Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

abby

abby doesn’t usually drink. not because she can’t hold her liquor—she can. more than most of the wolves, if we’re being real. but the frat parties? the noise, the sweat, the haze of testosterone and ego? that shit always made her feel like she was in a war zone, not a campus. it was sickening.

tonight, she drinks.

lev hasn’t texted her in two days. abby's stomach twists at the silence.

he’s been pouring himself into pledging the wλf, desperate to prove he belongs. freshman. too smart for his age. he finished high school early, skipped two grades, and still somehow ended up here—trying to find a family in the same place abby’s starting to lose hers.

his real family iced him out after he came out. every single one of them. except yara, who tries when she can, but she’s busy and barely around. lev never says it outright, but abby knows he’s lonely. craving something stable, something structured. he saw her in this community, holding rank, respected, protected. and maybe he thought if he worked hard enough, played by the same rules, he'd get that too.

they met back in high school. abby had been in rotc, already serious, already scowling her way through senior year. lev was a sophomore getting jumped in the stairwell and hiding bruises from his gym teacher. when she found out what was happening—at school, at home—she made some calls. pulled in favors. got him placed in a foster home. not perfect, but better than where he was.

he still calls her his first safe place. she still pretends she doesn't tear up when he says it.

owen would've rolled his eyes at that—called it soft, said she was going too far for a kid who wasn't her problem anymore. but owen didn't get it. he never really did. maybe that's why she's standing here now, miserable and half-drunk, while he's off somewhere probably making up some stupid inside joke with mel.

mel, who smiles like she's above everyone and corrects people's grammar mid-fight. mel, who once called lev "emotionally manipulative" because he cried during a pledge meeting.

abby doesn’t think lev even knows how to manipulate someone. kid can barely make eye contact.

and the WLF—sorry, wλf, as they like to stylize it with that greek-letter bullshit. they've gone from the elite campus presence to basically a power cult since isaac took over.

she used to believe in it, back when her dad was still around, before isaac took over. jerry had been a professor, not a leader, but he helped found wλf alongside a few idealists and veterans who wanted to protect students, not control them.

abby never questioned how isaac rose so fast after her dad's sudden disappearance, but sometimes, when the halls get too quiet, she wonders if maybe she should've. isaac talked a good game: structure, justice, loyalty. but lately, it felt more like power for power’s sake.

so yeah, she drinks. heavy. cheap beer from a keg some sophomore is practically humping. she leans against the railing of the rooftop, jaw clenched, the wind stinging her cheeks. seattle in fall hits cold.

“hey. you not having fun? this seems like your guys' type of party,” someone says beside her, voice dipped in mischief and something warmer. there’s a scent, too—sweet, like cherry perfume over weed smoke and expensive shampoo. abby can’t help but breathe it in. it’s irritatingly nice.

abby turns, already annoyed. some girl. small, confident, curly hair, combat boots. confidence radiating off her in waves that made people look twice before they knew why. her hair was a mess of loose curls, frizzy from the humidity but still shaped with purpose, like it always fell exactly where she wanted it to.

red solo cup in hand, chipped black nail polish, smirk like she owns the night.

she had on this slinky brown halter—something between a bandana and a fever dream, clinging to her ribs and tying loose behind her neck. the fabric shimmered weird in the light, like peacock feathers or something thrifted and resurrected. her shorts were barely there, low-rise with chunky zippers and a belt that looked like it could double as a weapon. these long sheer brown socks, almost tights, kind of juvenile, but hot.

and on her feet, cowboy boots. scratched leather, worn-in soles. it's seattle, no farms in sight. she seemed overdressed. she looked like trouble.  

“what the fuck do you want?” abby grunts.

the girl laughs, unbothered. “relax, rambo. just trying to figure out what the golden girl of wλf is doing sulking at her own party.”

abby stiffens. her grip tightens on the cup. “who said it’s my party?”

“everyone.” the girl steps closer. her voice dips lower, conspiratorial. “you’re the one they all talk about. abby anderson. commander’s favorite. our resident pitbull in boots. you beat a guy unconscious during hell week last spring, didn’t you?”

abby looks at her. really looks. the girl is drunk, definitely, but sharp. there’s something behind her eyes. not fear. curiosity. maybe something meaner.

“what’s your name?” abby asks, skeptical.

“wouldn’t you like to know,” she teases, then sips her drink.

abby blinks. that itch in her brain flares. “wait. are you… dina?”

of course she is. dina, the girl who got outed freshman year—sloppy dorm gossip that spread like fire after someone leaked texts between her and her then-roommate. she had a boyfriend at the time. poor guy had no clue. it became one of those stories people whispered about but never posted—too local for tiktok, too niche. local enough, though, for seattleu's resident gossip girl: @thehowl.

nobody knew who ran @thehowl, but everyone knew what it was. 

twitter was where the real damage happened—threaded callouts, tagged locations, voice memo leaks.

instagram? stupid shit, stolen candids, subtle shade so cruel it bordered on performance art.

and then there was tiktok. the tiktoks were the worst.

edited like true crime trailers, set to dramatic audio as if it were daily mail. each post was laced with just enough truth to ruin someone’s life.

people said they didn’t check thehowl, like it wasn’t the first notification they opened in the morning. thehowl knew everything.

not just the cheating scandals and drunk hookups—they knew shit that could get people expelled. arrested.

—

she bows. “in the flesh.”

“fuck me,” abby mutters, and finishes the rest of her drink.

dina raises an eyebrow, smirking over the rim of her cup. “was that an offer, or just existential dread?” she asks, all teasing, but her eyes flick down abby’s body like she’s thinking both.

abby chokes a little on the last sip.

they talk more than abby expects. dina’s funny in a way that catches her off guard—smart, wicked, and warm in the mouth. her lips are distracting. too full, too soft, too close. she keeps licking them between jokes like she knows it’s driving abby insane.

abby hasn’t touched anyone in months. not since owen stopped pretending to try. not since mel’s perfume started sticking to all his hoodies. not since she stopped letting herself want this kind of thing.

especially not like this.

there’s a pressure behind her ribs, tightening every time dina tilts her head or laughs in that low, smug way. abby’s hands feel too big in her lap. her shoulders stay tense like her body’s bracing for something it’s not allowed to want. that same cold voice in her skull—don’t look, don’t think, don’t want—gets quieter every time dina gets closer.

and then it just happens.

dina says something slick—abby doesn’t catch the words, just the tone—and suddenly abby’s hand is fisting into her hair, dragging her into a kiss that tastes like beer and cherry lip balm and too many years of repression.

it’s hot. sloppy. open-mouthed and reckless.

abby pushes her back into the brick wall, swallows the soft sound she makes when their teeth click.

dina gasps into it, lips wet and pliant, tongue sliding against abby’s with a confidence that makes her knees go weak.

there’s spit. there’s breath. abby's fucking aching.

