Chapter Text
Ellie raps on an old door of apartment 313, her eyes cast downward toward the doormat placed perfectly centered. She shakes her head fondly, figures.
She hears the footsteps as she waits, adjusting the paper bag in her hands as it slips from the small sweat she worked up on the walk over.
The door opens, and the most gorgeous set of brown eyes greets her. Ellie forces herself to look away from Dina’s eyes, taking in Dina’s dark hair piled in a messy bun atop her head and her faded NYU sweatshirt with sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She’s knocked back a bit at the sight.
“Ellie, hi,” she says, breathless, and something comes loose inside Ellie’s chest. The familiar scent of Dina’s apartment—kind of warm, with subtle notes of vanilla or amber, mixed with a hint of something clean — greets her as Dina opens the door wider and invites Ellie inside.
She steps inside over the threshold, past Dina. Dina’s eyes on her causes heat to creep up her neck, into her cheeks and Ellie prays Dina doesn't notice. Ellie glances around, taking in the boxes, in various states of being unpacked, crowd the entryway, spilling into the living room.
Ellie maneuvers carefully, like she’s walking through a field of landmines, being cautious not to step on anything of importance. Before Ellie can turn back to face her, Dina launches herself forward, nearly knocking the grocery bag from her hands. Warm arms wrap around Ellie’s neck. Dina’s shampoo floods her senses and struggles to maintain her balance, one arm awkwardly returning the hug while the other clutches the paper bag.
Dina whispers, "It’s so good to see you," her gaze lingering on Ellie’s face as if searching for something, hands still resting on Ellie’s shoulders after pulling back. Her smile creates those little creases at the corners of her eyes that Ellie’s spent all summer missing.
Dina’s words caused her heart to seize, so she deflected by saying, “We just face-timed two days ago. Jesus.”
Dina chuckles, “Sorry. It’s just—you’re actually here. In the flesh.” She pokes Ellie’s chest for emphasis.
“Yes, yes, in the very sweaty, just-walked-six-blocks to bring you snacks flesh,” Ellie confirms, adjusting her grip on the bag. She nods toward the kitchen counter and asked, "Can I...?"
“Of course, sorry,” Dina said, stepping aside with a sweeping gesture toward the apartment. “Welcome to my shit show,” she laughs.
“What’d you bring me?" With a questioning glance at the bag, her eyebrows shoot up in excitement.
“Provisions, of course. A house-warming of sorts,” Ellie explained as she sets the bag on the counter before pulling out a pint of Dina’s favorite ice cream, Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie, salt & vinegar kettle chips, and a bottle of chardonnay.
“Oh fuck yeah,” Dina groans, “You really know how to treat a lady.”
Ellie fucking hopes Dina doesn’t notice the way her face flushes. “You’re a freak.” Ellie laughs.
“Maybe, but you love it.” Ellie can’t argue with that, watching as Dina moves around the kitchen, putting the ice cream in the freezer, chips in the cupboard, before pulling out a wine bottle opener and uncorking the wine.
“Looks like you’ve already unpacked the essentials,” Ellie smirks, raising an eyebrow. A hearty laugh escapes Dina's lips.
“You know me, always prepared for a party.” She jokes. Ellie watches Dina open the bottle, her green eyes fixed on Dina’s hands. The opener digs into the cork, Dina’s arms tensing when met with the slight resistance before the cork releases with a satisfying “pop,” leaving Dina with the smooth neck of the wine bottle in her hand.
“Can you grab a couple of glasses?” Dina asks, before adding, “Check that one,” she points to an open box outside the kitchen, next to the bathroom door, where bubble wrap peeks out.
“Uh…I don’t see the wine glasses —” Ellie starts, before Dina interrupts.
“Just grab whatever,” she says before adding as an afterthought, “Unless you just wanna drink from the bottle.” She shrugs.
Ellie rolls her eyes, picking up two random glasses, walking back to the kitchen and rinsing them out with water from the tap. “Let’s at least pretend to be civilized. I mean, we are almost fancy college graduates, after all.”
Dina takes the glasses from Ellie, drying them off with a dish towel she pulled from the drawer next to the stove. Ellie leans against the counter next to Dina as she grabs the neck of the wine bottle and pours a healthy amount of Chardonnay in each glass. She slides a glass over to Ellie and lifts her glass, waiting. Ellie mimics her, bringing their glasses together with a clink.
“Cheers to senior year,” Dina says. Ellie nods, smiling back at her, stomach fluttering when their eyes meet.
“Yeah,” she clears her throat, “Cheers, D.”
