically? Chemistry again. And maybe… some math, and also, like, writing essays. But other than that, i’m totally fine.”

You stare at her, “so… everything.”

Ellie groans, slumping forward onto the table, “i’m so stupid.”

You roll your eyes, nudging her book toward her, “you’re not stupid, you just don’t try.”

She peeks up at you from where her head is buried in her arms, her voice muffled, “i do try,” you give her a look, “…okay, i try sometimes,” she corrects, lifting her head just enough to meet your gaze.

You smirk, pushing your own notebook toward her, “then let’s start now,” Ellie stares at it like it might catch fire in her hands.

“…Right,” she mutters, picking up her pen, “starting now.”

The first twenty minutes are painful.

Ellie can’t sit still to save her life, she shifts in her chair every few seconds, adjusting her position like the fabric is bothering her, she messes with her sleeves, rolling them up just to pull them back down again, her fingers tap erratically against the table, first a steady rhythm, then an impatient drumming. Every time she stumbles over an answer, she rubs the back of her neck, muttering something under her breath and through all of it, she keeps sneaking glances at you, like she’s waiting for the moment you’ll finally snap, shove your books into your bag, and leave her to figure this out alone.

You obviously don't, instead, you slow down, breaking the concepts into manageable pieces, rephrasing things when she stares at you blankly. She listens, kind of. Her eyes are on you, but you can tell half her focus is elsewhere, you catch her zoning out more than once, gaze fixed on your mouth rather than the equations in front of her.

After the fourth time she does it, you sigh and lean back in your chair, “Ellie.”

She straightens so fast it’s almost comical, like a kid caught slacking off in class, “yeah?”

You narrow your eyes, “did you hear anything i just said?”

Ellie blinks, and for a second, you swear you can see the exact moment her brain scrambles for an answer, “uh,” a pause, “yes?”

You tilt your head, unconvinced, “then explain it back to me.”

Ellie’s mouth opens, closes, she glances down at her notes where she’s written barely anything, then back up at you, “so…” she drags out the word, stalling, “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell?”

Silence. You just stare at her, Ellie swallows, then gives you a weak thumbs-up.

You drop your head into your hands, “Jesus Christ.”

Ellie groans, dragging her palms down her face before slumping back in her chair, “i suck at this.”

“You don’t suck,” you mutter, rubbing your temples, “you’re just easily distracted.”

Ellie immediately sits up, offended, “i’m not distracted,” you arch a brow, “i’m not!” she insists, a little too quickly, she gestures vaguely at her notebook, where she’s written a grand total of three lines, “i just– my brain works different, okay? Like, sometimes i get it, and then other times my brain just says, nah, not today.”

You watch her for a moment, considering. She’s frustrated, more than she’s letting on, you can tell in the way her fingers tighten around her pen, the way she avoids looking directly at the textbook, like it’s mocking her. She wants to understand this, she’s just struggling to connect the dots.

With a sigh, you flip to a fresh page in your notebook, “alright, let’s try something different.”

Ellie watches as you start writing, her body leaning in slightly, like she’s trying not to seem too interested, her eyes flicker between your handwriting and your face, brow furrowing in concentration.

A minute passes before she mutters, almost like she doesn’t want to admit it, “…that actually helps.”

You glance up, surprised, “yeah?”

Ellie nods, then hesitates, “you– you don’t have to do all this, you know. I know you’re busy.”

You shrug, “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want to be.”

Ellie stares at you like she doesn’t quite believe it and bruptly, she looks away, ears turning pink, “oh. Cool.”

You fight back a smirk. She’s such a loser.

The next hour is… easier. Ellie still struggles, still groans dramatically every time she gets something wrong, but at least now she’s trying, she asks more questions, actually engages instead of letting her brain shut down completely. She fidgets less, too– still restless, still awkward, but at least she’s not actively trying to crawl out of her own skin.

By the time you both decide to wrap up, the library has emptied out significantly, the sun has set outside, the sky a deep navy, the overhead lights making everything feel quieter.

Ellie stretches her arms over her head, groaning, “i think my brain is officially fried.”

You smirk, gathering your things, “then my job here is done.”

Ellie watches as you sling your bag over your shoulder, rubbing the back of her neck again but this time, it’s different, like she wants to say something but can’t quite bring herself to.

You tilt your head, “what?”

