Their patrol started like most of them did.
Cold morning air. Frost still clinging to the fence posts outside Jackson’s gates. Horses shifting under their saddles while they waited for the rest of the riders to clear out.
Ellie leaned back slightly in her saddle, nudging Dina’s boot with her own.
“You’re taking point today,” Ellie said.
Dina squinted at her. “Why?”
“Because last time you made me ride into a spider web the size of a dinner plate.”
“You saw it and didn’t say anything.”
“I thought you liked nature.”
Ellie scoffed. “I like nature when it’s not trying to crawl into my mouth.”
Dina laughed, shaking her head as she nudged Japan forward. “You’re so dramatic.”
The morning passed easily after that.
They checked the north trail markers, rode the ridge line where the old watch tower used to stand, and cleared a small stretch of road where winter winds had dropped a dead pine tree across the path.
Their banter bounced back and forth the whole time—Ellie giving Dina grief for almost smacking her with a tree branch, Dina pointing out that Ellie had walked straight past a perfectly obvious set of deer tracks.
By midday they stopped near the river, letting the horses drink and graze while they shared a canteen and a horribly smashed sandwich Ellie had shoved into her pack that morning.
“Gourmet,” Dina said around a bite.
“You’re eating it, aren't you?"
“Only because starvation seemed worse.”
But as the afternoon stretched on, something shifted.
At first Dina didn’t really notice it.
Ellie still answered when she spoke. Still pointed out tracks when they crossed the trail. Still rode alongside her like always.
But the jokes came less frequently.
Then the sarcasm faded too.
By the time the sun started dipping behind the trees and they headed back toward Jackson again, Ellie had gone mostly quiet.
Dina glanced over at her.
Ellie sat a little slouched in the saddle, one hand resting loosely on the reins. Her eyes were fixed ahead on the road.
“You ok over there?” Dina asked.
Ellie blinked like she’d been somewhere else entirely.
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Just tired.”
Dina hummed, accepting that for the moment.
They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the familiar walls of Jackson rising into view as dusk settled over the valley.
Once inside the gates they headed straight for the stables.
Ellie dismounted first, leading Shimmer inside. The routine was automatic—unsaddle, brush down, fresh water, quick check of the hooves, snacks.
“You wanna watch a movie later?” she asked casually, tightening the strap on her saddle as she set it on the stall rail. “Jesse found an old horror flick in the library stash. Said it’s supposed to be good.”
“Nah,” she said after a second. “I’m beat, think I’m just gonna go to bed early.”
Ellie was a habitual night owl. The kind of person who would stay up until two in the morning messing with a guitar or reading some half-burned comic she’d found.
“Alright,” Dina said, though the word came out slower than she meant it to.
Ellie finished feeding her horse an extra carrot and gave her a final pat on the neck.
“See you tomorrow, Shim. Be good,” she added.
They turned in their gear together, setting the rifles and ammo back in the armory rack. When they stepped outside again, the town lights were flickering on one by one.
At the fork in the path where they usually split off, Ellie shoved her hands in her jacket pockets.
“Good night,” she said lowly.
Ellie headed toward her garage, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold.
Dina watched her for a second.
Something kept tugging at her—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
But after a moment she shook it off and turned in the other direction, heading toward Jesse’s place.
Ellie had said she was tired.
Dina figured that was all it was.
The next morning, Dina is sitting on a bail of hay in the stables halfway through retying her boots when Maria finds her.
“Change of plans. Ellie’s come down with something so you’re riding with Ty today.”
The words didn’t sit right.
Ellie’s patrol record was solid— even if most of that reliability had been born more out of stubbornness than maturity. Ellie had powered through sore throats before. Bruised ribs. Split knuckles wrapped in gauze beneath her gloves. Dina had seen her ride out with a shoulder so stiff she could barely lift her rifle without wincing—and she’d still refused to miss a shift.