Dina drinks some of her wine, licking her lips. She makes a soft humming noise in the back of her throat and looks over at Ellie. “You look good, El. Joel’s cooking must’ve agreed with you.”
Ellie shrugs, suddenly self-conscious under Dina’s scrutiny. Afraid of what she might say, Ellie deflects the compliment with a hesitant, “Hey, I helped... a bit.” She takes a sip of her own wine and rubs the back of her neck nervously.
Dina's eyebrow quirks questioningly.
“Okay, he said my job was to stay out of the kitchen, geez.” Ellie concedes, feigning annoyance.
“Smart man.” Dina quips with a small smirk. “C’mon, let’s go sit.” Dina walks past Ellie, gesturing for her to follow her into the living room. Ellie follows closely, trying to keep her eyes above Dina’s waist.
Dina settles onto the couch, tucking her legs under her in a cross-legged position. Her hands, which cradle her glass of wine, rest gently in her lap. Ellie mirrors her, sitting next to her on the couch, keeping a comfortable distance between them.
They fall into a comfortable silence. Ellie's eyes stray to Dina, noticing that she looks freer than the last time Ellie saw her, lighter somehow. Dina sets her glass on the coffee table in front of them. Ellie tracks her movement with her eyes.
“So…” Dina says, breaking the quiet.
There’s something in her tone — a brightness, mixed with uncertainty — that makes Ellie pause.
“What’s up?”
Dina avoids her eyes. Instead, she looks down at her hands in her lap, twisting the silver ring on her left thumb absently.
Dina takes a breath, her eyes meeting Ellie’s, an unreadable expression on her face. “Jesse and I broke up.”
The words linger between them. Ellie blinks, processing this information. How often has Dina made a similar statement? Ellie’s first reaction was disbelief.
“Oh,” she manages. “When did that happen?”
“When he came to visit me over the summer, back in July,” Dina says, picking up her glass of wine again, taking a sip. Ellie's gaze falls to Dina’s throat as it bobs, swallowing her drink. She knows she should be sad for her friend, should offer comfort or at least say something that resembles support. But it’s difficult to know how to console someone who appears unfazed by the end of their own relationship. Instead, Ellie experiences a guilty spark of hope igniting somewhere behind her ribs.
“You two always get back together,” she says, aiming for reassuring, but landing somewhere closer to dismissive.
Dina rolls her eyes, a small chuckle escaping her lips. “This time it’s for real. We’re better off as friends than as a couple.”
“That’s what you always say.” The words come out before Ellie can stop them.
Instead of the irritation Ellie expects, Dina’s face softens into something almost wistful. “I know. But it’s different this time.” She takes a long pull of her wine, her eyes never leaving Ellie’s. “We both realized some things over the summer.”
Ellie’s mouth is like cotton. She takes a generous swig of her wine, too. “Like what?”
Dina shrugs, taking another swallow of her wine. “Like we’ve been trying to make something work that just... doesn’t. Not in that way.” She pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s still one of my best friends. That part hasn’t changed.”
“Well.” Ellie traces the rim of her glass with her finger. “If you’re okay, then I’m okay. And if you’re not okay, we’ve got ice cream, wine and I have an arsenal of terrible jokes ready to deploy.”
This earns her a genuine smile, one that crinkles Dina’s nose and makes her eyes sparkle. “I’m okay. Really.” She sits forward, placing her now empty glass on the table. “I’m, um, also sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just needed time…to process.”
Ellie nods, “I get it.”
Dina stands then, grabbing Ellie’s hand, which she hopes isn’t too sweaty, and leads her over to a stack of boxes. Dina says, “C’mon, how about you make yourself useful and help me unpack some of this shit.”
“Dick.” Ellie laughs. But she does as she’s told.
As they work to unpack Dina’s boxes, joking, laughing, and making plans for the upcoming year, Ellie experiences a tightness in her chest—a confusing mixture of guilt for the happiness bubbling beneath her concern, and a wild, terrifying excitement at the possibilities.
After a few hours, they find themselves back on the couch, sitting closer than before, watching reruns of Survivor; making fun of quirky castaways and debating the strategic acumen of various tribe members. The bottle of wine sits at the center of the coffee table, now empty. Ellie is content.
Dina leans close then, shoulder pressing against Ellie’s as she reaches for the remote, wanting to rewatch the all-female alliance conning a dude out of his immunity necklace before voting him out.
“This is the best move in Survivor history, Ellie - pay attention.”
“I am, I am,” Ellie mumbles, feigning interest in the show. In reality, Dina’s nearness distracts her from actually paying attention to the screen. Her head is fuzzy, like static, as Ellie chances a glance at her.