dina slips her hands into abby’s open bomber, palms pressing to the curve of her waist, fingers dragging, almost pulling at her shirt as if she's trying to tear it off.

they kiss for what feels like minutes—drawn out and dizzy, like time slipped sideways. abby loses track of where her hands are, how close they are, the heat under her skin.

when she finally pulls back, it’s sharp, like yanking herself out of a dream she wasn’t supposed to have. her breath’s shaky. her jaw’s tight.

but god—she already wants to do it again.

she tells herself it’s just a kiss. just a girl. just a moment.

but her hands shake when she grabs her drink again. everything blurs after that. the music, the noise, dina’s hand on her jaw. the questions. the slip.

abby doesn’t remember what she says exactly. something about lev. about the wolves making him do shit he wasn’t ready for. hazing. a cover-up. about the time campus security “lost” body cam footage, even though abby knows isaac made the call. it wasn’t a rumor—she saw him walk into the security office with a flash drive and come out fifteen minutes later, quiet and furious. she didn’t know what was on it.

her voice got louder the more she talked. her words slurred, shaky.

she remembers dina leaning in close, nodding, and abby just kept going—like she couldn’t stop. like something broke open.

she only knows it all comes back to bite her later.

ellie

ellie is halfway through cleaning a cyst from an old lab mix when her phone buzzes.

she works part-time at a vet clinic off campus with tommy, mostly doing grunt work. kennel duty, meds, assisting with small procedures when tommy trusts her enough. she doesn’t love it. but she needs the hours, the structure, something to keep her from spiraling into art school delusion. writing and sketching only got her so far. reality doesn’t care about talent.

and tommy? he’s the closest thing she has to home since jackson. since joel.

she still wakes up expecting to hear his boots on the porch some mornings. working with tommy isn’t fun, but it helps. it keeps her grounded.

it’s the day after some stupid wlf party. ellie heard whispers about it on her way in that morning. someone said that big girl from the wolves decked a wall. someone else said there was fighting, sex, the usual. not out of the ordinary for a frat party. not ellie's scene.

dina: hey. can i tell u something without u getting jealous and weird 
ellie: ..?? sure? i don't get jealous, hit me
dina: okok voice memo incoming!!1!1

the voice memo comes through at 11:30 am. ellie doesn't play it until she's back at her dorm, after work. 2:38 pm. she walks into her dorm with her headphones already in, throws her bag on the floor, kicks her shoes off in one clumsy motion, and hits play.

the voice memo plays like a podcast while she shrugs off her hoodie and rummages through the fridge for something that isn’t expired.

she flops onto her bed mid-message, one sock on, the other half-off. the fan hums. she stares at the ceiling.

“okay, okay. don’t be mad,” dina’s voice starts, breathy and laughing like she knows she’s already in trouble.

dina’s voice, low and giggly. "but i may have… made out with that girl abby. you know... the wlf’s walking protein shake. tall. hot. kinda scary. she kissed me first, if that helps. i think she was spiraling. like really spiraling. she told me shit she probably hasn’t said out loud in years. about lev. hazing. cover-ups. i mean real shit, el. like, the kind of stuff that gets you disappeared."

"and… she kept looking at me like she wanted to say more. or do more. she said i made her feel safe. no one’s ever said that to me. not like that."

but there’s no real softness behind it. if anything, dina sounds a little proud. like she knew exactly what she was doing. like she wanted abby to fall apart just enough to hand her something useful. it doesn’t sound romantic. it sounds calculated. ellie doesn’t know what stings worse.

"i recorded it. i didn’t mean to. i just… couldn’t stop listening. please don’t kill me.”

abby anderson? the same girl who laughed with her little frat pack when someone called ellie a “punk dyke” during freshman orientation? the one who walked around like a campus cop, shoving underclassmen into lockers like it was still high school? yeah. that abby. that’s how ellie’s always seen her—violent, controlled, cold. it’s not even a full memory, just snapshots from across campus. bruises on people’s arms. whispers about hazing. shit she didn’t witness but filed away anyway, because abby looked like the type.

she hates how human, and normal she sounds in dina’s voice.
her brain tries to shove the image away—abby against a wall, flushed, breathing hard—but it lingers.

and now dina’s the one who abby said felt safe. it makes ellie want to break something. hates that she can picture her now—tall, mean, blood on her knuckles, probably smells like metal and pine and sweat. the kind of girl ellie’s never let herself want. the kind she never thought would want dina.

maria warned her about the wolves. called them a liability. said they operated outside admin control, with alumni donors shielding them like a private militia. tommy told her horror stories from before they went official—about disappearances, backroom "corrections," students filing reports and then quietly transferring out or dropping off the map altogether. she’s seen the way wλf recruits walk around campus like cops in training. she’s seen the bruises they leave.

so why does her heart still jump when she hears abby called dina safe? why does it burn so sharp that dina got close enough to pull that out of her?

it’s not about abby. it’s about dina, and how she always finds ways to get close to people ellie can’t stand. jesse. now this. ellie would’ve never let her guard down around someone like that—she would’ve clocked her on sight. and now dina’s in the story, again. charming her way into other people's secrets like it’s easy.

ellie knows the pattern. she’s lived it. she’s been the placeholder before.

ellie wouldn’t have known what to do with that version of abby. she would've cornered her. pushed her till she snapped. if anyone was gonna break her, it should’ve been ellie. not sweet-talking, doe-eyed dina with her perfect timing and soft hands.

her stomach twists. with jealousy. rage. something sourer. something sharp. something dangerous.

leaked audio clip causes chaos in wolf house
posted 2:07am by @thehowler

one anonymous drop. twenty-two seconds of shaky audio. no tags. no timestamps. no faces. but the wolves are spiraling.

you’ve probably heard it by now—some girl, drunk or desperate (or both), spilling just enough to make shit shake. not pledging drama. not hazing rumors. real shit. illegal shit. cover-up shit. and it sounds very familiar.

since it dropped: flyers disappeared. pr events ghosted. campus security real quiet. isaac? m.i.a. and if you think that’s unrelated, go touch grass.

we’re not naming names. not yet. but if you know, you know. and if you don’t? stay tuned.

no one’s denying it. no one can.

and something tells us this is just the start.

abby – 2:56 pm

isaac doesn’t yell. he never yells. that’s what makes it worse.

he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t have to. just stands there, perfectly still, radiating that silent threat—the kind that makes your stomach drop before anything's even said. abby swears his eyes are sharper than usual, like he’s already decided it was her, like the meeting is just a formality.