This was the same Ellie who’d stitched herself up at the kitchen table without blinking. Just gritted teeth with a sarcastic, “Hold the flashlight steady.”
Dina tried not to let her face show her concern, just nodded and adjusted her backpack.
The patrol with Ty was uneventful—too uneventful. Dina found herself listening for a familiar sarcastic comment that never came, glancing to her left expecting a mop of auburn hair and sharp green eyes. Ty filled the silence with small talk, but it felt more like static.
By the time she made it back inside Jackson’s walls, dusk was settling heavy over the mountains.
She stopped by the mess hall to snag some bread then swung past the infirmary to grab some old-ass Tylenol “just in case.” Then finally headed home to shower off the cold and grime of the day.
Once clean and warm, Dina pulled on soft pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, tied her wet hair back in a loose bun, and made her way a few streets over to Ellie’s.
The first thing she saw after stepping through Joel’s gate made her snort.
A hand-drawn sign was taped crookedly to the side door of the garage:
Sketched below it, a very dramatic skull and crossbones—uneven, slightly lopsided, and unmistakably Ellie’s handiwork.
Dina shook her head, smiling despite the knot in her stomach. “Idiot.”
She knocked again, louder this time. “El?”
She tried the handle and let out a sigh of relief when it turned, stepping inside.
The garage was dim, washed in the last thin streaks of evening light filtering through the curtained window. The air was cold enough to bite. The wood burner sat empty.
On the couch, a still shape.
She set her backpack down gently and slipped out of her boots and coat, movements careful in the hushed silence. Crossing to the wood burner, she stacked a few logs and struck a match. The flame caught slowly, then grew, casting a warm orange glow that pushed back the shadows.
Only then did she step closer to the couch.
Ellie was flat on her back, hood pulled up over her head, gray sweatpants bunched at her ankles. Her hands were tucked awkwardly against her stomach, fingers pale. Even in the flicker of firelight, Dina could see it—her lips slightly chapped, face flushed but somehow drained at the same time.
Not dramatic, not exaggerated. Just small, involuntary tremors that shook through her frame.
Dina’s heart dropped straight to the floor.
Ellie had always seemed carved from something unbreakable. Even when she was hurting, she masked it with stubborn pride and crooked humor. Seeing her like this—unguarded, vulnerable in sleep—felt wrong. Like the world had tilted.
She crossed to the bedroom, grabbed the thick comforter from the bed, and returned. Carefully, gently, she spread it over Ellie, tucking it around her shoulders. The shivering eased a fraction under the added layer.
Dina brushed her fingers lightly against Ellie’s forehead.
“You’re such a terrible liar,” she murmured softly, before adding a mocking “ ‘I’m just tired.’ ”
Dina slid the worn beanbag chair from its usual corner by the TV to the other side of the coffee table, close enough to reach out if she needed to. She sank into it, elbows on her knees, watching the rise and fall of Ellie’s chest in the firelight.
The garage filled slowly with warmth. The only sounds were the soft crackle of wood and the faint hitch of Ellie’s breathing.
Dina leaned back, eyes never leaving her.
For once, Ellie wasn’t braced for a fight. Wasn’t sharpening a knife or checking ammo or pretending she didn’t need anyone.
She looked young. Too young.
Dina swallowed hard, reaching forward to gently pull the comforter higher under Ellie’s chin.
Then leaned back, keeping vigil as the fire burned brighter and the night settled in around them.
The fire had burned low by the time Ellie started to stir.
At first it was subtle—a shift of her head against the couch cushion. A faint murmur, words too tangled to make sense of. Her brow knit together beneath the hood, breath hitching unevenly.
Dina was upright instantly.
She’d dozed, but only lightly—every crackle of the fire and change of Ellie’s position keeping her hovering just above sleep. Now she was on her knees beside the couch, heart thudding.
Ellie mumbled again, something fractured and soft, like she was arguing with someone in a dream. Her body trembled harder under the comforter.
Dina pressed her palm gently to Ellie’s cheek and her breath caught. She was burning up.