She hesitates, “uh. Just– thanks. For, you know. Helping me not fail.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway, “you’re welcome, Williams.”

Ellie ducks her head, shoving her books into her bag like she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her hands, “guess i owe you one.”

You glance at her, amused, “you owe me two already.”

Ellie groans, dragging a hand down her face, “ugh, don’t remind me.”

You laugh softly, then gesture toward the exit, “c’mon, let’s get out of here before they kick us out.”

Ellie follows you out into the night, the cool air hitting your skin as the library doors shut behind you, for some reason, you don’t mind her company.

The air outside is crisp, the warmth of the day fading as the evening settles in, a cool breeze moves through the trees, rustling the leaves, carrying the faint scent of earth and distant cigarette smoke. The sky is caught in that in-between shade of blue, no longer the soft hues of dusk but not quite the full weight of night either, streetlights flicker on one by one, casting long, pale pools of light onto the pavement.

The two of you walk side by side, footsteps slow, unhurried. The quiet hum of campus fills the space between you, muffled voices from a group somewhere in the distance, the occasional car rolling past, the rhythmic clicking of someone’s bike chain as they pedal by.

It’s not an uncomfortable silence exactly, but there’s a weight to it, like something unspoken lingers in the air.

Ellie shoves her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunched, head ducked slightly forward, she looks weirdly tense for someone who just survived an hour of studying.

You glance at her, eyebrow raised, “you good?”

Ellie startles slightly, like she hadn’t expected you to say anything, which is ridiculous considering you’ve been talking to her for the past hour and a half.

“Oh,” she exhales, her breath visible in the cooling air, “yeah. Just–” she tips her head back slightly, gazing up at the sky, watching as the last traces of daylight bleed out into the dark, “i don’t know.”

You arch a brow, “that’s specific.”

Ellie huffs out a quiet laugh, low and breathy, “i mean, i just– it’s weird, i guess.”

“What is?”

She hesitates, then shrugs, “this. You. Hanging out with me.”

You blink, “we weren’t hanging out.”

Ellie scoffs, shooting you a look, “okay, well, you were helping me not fail, and I was making it as difficult as humanly possible. But still.”

You smirk, “you really think i’d waste my time if i didn’t think you were capable?”

Ellie makes a face, something between disbelief and mild panic. You can see the exact second your words register because the tips of her ears turn pink.

“I—i guess?” she clears her throat, looking away, kicking at a stray pebble on the sidewalk, “but, like, you didn’t have to. You could’ve just ignored me.”

You roll your eyes, “Ellie, you asked for help. I helped you. That’s how this works.”

“Yeah, but…” she hesitates again, dragging the toe of her shoe against the pavement, “you’re, like, you.”

You frown, “what does that mean?”

Ellie shifts, suddenly looking like she regrets speaking at all, “y’know,” she gestures vaguely, “you’re cool. And, like, normal.”

You stop walking, “Ellie.”

Ellie stops too, blinking at you, “what?”

“You do realize you’re a person, right?”

She furrows her brows, “Uh– yeah?”

“And that you’re not some loser at the bottom of the social hierarchy?”

Ellie’s expression twists, like she definitely doesn’t agree with that but isn’t sure how to argue it either, “i mean…”

You narrow your eyes, “Jesus Christ.”

Ellie rubs the back of her neck, “okay, I hear you, but also– ”

“Shut up, Williams.”

Ellie opens her mouth, then shuts it again, “…okay.”

You shake your head, amused, and start walking again, after a beat, Ellie follows. This time, the silence between you feels easier, the walk back is slower, more natural, the tension from before unraveling into something almost comfortable. Every now and then, you catch Ellie glancing at you like she wants to say something, but she never does.

By the time you reach the point where your paths split, she hesitates, shifting on her feet, the streetlight above flickers slightly, casting shadows across her face.

“So, uh,” she scratches absentmindedly at her forearm, eyes flickering to the ground, “guess i’ll see you in class.”

You nod, “yeah.”

Ellie hesitates again, then, in a rush, blurts out, “I’ll—i’ll text you. If i need, uh. More help.”

You smirk, “you mean when you need more help?”

Ellie groans, tipping her head back dramatically, “ugh.”

You laugh, taking a step back, “night, Williams.”

Ellie grumbles something under her breath, but she lifts a hand in a half-wave before turning, heading in the opposite direction. You watch her go for a second, then shake your head, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

What a fucking loser.

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