Dina glances up and catches Ellie staring, and raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” Ellie says, looking back at the TV. The poor kid stands before Jeff, the flame of his torch now extinguished. Behind him, the women laugh as he walks away into darkness. “Just glad to be back.” And she is—even as her mind races with thoughts she shouldn’t be having about her best friend, even as her heart pounds with the sudden, breathtaking realization that for the first time since they’ve known each other, they’re both single at the same time.
The bass thrums through the floorboards, vibrating up through Ellie’s sneakers and into her bones. Colored lights slice through the darkness, turning Dina’s olive skin blue, then red, then purple as they force their way through the crush of bodies. Three weeks into their senior year, and this is the third party they’ve gone to—but the first where Dina has stayed glued to Ellie’s side all night, close enough that her breath tickles Ellie’s ear every time she leans in to speak over the music.
“That guy keeps staring at you,” Dina murmurs, her lips brushing Ellie’s earlobe. She tilts her head subtly toward a tall figure leaning against the wall, red solo cup in hand.
Ellie squints through the dimness. “He is probably jealous that you haven’t left my side all night.”
Dina’s laugh vibrates against Ellie’s shoulder where their bodies press together. “You underestimate how attractive you are, El.”
“Tough luck for him, he isn’t my type,” Ellie laughs, taking her a sip of her beer, grimacing at its warmth. “This shit is gross.” Dina laughs and takes Ellie’s cup from her hands and sets it down on a table near them before turning back to Ellie.
The apartment is stifling, windows fogged with condensation from too many bodies generating too much heat. Ellie is aware of the way her t-shirt clings to the small of her back with sweat under her flannel. She suddenly regrets wearing multiple layers and craves fresh air, but she is reluctant to create space between herself and Dina.
The song shifts, something with a deeper beat and a slower rhythm. The crowd adjusts around them, couples drawing closer, single dancers pairing off. Dina’s hands find Ellie’s hips, fingers pressing lightly through the denim of her jeans.
“Dance with me?” Dina asks, eyes reflecting fractured light.
Ellie nods, not trusting her voice. Her free hand rests on Dina’s shoulder, the heat of her skin sears Ellie’s palm through thin cotton. They’ve danced like this before—always with plausible deniability, always with the buffer of alcohol and the excuse of crowded spaces—but tonight, something has shifted. Whatever it is between them is charged like the air before a thunderstorm.
Dina turns, pressing her back against Ellie’s front, guiding Ellie’s hand to her waist. Her hair tickles Ellie’s nose. Dina smells citrusy and warm. It is intoxicating and Ellie tries not to breathe her in.
“You’re tense,” Dina says, tilting her head back to meet Ellie’s eyes. “Relax. It’s just me.”
That’s the problem. It’s you. It’s always been you.
Willing her body to loosen, Ellie tries matching Dina’s movements. The song envelops them, and Ellie becomes absorbed in the experience—Dina’s closeness, the bass’s pulse, the slight dizziness from the three beers she consumed throughout the night.
“You should see your face right now,” Dina teases, turning back to face her. Her fingers trace a line from Ellie’s temple to her jaw, feather-light, and Ellie’s face grows hot. “So serious.”
“I’m concentrating on not stepping on your feet,” Ellie deflects, but she can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips.
“Sure you are.” Dina’s eyes crinkle at the corners. She leans in close again, lips brushing the shell of Ellie’s ear. “You’re a terrible liar, Ellie Williams.”
Before Ellie can utter a response, a familiar figure materializes at her elbow. Jesse, his cheeks flushed from either dancing or drinking, grins at them both.
“Hey, party people,” he says, voice raised to be heard over the music. “I’m heading out. Gotta finish that case study for Monday.”
Dina pulls back slightly from Ellie, but keeps one hand at her waist. “Already? It’s not even midnight, grandpa.”
Jesse laughs, running a hand through his dark hair. “Some of us are responsible adults.” He glances between them, expression softening. “You two want me to walk you back? It’s on my way.”
Ellie opens her mouth, prepared to accept—it’s late, after all, and the walk back to their apartment buildings crosses through some poorly lit areas—but Dina is quicker.
“Nah, we’re good.” She shoots Jesse a smile, then turns to Ellie with something warmer, more intimate in her gaze. “Ellie’s got me. Don’t you, El?”
The question hangs in the air between them, weighted with meaning Ellie can’t quite decipher. She nods, hoping the colored lights hide the flush creeping up her neck. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Jesse’s eyes flick between them, something knowing in his expression. He nods, pulling his jacket on, and smiles. "Understood. Text me when you get back safe.”