“you talk too much when you drink,” he says simply, flipping through a dossier. “you compromised your unit. you made us vulnerable.”

the meeting is quick. too quick. like he doesn’t want to look at her. like he’s already processed the betrayal and moved past it. he doesn't raise his voice. he doesn’t even sound angry—just disappointed. like she let him down personally. but then, before dismissing her, he looks up just once and says, "this isn’t permanent, and you know it." his voice is calm. too calm.

it makes her stomach turn.

they revoke her access to the stadium gym. strip her of patrol duties. she’s still technically a member, but not in the circle. not anymore.

lev still hasn't responded to her, no calls, no texts. 

but she saw him yesterday. just for a second. across the courtyard near the rec center, surrounded by two older pledges. he looked tired. haunted. when their eyes met, it was brief—but she knew. he knew what she said. and worse, she could tell they were using him. putting him against her.

she goes to get lunch in the cafeteria because she has to eat, and she doesn't feel like leaving campus for no reason. they're serving burritos. her favorite. she stares at the tray like it’s mocking her.

her stomach turns at the smell. she hasn’t eaten in yet for the day. too much guilt, too much noise in her head—and she’d been in the gym that morning for hours, trying to lift the shame out of her body like it was something she could sweat out. now her limbs feel like lead. her mouth is dry. her hands are shaking just enough to piss her off.

she grabs the tray anyway.

manny shows up beside her in line. “heard you had a night,” he says with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

she doesn't look at him. “not now.”

but he follows her anyway, even as she heads toward the usual table. owen, mel, jordan and leah, nick. for a second, it feels normal.

until she sits.

mel’s pressed too close to owen. abby watches her laugh at something and lean in like he's hers now. like he always was. it itches at her.

abby opens her mouth.

“seriously?”

the silence after is sharp. jordan finally looks at her, but there’s no kindness in his face—just disappointment iced over. leah won’t meet her eyes. nick’s chewing slowly, deliberately, eyes flicking between them like he’s waiting for someone else to speak first.

“you fucked up,” jordan mutters finally. “we, uh... thought you were solid.”

“what? i am i just—” abby starts, but her voice is hoarse.

“mm,” leah hums, shrugging, still not looking up. “yeah but… you, like... broke the—” she gestures vaguely with her fork, “—the circle. yeah. that.”

owen offers her a pitying glance. that’s worse than any insult. like he's relieved it’s not him for once. then he turns back to mel’s plate and picks a piece of rice off her fork.

why's she eating a burrito with a fork. 

mel doesn’t say anything. doesn’t need to. her whole posture screams satisfaction.

they’re all looking at her. not just the table, half the cafeteria's gone quiet. she feels their eyes, feels the weight of it. but it’s not shame burning in her chest—it’s fury.

she’s not embarrassed. she’s pissed. all of them, sitting there, acting brand new. acting like they didn’t benefit from her loyalty. her bruises. her silence.

abby stands. “right. say less,” she mutters, under her breath. no one hears her. or maybe they do and just choose not to. she doesn’t say anything else. the message is clear.

she’s already out.

and the worst part? they’re relieved. they’re satisfied. like watching her fall off the pedestal was the best thing to happen to them all semester. like they were just waiting for her to crack so they could step over the pieces.

her chest tightens, but she doesn’t let it show. she won't give them that.

—

she ends up at the library.

it’s quiet. too quiet. tall windows casting soft light over rows of red-painted shelves and scattered study tables. the air smells like old paper and overpriced coffee. 

dina’s there. slouched at one of the back tables with her laptop and a coffee. like nothing happened.

abby approaches slowly, the weight in her throat building.

“you leaked it.”

dina blinks up, wide-eyed, innocent. “leaked what?”

abby stares at her. “don’t do that.”

“do what?” she sips her coffeeslow . “i didn’t post anything.”

abby's eyes narrow. “but you told them.”

the way she says it makes abby want to scream. her voice is light, teasing. like none of this matters. like she didn’t set fire to abby’s entire life and walk away clean.

“this could ruin me,” abby says, voice low. "they think i betrayed them. they’re turning my family against me. do you even care what you did?"

dina shrugs, like she barely remembers the night. “honestly? i don’t even know what you’re talking about. you think i keep track of every drunk mess that spills to me?”

abby blinks. that hits. it’s like she’s being erased in real time. like what she said, what she felt, what she trusted her with—it never mattered.

her stomach churns. the shame comes hot and fast, tangled in the weight of every word she let fall out of her mouth. she feels stupid. raw. exposed. like she handed someone her worst thoughts and they laughed at the handwriting.

“you used me,” abby spits.

"i barely know you,” dina says, voice still flat.

abby steps back, breath shaky. the worst part isn’t just the betrayal—it’s that somewhere in the mess of it all, in the kissing and the slurring and the spiraling—she thought it meant something. and she let herself want that, even for a second. even when she knew better. even with all the voices in her head telling her she shouldn’t.

then she appears.

abby doesn’t recognize her at first. not fully. but something about the sharp jaw, the scowl, the tension in her shoulders—it clicks. the roommate from that freshman scandal. the girl who dina was supposedly caught with. the one people stopped naming out loud but never really forgot. abby doesn’t know her name, but she knows enough. enough to guess. enough to assume.

she thinks—maybe this is dina’s girlfriend. and fuck, that might explain everything.

she doesn’t storm in—she just appears, like she’s been pulled in by tension and instinct. boots still damp from outside, hoodie wrinkled, dark circles under her eyes.

“seriously?” ellie’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and mean. “this is where you end up after blowing up your little frat? harassing people in the library?”

abby blinks, slow, unimpressed. “not harassing anyone. we were talking.”

“right,” ellie snaps. “because you’re such a great conversationalist. what, done intimidating freshmen so now you’re stalking dina?”

dina shifts in her seat, but ellie doesn’t even glance at her.

abby crosses her arms, squaring her stance. “you always this dramatic, or is today special?”

dina leans back in her chair, unfazed, lips twitching like she’s holding in a laugh. the tension between them is thick—familiar, almost. like this has been building.

abby smirks, but there’s no heat in it. just exhaustion. “what, you her guard dog now?”

suddenly ellie's there. jaw locked, fists balled at her sides like she didn’t even mean to move—she just did.

ellie swings first.

—

it’s not a good fight. it’s messy, brutal, sloppy. too much emotion, too little control.

they crash through the library doors like a grenade went off—books toppling, someone screaming behind them. they hit the damp grass hard, fists swinging with the kind of fury that comes from something deeper than just one fight.

ellie moves fast, punching with precision, but it’s messy—her knuckles scrape against abby’s jaw, then slip against her collarbone. abby barely flinches. she holds back. not because she wants to, but because she knows she could do real damage. ellie’s smaller. wiry. furious. and god, she fights like she’s trying to bleed out the rage that’s been building for months.

abby takes it. teeth gritted. pushes back just enough to keep ellie off balance, never enough to really land a hit. her lip splits. her ribs ache. they tumble again, sliding in the wet grass. ellie swears, spits, grabs abby’s shirt and tears it at the collar.

a scream from the crowd—because there’s a crowd now. huge. phones out. losers on scooters skidding to a stop just to record. chants starting. “fight! fight! fight!” someone yells “worldstar!” and it sticks. like a sick joke.

dina hovers by the side, arms folded, brows raised, muttering, “guys, stop, come on, seriously,” but it’s weak. she’s not trying that hard. she’s just watching. like she's getting some satisfaction from her girlfriend acting like a feral dog.

abby barely registers her. she’s focused on ellie—on her snarl, the fury in her eyes, the heat of her fists. it’s not about dina anymore. it’s never just about dina.

someone yells, “marlene’s coming!”

and that’s all ellie needs.

the punch comes fast—sharp and full of spite—knuckles cracking hard against abby’s cheekbone. her head snaps sideways with the hit, a metallic taste blooming behind her teeth. everything rings. loud and messy and white-hot.

for a second, all she sees is red.

then there’s arms around her. strong ones. sweaty.