“Okay,” Dina murmured, trying to keep her voice steady. “Enough of this shit.”
She brushed her thumb along Ellie’s cheekbone, slow and soothing. The skin flushed and hot beneath her touch. “El.”
Her head rolled slightly to the side, lips parting as a shaky exhale left her. The tremors worsened, a strange contradiction—fever heat and cold shivers battling it out.
Dina swallowed and slid one hand to Ellie’s shoulder, giving her a gentle shake.
The fear crept in then—sharp and unwelcome. Ellie had slept through storms, through hangovers, through Jesse blasting music. But this felt different. Heavy.
Dina shook her again, firmer this time.
A strained sound left Ellie’s throat. Her face twisted faintly, like surfacing through something thick. Her lashes fluttered but didn’t open.
“Hey.” Dina leaned closer, voice firm, but gentle underneath. "Let me see those beautiful green eyes.”
It was out before Dina could stop herself, but she didn't care.
She won't remember that anyways.
It took effort. More than it should have, but finally, Ellie’s eyes cracked open.
They were unfocused at first, glassy and disoriented. She squinted up at the dim ceiling like she didn’t recognize it.
“…D?” Her voice was rough, barely there.
Relief hit Dina so fast it almost made her dizzy.
“Yeah, it’s me," she brushed the damp hair from Ellie’s forehead.
Ellie blinked slowly, trying to piece together where she was. Her breathing came shallow and she winced faintly as if even that hurt.
“You’re…not supposed to be in here,” she mumbled weakly, brow furrowing. “You're going to get sick... I'm quarantined.”
Despite everything, a small huff of laughter escaped Dina. “Oh yeah? Is that your official policy?”
Ellie tried to shrug but barely managed it. “Highly contagious. Very dramatic.”
Her teeth chattered mid-sentence.
Dina’s expression softened immediately. She slid one hand along the side of Ellie’s neck.
“You’re burning up,” Dina said quietly. “How long have you felt like this?”
Ellie closed her eyes again like answering required too much energy. “Mmm fine, just tired.”
“You're so full of shit your eyes are turning brown.”
Ellie didn’t argue this time. Her body sagged into the couch, eyes half-lidded, struggling to stay open. Dina kept her hand steady at the side of her neck, grounding her.
“Nope, I need you to stay awake a little longer.”
“I’m freezing,” Ellie muttered, teeth chattering together.
“Because you have a fever,” Dina shot back softly. “Your body’s confused. We need to cool you down.”
Ellie frowned at her like that made absolutely no sense. “That’s…rude.”
Dina peeled the comforter back despite the weak protest that followed. The second the cool air hit, Ellie sucked in a sharp breath and tried to curl in on herself.
“I know,” Dina murmured. “I know. Just trust me.”
She slid an arm behind Ellie’s back and helped her sit up. It took more effort than it should have; Ellie sagged heavily against her, all dead weight and heat. Dina steadied her, feeling the heat radiating through the hoodie.
Ellie made a low sound of complaint but didn’t resist.
Dina reached for the glass of water she’d poured earlier, shaking two Tylenol into Ellie’s palm.
“Take ’em,” she said firmly, leaving no room for debate.
Ellie looked at the tablets like they were a personal insult. Normally she’d argue. Normally she’d have something sarcastic to say. But she must've been feeling terrible because tonight she just popped them into her mouth and accepted the glass, swallowing the water in long, obedient gulps, before handing it back without a word.
Dina set it aside and dropped to her knees in front of her.
Ellie blinked down at her slowly. “What’re you doing?”
Dina reached for the hem of the hoodie. “Lowering your temperature so you don’t fry that pea brain between your ears.”
Ellie narrowed her eyes faintly. “It’s a perfectly functional brain, thank you.”
Before Ellie could protest further, Dina tugged the hoodie up and over her head. It took a second to maneuver it past Ellie’s arms, but eventually it came free. The fabric on the back damp with sweat.
The cool air hit Ellie’s overheated skin and immediately goosebumps rose along her arms.
“I’m freezing,” Ellie insisted, though her voice wavered.
“That’s the fever talking,” Dina replied gently, reaching for the hem of her damp t-shirt. "Arms up."
"I can't sit here in just a bra, I'll die. "
"Relax, you just need to swap it for a dry one," Dina explained, lifting the fresh t-shirt in question as proof. Ellie nodded and clumsily yanked her shirt up and pulled on the new one. "See."
Dina brushed her knuckles lightly down Ellie’s arm before moving to her feet. Carefully, she peeled the socks off one at a time, dropping them beside the couch. Ellie’s toes flexed against the sudden cool.
Then Dina pushed the gray sweatpants legs up to her knees, exposing more flushed skin.
Ellie watched her through heavy lids, something softer creeping into her expression beneath the fever haze.
“You're bossy,” she murmured.
Dina glanced up at her, brow raised. “You love it.”
A faint ghost of a smile tugged at Ellie’s mouth before she shivered again.
Dina rose and pressed her palm lightly to Ellie’s shoulder. “I'll be right back, don’t you dare pass out on me yet.”
Ellie’s eyes were already drifting. “…Wasn’t planning on it.”
Dina lingered for half a second longer, thumb brushing over Ellie’s flushed cheek.
She disappeared into the small kitchenette area and came back a minute later with a bowl of cold water and a clean cloth.
Ellie had slumped back against the couch cushions, eyes half-closed.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Dina warned gently.
“Mmm not,” Ellie mumbled, which sounded suspiciously like she absolutely was.
Dina wrung the cloth out and draped it carefully across Ellie’s forehead. The reaction was immediate—Ellie inhaled sharply at the chill.
Kneeling beside the couch, she began to dab gently at Ellie’s flushed cheeks, her jaw, the curve of her neck where heat pooled beneath the skin.
She rinsed the cloth again, the water now warmer from Ellie’s skin, and laid it carefully across her forehead. She adjusted it so it rested just right, then brushed her fingers lightly through Ellie’s damp hair, pushing it off her temples.
Dina’s chest tightened again at how small she looked sprawled across the couch with goosebumps prickling her overheated skin, she looked fragile in a way Dina wasn’t used to seeing.
“I’ll make you something,” she said softly.
Ellie cracked one eye open. “If it’s vegetables, I’m staging a protest.”
Dina turned back to the stove and set a small pot on, moving with quiet familiarity. She added herbs from a little pouch in her backpack—things she’d grown up with. The scent began to rise into the air; mint, a hint of ginger, something floral and warm.
When she brought the steaming mug over, she sat on the edge of the coffee table.
“My mom used to make this whenever we got sick,” Dina said, wrapping Ellie’s hands around the mug to warm them properly. “She swore it was magical.”
Ellie’s brows lifted faintly. “Magical, huh?”
“Mmhmm. Claimed it chased fevers out and scared colds away,” Dina smiled softly at the memory. “I believed her too because every time she made it, I felt better afterward.”
Ellie studied her face instead of the cup for a second, something tender flickering there.
“Maybe it was magic,” Ellie murmured.
“Maybe it was,” Dina replied quietly.
She lifted the mug slightly so Ellie didn’t have to. Ellie took a careful sip, then another. The steam curled around her face and some of the tension in her shoulders eased.
They sat like that for a while—Ellie drinking slowly, Dina steadying the cup when her hands trembled.
When it was empty, Dina set it aside.
Ellie’s eyes were drooping heavily again.
“Can I lay back down for a bit?”
The question was so uncharacteristically soft it almost broke Dina’s heart.
“Yeah,” she answered immediately. “Rest.”
She helped Ellie shift carefully, easing her down onto her back once again. Dina adjusted the pillow under her head and replaced the cool cloth with a freshly wrung one.
Ellie sighed as she settled, the sound small but content.