“abby, yo—stop. stop,” manny’s voice is tight, strained, breath hot against her ear as he pulls her back with everything he’s got. “you’re done, come on. chill. please.”

she barely hears him.

she’s still staring at ellie, fists twitching like her body hasn't caught up to the moment. like she could go another round. like she wants to.

but the crowd is watching. and the dean is getting closer.

and then marlene’s voice cuts through the chaos like a blade:

“anderson. williams. my office. now.”

marlene sighs as she looks at the two girls in her office.

joel warned her about her changes—wild heart, bad temper, smart as hell but full of fire. and jerry’s kid… god. she remembers when abby used to run around the hospital in tiny rain boots and a spider-man backpack.

“you’re both exhausting,” marlene mutters, voice flat like she’s already done with them.

ellie shifts in her seat, bristling. “you gonna let her get away with—”

“save it.” marlene doesn’t even look up. “this isn’t a negotiation.”

she snaps the folder closed and leans back, visibly annoyed. “i’ve got three separate reports on my desk—fists, shouting, a broken bench, and half the library lawn looking like a warzone. i’ve got staff threatening to file for hazard pay and at least three viral videos making their rounds.”

ellie scoffs. “so suspend us, then. or kick her out. not my problem.”

“oh, it’s so your problem now,” marlene says, deadpan. “you’re both being reassigned to conflict housing. room 208. shared. until further notice.”

ellie’s whole body jerks. “you’re kidding.”

marlene doesn’t flinch. she’s already scribbling something down, calm like she’s assigning group partners—not throwing gasoline on a fire. “you’ll share a room, a bathroom, a chore chart, and a key. no switching. no escaping. and you’ll log weekly check-ins with me personally.”

“you’re putting me in a dorm with her?” ellie hisses, like the words physically hurt.

“you two seem to have so much to say to each other,” marlene sighs, rubbing her temples. “maybe some close quarters will help you work it out.”

“this is insane,” ellie snaps.

“what’s insane,” marlene shoots back, voice sharp, “is dragging each other across the grass outside the library like a pair of toddlers.”

she leans back, eyes narrowing. “so now you can share a mini fridge and figure your shit out like adults.”

abby opens her mouth, then closes it. there’s really nothing to say. she just stands, nods once, and walks out like she’s already done her time.

as the door clicks shut behind her, marlene’s voice softens. she’s still speaking to ellie—quiet, almost familial. the kind of tone that used to be reserved for check-ins. it makes abby’s jaw lock. her chest burns. she doesn’t stay to hear what’s said.

Chapter Text

ellie stays sitting.

arms folded. back tense. jaw clenched so tight her teeth ache. the chill of the office cuts deeper than it should. marlene’s voice is still echoing off the walls, but she’s not listening. not really.

“this is bullshit,” she mutters.

marlene sighs. a deep, tired thing. like she’s already had this argument a thousand times. “you’re lucky it’s not suspension. again.”

ellie huffs through her nose, eyes darting to the corner of the room. there’s a crack in the tile she’s been counting. anything not to look at her.

“you’re punishing me by throwing me in a room with her,” ellie says. “you know that, right?”

“i’m protecting you.”

“sure.”

“the alternative was suspension,” marlene says simply. “and you can’t afford another one. not after your first semester. dina, jesse, all of it—you think admin forgot?”

ellie rolls her eyes, but her chest tightens.

jesse had been her best friend since she was fourteen, back when joel moved them to jackson for good. it was always the three of them. her, jesse, and dina.

it worked. until it didn’t.

dina started dating jesse in high school, right around the time ellie was figuring herself out with kat. it was fine. it made sense. until dina kissed her behind the bleachers one night and didn’t stop. the whole “maybe i like you too” mess started, just enough to confuse things.

from jesse to ellie, then back again.

it made everything feel fake. forced. like ellie was always the in-between.

complicated doesn’t even cover it.

they kept it secret. months of sneaking around, of late-night calls that turned into heavy breaths and “come over”s. they’d hook up whenever they got the chance—closets, cars, the garage. it wasn’t just sex. not at first. it was tension that never had anywhere else to go, pouring out of them all at once, fast and frantic and way too much.

and still, even after everything, ellie never really stopped wanting her.

jesse and dina had still been together back then—first semester. steady, solid, if you could call it that. 

but dina never stayed away for long.

she showed up to ellie’s dorm one night, eyes glassy, hair damp from the rain. didn’t even knock, just walked in like she still had the right. said something about missing their “talks,” but the second ellie shut the door, she was kissing her. hungry. messy. hands shaking.

"don’t think," dina whispered, biting at her jaw. "just—let me."

they didn’t make it to the bed. just the couch. legs tangled, shirt half off, dina pressed close like she needed it to breathe.

they did it again a week later. and a week after that.

then, somehow, @thehowl made it's bombshell debut, no names. no tags. no @’s. just one tweet, 2:57am. deleted by 3:08.

—

“some secrets don’t sleep”
posted 3:41am by @thehowler

funny how some people push the whole "ilovemybf" down your throat then end up in their boyfriend’s best friend’s bed.

yikes, here i thought loyalty was trending. guess not.

—

messy. but not as messy as the twenty-second audio clip that dropped right after. muffled. breathy. someone definitely moaning.

if you listen close enough, you can hear a name.

ellie didn’t cry about it.

she didn’t even flinch when the whispers started up again, louder this time. she kept her head down, hoodie up, music too loud. walked like she couldn’t hear any of it. sometimes she couldn’t.

jesse transferred the week after the clip leaked. no warning. no goodbye. just a quiet note in the student bulletin, buried between honor roll announcements and a poetry slam flyer. she read it three times before it sank in.

dina hadn’t spoken to her much after.

not really. a few nods. one late-night call where she sounded sick, said she couldn’t stop throwing up, then hung up before ellie could ask anything. ellie figured it was from drinking. or guilt.

jesse’s still there for her. always has been. checks in, makes her laugh when she looks like shit, shows up with coffee when he knows she hasn’t eaten. he never brings up the clip. never brings up that night. never asks questions she can’t answer.

it almost makes it worse. 

the jesse thing still made her feel gross. not because of him—jesse was cool. nice, even. but it was messy. confusing. it wasn’t supposed to happen, wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

—

ellie’s jaw is locked so tight her ears ring. marlene’s office feels like a trap. beige walls. ticking clock. too many folders with her name on them. it’s always like this—these check-ins that aren’t really check-ins. just marlene playing mom in a room that’s never belonged to either of them.