Dina pulled the comforter back over her, lighter this time, making sure her legs were still uncovered enough to keep cooling her down.
She brushed her fingers once more over Ellie’s cheek.
“Sleep,” Dina whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Ellie’s hand drifted weakly from beneath the blanket, catching Dina’s wrist for just a second before falling back.
Dina stayed right there beside her as Ellie slipped under again, the fire crackling softly, the faint scent of herbs lingering in the warm air.
When Ellie surfaced again, it was easier.
No shivering. No suffocating heat pressing in from every direction. Just the slow, quiet drift upward from deep sleep.
She blinked at the ceiling for a second.
The pounding behind her eyes was gone. The ache in her bones had dulled to something manageable. Her skin felt normal—no longer slick with sweat, no longer burning and freezing at the same time. She took a cautious breath.
Her chest still felt a little tight, like she’d run too far in cold air, but it was better.
“Huh…” she murmured softly to herself.
The fire in the wood burner had burned down to glowing embers, casting a low amber light across the garage. The air felt warm but not stifling.
Ellie turned her head slowly.
Curled awkwardly in the worn beanbag chair, chin tipped toward her chest. One arm was tucked beneath her cheek at an uncomfortable angle. The spare quilt had clearly been pulled over her at some point but had slid half off, pooling around her waist.
Her hair had fallen loose from its tie, strands brushing her face. Even in sleep, her brows were faintly drawn together like she hadn’t fully relaxed.
Ellie stared at her for a long moment.
The memory trickled back in pieces—the cool cloth. Dina’s hands steadying her. The tea. The quiet story about her mom’s “magical” remedy. The way she’d said I’ve got you like it wasn’t a question.
A warmth spread through her chest. Slow. Steady. Familiar.
Appreciation, yes, but there was something else threaded through it. Something heavier. Softer.
Something she wasn’t brave enough to name.
She shifted carefully, the movement causing the couch to creak softly.
And Dina stirred instantly.
Even half-asleep, her head lifted, eyes blinking open as if she’d been waiting for that exact sound.
“Ellie?” Her voice was thick with sleep and concern in equal measure. She pushed herself upright, quilt slipping fully to the floor. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I think…I think the fever broke.”
Dina crossed the space between them in seconds to press her palm to Ellie’s forehead, then to her cheek.
“You’re cooler,” she breathed, shoulders sagging in visible relief.
Ellie huffed faintly. "I always was.”
But Dina was smiling—small, tired, genuine.
Ellie reached out before she could overthink it, catching Dina’s wrist lightly.
For a second neither of them said anything.
Ellie’s thumb brushed absentmindedly against Dina’s skin, grounding herself in the reality of her standing there. She looked at the faint crease on Dina’s cheek from where she’d slept awkwardly. The way she was still hovering like she’d spring into action at the slightest sign of trouble.
“You didn’t have to come over,” Ellie said quietly.
Dina’s expression softened, but her answer came easy. “Yes, I did.”
That warmth in Ellie’s chest flared again—stronger this time. Almost overwhelmingly so.
She looked away first, because holding Dina’s eyes felt dangerous in a way fever never had.
“…thank you,” she muttered.
It wasn’t nearly enough for what it meant to her.
But Dina seemed to understand anyway.
She squeezed Ellie’s hand gently before letting go. “You hungry?”
Ellie considered it. “…maybe.”
“Good," Dina nodded with a smirk, rising to her feet and heading for the small kitchenette. “One large plate of veggies coming up!”
“I will literally riot, Dina!”
“Relax,” Dina chuckled already rummaging through the small refrigerator when Ellie pushed herself up a little higher against the cushions.
"You don’t have to go through the trouble,” Ellie called, her voice still rough but steadier now. “I’m fine. I can just...eat tomorrow.”
Dina glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow arching.
“It’s no trouble,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips.
Ellie huffed softly. “You say that now..."
"Trust me, after nursing Jesse through the flu last winter, this is nothing.”
“Ugh, that sounds exhausting.”
“It was,” Dina replied easily, turning back to the counter. "He's such a baby."
Ellie watched her move around the tiny space—lighting the stove again, pouring what looked like broth into a small pot and buttering a couple slices of bread like she’d done it a hundred times. There was something steady about her movements. Unhurried. Certain.
Like this was exactly where she was meant to be.
Ellie let her head tip back against the couch, listening to the quiet clink of a frying pan and the soft hiss coming from the pot.
“You could’ve just left it at the tea,” Ellie said after a moment. “That was already…above and beyond.”
Dina paused briefly, then resumed stirring.
“My mom used to say you feed a fever when it breaks,” she replied. “Gives your body something to work with.”
Ellie smiled faintly. “Your mom had a saying for everything, huh?”
There was fondness there. And a flicker of something more complicated that Dina smoothed over quickly.
After a few minutes passed, Dina shuffled back into the living room with a plate stacked on top of a bowl in one hand and a fresh glass of water in the other, carefully setting them on the coffee table before helping Ellie sit up again. Her hand hovered at Ellie’s back a second longer than necessary, just to make sure she was steady.
"Just take it slow,” Dina instructed. “If you spill anything on my couch, I’m going to cry.”
Ellie shot her a look. “Your couch?”
"Pretty sure I spend more time on it than you do."
"Fair," Ellie snorted weakly, then winced at the lingering ache in her chest.
Dina noticed immediately. “Is it tight?”
“A little, but better than this morning.”
Dina’s expression softened again and adjusted the pillow behind Ellie, handing her the spoon.
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” she said quietly, stepping back towards the kitchen. “I think you’re past the worst of it though.”
Ellie's gaze shifted from Dina's retreating form to the food in front of her. A grilled cheese cut neatly in half, the edges golden and crisp sat beside a bowl of soup, steam still curling gently from the surface, the aroma making her mouth water.
Ellie blinked at it for a second. "Wow.”
Carefully, she leaned forward and picked up the sandwich first. The bread warm in her hands and took a tentative bite.
The crunch was perfect, the cheese deliciously melted.
“Damn,” she muttered under her breath.
She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the food hit her stomach. The soup followed—slow spoonfuls, the warmth spreading through her and settling in a way that made her shoulders relax.
Across the room, Dina was rinsing dishes, pretending not to watch her every move.
She glanced up over the rim of the bowl, catching Dina’s reflection faintly in the small window above the sink. Dina’s posture was casual, but held the same quiet attentiveness she’d had all evening.
“You know,” Ellie said after a moment, voice still a little rough, “if the whole patrol thing doesn't work out, you could open a diner. Give Seth a run for his money.”
Dina looked over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, the soup’s delicious. Grilled cheese is elite.”
“High praise coming from someone who once ate a can of beans with a screwdriver.”
Ellie pointed her spoon at her. “That was survival.”
Ellie chuckled, then leaned back against the couch again, bowl balanced in her hands.
For a few quiet minutes, the only sounds were the soft clink of the spoon and the low crackle from the wood burner.
Ellie stared down at the broth, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Thank you,” she said quietly. "For everything."
Dina didn’t make a big deal out of it. She just dried her hands on a towel and leaned against the counter. For a fleeting second, something crossed her face—soft and unguarded. Dina’s eyes lingered on her in a way that felt…different. Warmer than simple concern.
But then it was gone as quickly as it appeared, tucked away behind that familiar easy composure.
“Someone had to keep you from dying dramatically alone on your couch,” she said lightly as she settled back into the worn beanbag chair.
Ellie shook her head, amused, but the warmth in her chest had nothing to do with the food.
Sometimes Ellie thought she saw something spark between them—little looks, small touches, moments that lingered longer than they should.
And every time she started to believe it might mean something, she reminded herself Dina was with Jesse.
She took another bite of grilled cheese and glanced over at her again.