“you always do this,” ellie mutters. “act like this is for me. like i’m some broken thing you’re trying to fix.”

“you’re not broken.”

“then stop treating me like i am.”

the silence between them stretches. ellie’s heartbeat ticks loud in her ears.

then marlene says it. like she always does.

“your mother—”

“really?,” ellie says. not loud. not soft. just final.

but marlene keeps going. “she would’ve wanted better for you.”

ellie scoffs. turns her head, biting down on the laugh bubbling up in her throat. “you didn’t know her.”

“she was my friend.”

“don’t bring her up. she’s not... she wasn’t a thing for me. she died. that’s it.” she shrugs like it doesn’t sting. “i don’t need to keep pretending she matters.”

it’s harsh. too much. but ellie doesn’t walk it back. never has. her mom’s just a ghost people drag out when they want her to behave—like a moral compass she never asked for.

marlene goes quiet.

ellie doesn’t. “joel’s the only one who raised me. and even then—” her voice falters, just a second, “—even he fucked that up.”

marlene exhales through her nose. “she asked me to take care of you.”

“and you bailed the second i got hard to deal with.”

that lands. marlene looks down. no denial. just guilt she’s clearly worn before.

marlene nods, quiet. “he’s still in there.”

ellie nods too. “yeah. i know.”

prison. murder. no real trial. the state saw his record, shrugged, and locked him up. someone went missing, and joel was convenient.

the last time she saw him, he looked older. smaller. like the walls had drained him dry. he brought up dina, what he had heard. and her. like he was still trying to parent her through glass. she left mid-sentence and never went back.

she thinks about it more than she admits.

maybe tommy still visits. maybe marlene gives updates. maybe there’s still some part of her that wants him to be proud. even now.

but she doesn’t say any of that. just spits it all back as venom and pride and teeth.

“joint housing. one schedule. three therapy sessions a week. same space. same rules.”

“this isn’t healing,” ellie says. “this is psychological warfare.”

“then i hope you’re strategic about it.”

ellie doesn’t dignify that with a response. she shoulders her backpack and walks.

the hallway outside is too bright. too open. her head pounds with every step.

—

ellie’s mind drifts as she steps away from marlene’s office, feet heavy against the tiled floors.

joel’s face swims in her vision, worn by years of grief and fights he stopped trying to win. he'd never belonged behind bars, not really—but no one cared enough to question it.

they saw an angry man with a trail of trouble, a stack of misdemeanors built like a case against him. no one bothered looking past the surface, because joel made himself so damn easy to blame.

the last time she saw him still stings. sitting across from her at a scratched-up visitation table, voice rough and eyes hollow as he brought up dina, all the shit ellie didn't want to hear.

she remembers the way his expression cracked, just for a moment, when she got up and walked away without another word.

she tries not to let it haunt her. she'll visit eventually. 

ellie leaves marlene’s office and immediately flips her phone off dnd. the notifications flood in—texts, reposts, messages from people she hasn’t spoken to since freshman orientation. everyone loves drama. especially if she’s in the middle of it.

at the very top is a text from dina. she knows it’s dina without looking, can tell by the anxious way the messages pile up in quick succession.

dina: ellie

dina: i’m so sorry about earlier

dina: please just go to student health. med students do rounds there and they’ll hook u up with meds

ellie pauses, thumb hovering over the screen, then pockets her phone. she doesn’t have the energy to reply. doesn’t even know what she’d say.

 the pain in her cheek and knuckles is sharp now, raw and insistent. maybe dina’s right—she should at least get meds, get patched up. she’s tired of tasting blood every time she swallows.

student health is a shitty building at the far end of campus, half-hidden behind biology labs and the run-down dorms everyone avoids.

inside, the vibe is aggressively casual. a girl sits cross-legged on the reception desk, scrolling through tiktok, feet in fuzzy socks. a kid is sitting in one of the seats. not waiting, drawing something. he looks far too young for college. no one even glances ellie’s way when she walks in. it feels more like she interrupted a hangout than stepped into a medical facility.

she gives her name to fuzzy-socks girl, who mumbles a bored, “have a seat,” before going back to scrolling.

definitely students.

they’re talking about someone coming back. someone who’s been gone a while. ellie drops into an uncomfortable plastic chair. her head pulses. everything aches. she’s dehydrated, still jittery from the fight, pissed off and embarrassed by the flood of notifications in her pocket. 

“...she’s not gonna be the same,” someone says.

“duh. she got suspended.”

“i think it’s good she’s back. shakes things up.”

voices hushed like it’s campus gossip gold. ellie tunes them out, staring at the fluorescent lights above her until her vision blurs.

it takes forever for someone to call her back.

the med student who finally comes to get her is a girl—short, warm skin, with hair just past a pixie cut and a mole near her chin. ellie instantly decides she’s cute, then immediately feels stupid about it. the girl’s voice is gentle when she asks ellie to sit on the examination table, fingers soft as they carefully clean the scrape on her cheek.

ellie hates being handled like she’s fragile, but she doesn’t say anything. doesn’t even flinch.

“saw the video,” the girl says softly, blotting antiseptic against the tender skin. “you put up a good fight. she’s huge.”

ellie snorts quietly. “and i still kicked her ass. not sure why everyone keeps forgetting that.”

the girl gives her an amused, indulgent look. “sure.”

before ellie can say something snarky in return, the door creaks open.

a guy steps into the room, clearly familiar to the nurse by how easily he enters without knocking. he’s boring-looking, the kind of guy you forget right after meeting him—soft eyes,  beard that looks more like an idea than a commitment, holding two coffee cups awkwardly in one hand. he glances at ellie, then shifts his attention back to the nurse.

“hey,” he says softly. “i was hoping...you know who might be here. thought we could talk. brought her coffee.”

the nurse’s expression shifts subtly, a shadow crossing her face. “she’s not here,” she says simply, voice tight. “just leave it. she wouldn’t want it cold anyway.”

he hesitates, eyes flicking between the nurse and ellie, uncertain what to do. finally, he gestures toward ellie with the coffee. “you want it? no sense in wasting.”

ellie hates coffee, but why would she deny herself of a beverage. 

she shrugs, holds out a bruised hand. “sure. thanks.”

he hands it over with an awkward half-smile, and ellie immediately spots the hoodie—dark green, WLF insignia on the front. 

 her stomach twists. of course. she walked right into a wolves den. 

 she now notices the nurse’s badge has the same logo stuck to it, small and shiny. it's almost mocking. 