Dina looked tired. Not the normal end-of-patrol tired either. The kind that came from sitting up for hours, fretting over someone you cared about.
"I don't remember much from earlier…I was pretty out of it,” she said quietly, "have you been here since you got home from patrol?"
Dina shrugged one shoulder. “More or less.”
Ellie huffed softly. “You could’ve gone home and rested.”
“Yeah,” Dina said lightly, “I could’ve.”
Ellie rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly unsure what to do with the feeling building inside herself. Gratitude came easy enough—she could say thank you again and mean it.
But it was bigger than that.
Dina had sat there for hours while Ellie sweated through a fever. Made magical tea. Fed her like she actually mattered.
Ellie cleared her throat.
“I know I've already said it, but…I really mean it,” she said, glancing up at her. “Thank you, D.”
Dina gave a small smile, the kind that lifted one corner of her mouth. “You’re welcome.”
Ellie leaned back against the couch cushions again, studying her for a moment.
“You’re good at this,” she said.
Dina looked down briefly, like the comment caught her off guard.
“My mom was like that,” she said after a second. “Guess some of it stuck.”
Ellie watched her then shook her head slightly. “I think it’s just you.”
Ellie shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but her voice was honest in that way it only got when she was too tired to hide behind sarcasm.
“Yeah, maybe your mom taught you stuff,” she said, "but that’s not why you stayed all night.”
Dina’s expression softened, curious now.
Ellie gestured vaguely toward the kitchen, the couch, the whole evening. “You didn’t have to do any of that.”
“I’ve been sick before,” Ellie cut in. “Joel usually just tosses a blanket at me and tells me to sleep it off.”
Dina frowned faintly at that.
Ellie leaned back against the cushions, arms folding loosely across her middle.
“You made tea,” she continued. “You sat up making sure I didn’t cook my brain. You made grilled cheese.” She paused, adding dryly, “Which, by the way, was—" she trailed making a chef's kiss gesture.
A small smile tugged at Dina’s mouth.
Ellie met her eyes again, more serious now.
"That’s not just something that ‘stuck,’” she said quietly. “That’s you.”
For a second Dina didn’t answer.
Something warm and complicated flickered across her face again—so quick Ellie almost missed it.
"Careful,” Dina said finally, her voice softer than before. “You keep saying things like that and I might start thinking you like me.”
Ellie flushed slightly, praying her pale skin hadn't betrayed her and forced a faint chuckle, though the sound lacked its usual bite. “Don’t push your luck.”
Dina held Ellie’s gaze for a moment longer than usual. Long enough that the air between them shifted into something quieter. Heavier.
Then Dina reached down, scooping the quilt back up from where it had slid to the floor earlier. She pulled it around her shoulders as she settled back into the beanbag chair.
“We should probably get some sleep,” she said, her tone lighter now, like she was deliberately nudging the moment aside.
The spell between them broke.
“Yeah,” Ellie murmured easing herself back down on the couch, pulling the comforter up loosely over her middle. The couch creaked softly as she shifted until she was comfortable again.
Across the coffee table, Dina tucked the quilt tighter around herself, leaning her head back against the wall.
The fire had burned down to a low glow now, casting long shadows across the garage.
Ellie stared up at the ceiling. She knew what she was feeling. That was the worst part.
For a long time she’d tried to pretend it was nothing—just admiration, just friendship, just the easy closeness they’d always had. But somewhere along the way it had changed into something deeper, something heavier that settled and refused to move.
And it wasn’t going away.
If anything, it seemed to grow a little stronger each day.
Ellie let out a quiet breath, rubbing a hand over her face before letting it fall back onto the couch in frustration and closing her eyes.
She didn’t see the way Dina’s dark eyes were still open in the dim light.
Didn’t see the way Dina stared quietly at the dying embers in the wood burner, her jaw tight with thoughts she couldn’t say out loud.
Because on the other side of the coffee table, Dina was fighting the exact same war with her feelings.