“take care,” he says quietly, backing out of the room.

ellie watches him go, taking a careful sip of the coffee—warm, not bad actually—but the easy, calm vibe she felt with the nurse evaporates immediately. now the room just feels small and cramped, and she wants out.

“you’re good to go,” the nurse finally says, applying a thin bandage to ellie’s knuckles. “try not to punch anything else today, yeah?”

ellie nods, hops down from the table. “no promises.”

when she leaves the exam room, there’s a small crowd gathered in the waiting area. welcoming someone back, it looks like. laughter, excited whispers. ellie deliberately keeps her eyes on the floor. she doesn’t want to see their faces, doesn’t care who’s returning. probably another wolf, ready to make her life harder.

ellie just catches a glimpse—curly brown hair, tan jacket, loud laugh.

the one who’s “back.”

whatever. not her business.

outside, ellie pulls her phone back out, tries dina. voicemail.

she hesitates, thumb hovering over jesse’s name. she hasn’t called him in weeks, maybe longer, but right now he’s the only person she wants to see.

he picks up on the third ring, voice groggy but familiar. “hey you, we haven’t talked in a while. you okay?”

“yeah,” ellie sighs, already feeling better just hearing him. “you on campus?”

“sure am. what’s up?”

“need help moving my shit,” she admits quietly. “figure we can catch up. smoke, maybe.”

jesse pauses, considering. “yeah, alright. i’ll be there in ten.”

she makes it to yoni hall first, stopping just outside the entrance, leaning heavily against the cold brick wall. the coffee cup in her hand has long gone cold, condensation dampening her fingertips. the air is sharp, carrying the chill of early evening, campus lights begin flickering on, casting warm pools of gold onto the sidewalk, illuminating fallen leaves and cracks in the pavement.

everything feels heavy—her limbs, her head, even breathing feels like a chore, each inhale shallow and unsatisfying, matching the restless ache beneath her ribs.

she admires jesse for not questioning her sudden relocation.

he arrives quickly, hair messy, dark eyes tired but kind. he smiles faintly when he sees her, that easy comfort settling between them again. they chat softly, casual questions and gentle teasing, until he nods toward the golf cart parked nearby.

“let me grab the cart, we’ll load your stuff faster,” he says, turning away with a casual wave. “give me five.”

ellie waits quietly, eyes closing briefly. she’s about to take a deep, steadying breath when she hears footsteps approaching behind her.

she shifts restlessly, irritation simmering under her skin—mostly aimed at dina. she's still annoyed by the way dina picked that stupid fight with abby earlier, setting all this mess in motion.

footsteps approach softly, sneakers scuffing lightly against concrete, and ellie braces herself, not ready but unwilling to show it.

“figured you might need help,” dina says softly, voice cautious, as if bracing for a fight.

ellie stares back, silent, caught between the impulse to snap something bitter or reach out and pull dina close, hold her tight, inhale the scent she still knows by heart.

instead, she just shrugs. “jesse’s already here. he’s got it.”

dina flinches slightly at the mention of jesse’s name, something sharp flickering behind her eyes. ellie pretends not to notice, sipping her cold coffee and staring straight ahead.

the silence between them is heavy, awkward, charged with all the things ellie doesn’t dare say out loud.

jesse comes back quicker than ellie expects, golf cart humming quietly as he rounds the corner. dina's standing awkwardly, sneakers scuffing gently against the concrete steps, eyes stubbornly fixed on her shoes like the cracked pavement might suddenly become interesting.

Chapter Text

the cart hums low, wind pressing cold against ellie’s cheeks. jesse’s sitting easy in the driver’s seat, one hand loose on the wheel, eyes flicking to the road ahead.

the building sat there like it always did—sturdy but worn, the brick cracked in places, windows glowing with soft yellow light that spilled onto the cracked sidewalk. ivy curled up the sides, stubborn and a little wild, like it wasn’t done growing yet.

jesse leaned forward a bit, fingers tightening on the wheel.
“you want me to help bring your stuff in?”

she shrugs. “nah, i can get it.”

he still hops out, grabbing the duffel from the back and setting it by the curb. “at least let me unload it. not tryna watch you throw your back out.”

ellie smirks, but it’s small. “thanks. but i'm stronger than i look” she pulls her backpack onto her shoulder, glances at him. “sorry for hogging the cart. guess you’re walking wherever you’re headed now.”

jesse thinks for a bit, then shakes his head. “nah, i’m taking it. gonna head to dina’s.”

ellie’s halfway to grabbing her guitar case when that name lands. not a punch—more like a tiny snag in her chest.

she straightens slow. “oh?”

“yeah. she seemed kinda… off. just wanna check in, talk a bit. it was why i was here in the first place.”

ellie hums, neutral on the outside.

inside, it’s that same stupid thread—the one that ties the three of them together and knots in all the wrong places.

it’s just… complicated.

“right,” she says, short. “well. have fun.”

jesse doesn’t notice the shift. he climbs back into the cart, giving her a little wave before pulling off. the hum fades down the path toward dina’s.

ellie stands there for a beat, staring at the empty street.

whatever.

she’s not letting herself fall into that push and pull again.

she hauls her stuff inside alone, boots thudding against the stairwell, telling herself she needs to find someone new to fuck before this mess eats her alive.

ellie pushes open the door and steps inside. the place is empty. no sign of abby yet. thank god.

no one lurking in the shadows, no distant footsteps, no muffled voices. just the stale smell of old carpet and cold air that felt like it seeped into her bones

she lets out a quiet breath she didn’t even know she was holding. some small relief in that.

her boots scuffed lightly against the chipped linoleum floor as she made her way to the countertop in the "kitchen". she dropped her coffee cup down—just about empty now, bitter and disappointing.

she remembered the first sip had been decent but somewhere along the way it lost its taste.

some of her stuff was still sitting out on the curb; duffel bag, guitar case, a stray hoodie she’d shrugged off earlier.

she eyed it through the grimy glass, thinking maybe she should just leave it there for now. let it sit in the cool night air a minute longer.

she tugged yet another hoodie over her head, the fabric loose and familiar, wrapping her up in something that felt like a small shield against everything outside these walls.

she moved slow and quiet, not wanting to leave any trace she’d been here. didn’t want to give anyone, even herself, a reason to think this was home.

finally, she headed back out the door, locking it behind her. the cold night air hit her again, sharper this time, but she kept her shoulders steady.

ellie turns on the golf cart, boards, and heads to return it.

abby

abby stumbled out of the campus gym, muscles screaming like they’d been through hell and back. sweat dripped slow down her neck, soaking her shirt, sticking her hair in messy clumps to her forehead. 

the cold air hit her like a bus—sharp, unforgiving, like it was trying to yank her back to life.

she sucked it in deep, the chill slicing through the thick fog that’d been clouding her brain for days, clearing some of the weight crushing her chest. her limbs felt lighter, almost like she could breathe again.

she dropped onto a low stone wall, pulling her jacket from around her waist to put it on.

the campus sprawled out below her, mostly dark, the streetlamps throwing long shadows that stretched like reaching fingers across cracked pavement. the silence pressed down, too loud in its absence.

abby’s eyes flicked everywhere, trying to make sense of the quiet, trying to figure out what the fuck she was supposed to do now.

and then, just like that, a golf cart tore past. reckless, ruining a bit of the grass, breaking through the stillness like a bullet.

the spark flared hot and wild inside her chest. adrenaline snapped through her veins—the instinct to jump up, to run, to grab control before it slipped through her fingers again.

but she didn’t move.

no calls had come down, no reason to brutalize some dumbass freshmen just to remind herself she still had power.

abby let out a slow, ragged breath, feeling her shoulders slump. he hunger for control burned deep, sharper than she wanted to admit, but she swallowed it down, hard.

time stretched heavy. she stayed frozen, watching the darkness, letting the silence squeeze tighter around her. the ache of being pushed out gnawed at her insides, but she kept still.

after what felt like forever, abby finally pushed herself off the wall.

she started walking toward the WLF house it wasn't far—the main one, the fortress that swallowed the block like it owned everything. the one full of memories she wasn’t ready to let go of.

“i shouldn’t be here,” she muttered to herself, voice rough, barely more than a breath. “but i need my shit.”

protein powder, a few clothes, maybe her ps vita — bare minimum.

she thought back to earlier, when she saw some people heading toward student health. figured the house would be mostly empty, maybe quiet enough for her to slip in unnoticed.

abby moved slow but deliberate, slipping through the back door, careful not to make a sound. her key still worked, a small reminder they hadn’t kicked her out entirely.

upstairs, silence wrapped around her like a thick, suffocating blanket. her eyes flicked down the dim hallway, each step echoing softly, every creak louder than it should be.

her room waited for her, exactly how she’d left it—clean, organized. 

except for the bed.

the bed sat untouched, the sheets rumpled, but untouched since the night before the party.

abby’s throat tightened. she shoved the feelings down, shoved them so far back they nearly disappeared. no room for that now.

she grabbed a bag and started folding clothes, each piece methodical, careful, like she was trying to hold onto the last bits of control she had left. she wasn’t taking everything, just enough.

and then.

a door slammed somewhere down below.

heavy footsteps.

breathing. rough, uneven, shaky.

instinct screamed at her to move, to check it out, to fix whatever was wrong. but she bit back the urge, fingers curling tight into fists. she wasn’t welcome here anymore. not now.

so she waited. 

the breathing made its slow, deliberate way up the stairs, soft and broken. like a wound barely holding itself together.

and then came the crying. soft, quiet.

her breath caught in her throat. she knew that cry.

abby's voice barely cut through the quiet, small and shaky.

“lev?”

the crying halted. footsteps shuffled slowly toward her door, careful, hesitant.

“abby? what… what are you doing here?” his voice cracked, barely steady, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear her or run.

just hearing him say her name after three days felt like a punch to the gut and a lifeline all at once. her throat felt tight, eyes stinging.

“what’s wrong? please… what happened to you?” she stepped closer, her gaze flicking everywhere over him, like she was trying to find what hurt — check him out like she could fix it. 

lev shifted away, his jaw tight, lips pressed like he was swallowing words he didn’t wanna say.

his eyes wouldn’t meet hers, instead flicking to the floor, then the window.

“you’re not supposed to be in here.”

the words hit sharp raw and tangled with something deeper, bitter and quiet.

“what did they tell you?” her voice cracked. 

lev swallowed hard, eyes dark, heavy, fixed on the streetlights flickering outside, their glow weak and flickering.

“why did you leave me here alone? why didn’t you try to talk to me? you… you betrayed us.” 

he said it almost all in one breath, like he didn't know what he'd say next.

"us?" abby questions. that word kept pounding inside her head.

“lev… i didn’t mean to. it’s not like that, okay?” her voice broke, thick with guilt.

he looked away, jaw clenched, eyes lost somewhere far away — like trying to disappear.

“you told people about me… about what happened.” his voice cracked, raw and trembling. “i asked you not to make it a big deal. and you did. and then you just left.”

abby's chest tightened so much she thought it might burst. shame and sorrow mixed into a sharp ache.

a beat.

"lev please, just.. tell me what happened. why are you crying?”

lev rolled his eyes like he was tired of her deflecting, but the softness flickered just under the surface — the pain, the loneliness.

“you should go.”

she bit her lip, so many apologies spilling inside her but none coming out. she knew it was too late. they’d already turned him against her. she didn’t blame him.

“okay. i’m just… glad you’re okay.”

lev turned sharply and walked down the hall to his room, the one right next to hers — slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

she lingered a moment in the doorway, heart pounding. 

—

abby lugged all her bags, each one feeling heavier than the last, as she made her way toward her and ellie’s new dorm. the campus was quiet in spots but alive in others, and as she walked, she caught the sounds of voices — loud, careless, laughing.

she glanced up and caught sight of a crowd walking back from student health. a few wlf members.

voices bouncing off the buildings, echoing down empty paths.

she scanned the crowd and picked them out one by one — owen, mel, jordan, leah, nick, and a few others.

and then — nora.

nora, standing in the middle of them, bare-necked and cold under the night sky, no jacket to guard her from the chill. her hair was longer, loose and messy like she’d been running her fingers through it all day. a new tattoo curled around her forearm

abby's breath hitched, heart pounding hard enough to drown out everything else.

that pull in her gut wasn’t just surprise, heat pooling low and thick — hungry and aching.

abby swallowed hard, folding that fire down, locking it behind a wall of doubt and fear and old shame.

nora’s smile was bright, easy, like she hadn’t a clue what had shattered abby’s world in the last few days. she laughed without worry, without weight.

abby kept walking, her steps faster now, the ache in her stomach twisting sharper, hungrier, impossible to ignore.

nora’s eyes flicked briefly in her direction, distant and light, unaware. 

—

abby makes it to the dorm, arms burning, shoulders screaming under the weight of three duffels biting into her skin.

each step feels heavier than the last, and the thought of finally setting them down is the only thing keeping her from stopping right there on the sidewalk.

at the bottom of the stairs, she notices a scattering of stuff on the ground. sneakers. a beat-up jacket. some random notebook with a corner bent in like it’s been through hell.

it’s messy, unorganized—ugh, already. her jaw tightens.

ellie, she thinks.

of course.

abby shifts her grip on the bags, stepping over the mess like it’s not even worth touching. if ellie’s not inside, maybe she hasn’t gotten her key yet. thank god.

the dorm door is still locked. she was right.

the click of the key turning feels good in her hand—simple, easy. she pushes inside.

it’s… not bad. better than she expected. open enough that it doesn’t feel like a closet, though it smells a bit like weed, must not have been cleaned.

her joints ache as she drops the bags with a dull thud, rolling her shoulders back until something in her spine pops. relief, but temporary.

her shirt is still plastered to her skin from the gym, and she can feel the salty grit of sweat cooling under the fabric.

the bathroom’s right off the main space, no real hallway between, just a door a few steps from where she’s standing.

she decides—no question—she’s showering before she even thinks about dealing with the rest.

the place is empty, so why bother dragging herself into the bedroom she’s supposed to share with ellie? one of them’ll end up on the couch eventually anyway. tonight, hopefully, not her.

abby strips in the living area, peeling her shirt away like it’s glued on.

the fabric clings to her back and shoulders before finally giving, leaving her in a sports bra gone damp and dark with sweat. she hooks her thumbs under the band, tugs it up over her head, the elastic snapping softly as it clears her ribs.

the air hits her skin, cool against the flushed heat still radiating from her workout and the events following.

abby's never been shy about her body—why would she be? she’s worked for it. the muscle, the curve, the way her frame takes up space. she knows the effect it has. takes a little pride in it, even.

boxers stay on for now. she reaches back and starts undoing her braid, fingers combing through the sweat-damp strands, letting them fall loose over her shoulders. she’ll wash her hair too—might as well get it over with.

there’s a second where she wonders about the towel situation, scanning the area, but she’s past caring. it’s nothing she can’t figure out.

she steps into the bathroom and cranks the shower to the hottest setting, steam already ghosting up against the glass.

when she finally steps inside, the water hits her like a weight and a release all at once. heat rolling over her skin.

her eyes close.

and for the first time today, she lets herself breathe.

the water drums against her shoulders, scalding and steady.

she tips her head forward, lets it run over the back of her neck, down her spine. every muscle seems to loosen under the heat, like she’s slowly melting into the tile.

steam thickens the air until it feels heavy in her lungs. she leans one palm against the wall, the other raking back through her hair.

her thoughts start to blur, dissolve—except for the lingering spark still burning low in her stomach.

she hates that she knows exactly where it came from. that flash of nora earlier, her smile easy, like nothing between them had ever fractured. like she didn’t know—didn’t care—about the mess abby’s become.

it’s stupid. it’s nothing.

she tells herself that once, then again, but it doesn’t stick.

her jaw tightens. breath deepens. that spark turns greedy fast, sinking lower, heavier.

she bites down on the sound that slips out, sharp and involuntary, head tipping back against the tile.

the room is all heat and pulse now.

steam clings to her like a second skin, her heartbeat syncing with the rush of water, every nerve wound tight. 

and then—slowly—she pulls herself back.

fingers still curled tight where they’d wandered lower than they should’ve. breath coming fast, shallow, and way too loud in the cramped steam-filled space.

a quiet, broken sound slips out before she can stop it. she bites it down, jaw tight, heart thudding like she’s been caught.

she exhales hard, like she can push it all out with the air, but the ache clings stubborn in her gut, radiating through her thighs.

blinks against the sting of the steam until her vision steadies.

she drags a wet hand down her face, shaking her head once, sharp, like it’ll clear her. telling herself it was nothing. just a moment. just the shower.

when she finally shuts the water off, the silence is almost jarring—just the sound of it dripping off her skin, running down her calves to the tile.

her legs feel heavy, unsteady, like the heat drained something out of her. her head’s hazy, thoughts loose and sluggish, like she could just fold herself into the floor if she let it happen.

she pushes the door open and steps out into the main room, naked and dripping, steam swirling around her like a ghost.

water runs down her back and thighs, tracing cold trails over hot skin. she scans for a towel—nothing in sight. no hooks, no folded cloths. duh.

with a tired sigh, she gives up the search. not worth it right now.

then, her eyes catch it—a coffee cup on the counter, her favorite actually.

she blinks, remembering she left the door unlocked. maybe owen asked around, dropped it off. sweet of him.

a soft, small smile slips out as she reaches for the cup, fingers curling around the paper sleeve.

it’s mostly empty. cold.

the door swings open with a loud creak.

ellie steps in, holding the last of her bags, cheeks flushed, breathing a little too hard like she’s been hauling them up three flights of stairs. there's like three stairs. 

ellie stops dead in the doorway, eyes wide, like she's trying to process the sight in front of her.

“you’re fucking kidding me, right?” ellie snaps, voice tight, breath shaky. “privacy? and you’re dripping all over the floor—fuck, is that my coffee?”

she stumbles, bags hitting the ground with a loud thud, eyes not leaving abby.

abby doesn’t move. with an unwavering stare, she takes a sip of the coffee.

“sorry, needed a towel" she says, voice low, like she’s teasing but not really.

ellie swallows, face burning hotter, the fight twisting inside her chest—half pissed, half something else she won’t admit.

the room feels tight, thick.

ellie rubs the back of her neck, eyes sharp but tired. “look, we need ground rules. i can’t—no, we can’t do this.”

abby arches a brow, crossing her arms, waiting.

“where’s your room?” ellie asks, voice low but urgent.

abby shrugs, a little smile twitching. “we’re sharing.”

ellie blinks, like she’s not processing. “no… no, we’re not.”

“yes... we are. you can take the couch if you’d like?”

“are you serious?” ellie responds, annoyed.

abby looks confused now, she was being genuine. “yea?”

“you’re so—” ellie cuts herself off, turning to rifle through one of her duffle bags. she ferociously pulls out a towel and tosses it to abby.

abby catches it just before it hits her face.

“dinosaur print? classy.” she mutters to herself, eyeing the towel, then wrapping it low around her hips.

she doesn’t miss the way ellie’s gaze hasn’t moved from her body since she entered. even as she zips her bag back up, ellie’s watching, fumbling over her fingers.

finally, ellie stands and gestures toward the bathroom.
“stay in there after you shower, okay? cool?”

“i’m not a dog. don’t talk to me like that.”

ellie rolls her eyes.

abby looks her up and down, scoffs, then heads toward the room, coffee in hand.

right at the doorway, she drops the towel—just for a second—the fabric skimming her ass, making it bounce.

ellie’s still staring, of course.

abby disappears into the room.

“asshole!” ellie yells, grabbing her towel from the floor.

abby steps into the room, the faint echo of ellie’s gaze still burning warm on her skin. it’s weird—new—and god, she fucking loved the rush. that little power trip, owning the space, making ellie stumble even for a second.

she scans the cramped room, smirking just a bit. grateful, honestly. she’d just sidestepped what could’ve been some bullshit fight about the room.

but then it hits her—her clothes. they’re still out there, with ellie.

she lets out a quiet sigh, the day’s weight pressing back down.