“Yes, dad,” Dina salutes, but there’s affection in her voice. She and Jesse might be over romantically, but three years of history have left them with an easy friendship that Ellie sometimes envies.
Jesse disappears into the crowd, and Dina turns her full attention back to Ellie. “One more dance?” she asks, but it's not a question as she slides her arms around Ellie’s neck, drawing them closer together than before.
They dance for what might be one song or three—Ellie loses track, lost in the rhythm and the movement of Dina’s body against hers. Dina’s hand finds hers, fingers intertwining.
“I think I’m all danced out,” Dina says, linking their hands together. “Walk me back?” she asks, looking up at Ellie. Ellie can only nod, following Dina without hesitation.
The night air hits them like a shock after the stifling heat of the apartment. September in New York brings a unique type of coolness—not quite cold, but with enough of a bite to make Ellie grateful for her flannel shirt. Dina shivers beside her, goosebumps rising on her bare arms.
“Here,” Ellie says, shrugging off her flannel and putting it on Dina’s shoulders. It’s a move straight out of a rom-com, and she's immediately self-conscious, but Dina smiles up at her with such genuine warmth that the embarrassment fades.
“Such a gentleman,” Dina teases, slipping her arms into the too-long sleeves. She hooks her arm through Ellie’s, pulling them close together as they start the walk back to Dina’s apartment.
The city hums around them—distant sirens, laughter spilling from bars, the occasional car passing by with music leaking from its windows. They walk in comfortable silence, their steps falling into sync. Ellie can’t help but be acutely aware of every point of contact between them—Dina’s arm linked with hers, their shoulders brushing, the occasional bump of their hips.
Dina leans her head against Ellie’s shoulder, and Ellie inhales sharply. She smells divine, like everything good and dangerous in Ellie’s world.
“It looks like you’re thinking really hard over there,” Dina says, peering up at her.
Ellie forces a smile. “I’m not...just…tonight was fun.”
Dina’s answering smile is slow and syrupy sweet.
“It was,” she agrees, and nestles closer as they turn the corner toward her building, the moon casting a glow on the sidewalk.
Dina’s keys jingle as she unlocks her apartment door, her fingers fumbling slightly in a way Ellie’s never seen. When the door swings open, Dina reaches back without looking, finding Ellie’s wrist and pulling her inside with gentle insistence. She turns the lock with a click, drowning out the rest of the world behind them. Dina doesn’t release her grip, instead sliding her hand down until their palms meet, fingers interlacing.
“Come on,” she says, her voice lower than usual, guiding Ellie down the hallway, lined with meticulously hung photos. Ellie scans the pictures as they pass by.
The photos catch fragments of their shared history: Jesse with his arm slung around Dina’s shoulders at a football game, Ellie grimacing as Dina smears ice cream on her nose, and one of the three of them collapsed in laughter on a dormitory floor. Memories preserved like etchings carved into stone, each one a reminder of their past, of how they ended up here, with Dina’s hand in hers.
Dina’s bedroom door stands slightly ajar, and she nudges it open with her hip. Inside, fairy lights drape across the headboard of her twin XL bed, casting a warm glow over the simple cover. Books spill from a small shelf in the corner—Ellie recognizes the spines of urban planning textbooks alongside dog-eared paperback novels. Dina’s hamsa bracelet dangles from a ceramic dish on the nightstand, catching light when Dina releases Ellie’s hand to flip on the bedside lamp.
“Sit,” Dina says, gesturing to the desk chair. “I want to change out of these clothes. They’re all sweaty.”
Ellie obeys, perching on the edge of the chair, suddenly conscious of her own body and how much space it occupies in this room she’s been in a hundred times before. She busies herself with pulling her phone out of her pocket, sending Jesse a text, letting him know they made it back to campus. When she slips her phone back in her pocket, and watches as Dina rummages through drawers, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound in the room.
“Don’t look,” Dina warns, a teasing lilt to her voice.
Ellie doesn’t respond, casts her eyes downward as the heat rises in her cheeks. They’ve changed in front of each other before, but tonight…is different, so she keeps her eyes fixed on a small drawing she made for Dina last year—a cartoon of them as zombie apocalypse survivors—until Dina says, “Alright, I’m decent.”
Ellie looks up and her mouth goes dry. Decent…isn’t quite the word Ellie would use herself. Dina stands before her in a cropped top that reveals a strip of olive skin above cotton sleep shorts that barely reach mid-thigh. Her hair pulled up in a messy bun, some loose strands framing her face. It’s not like Ellie hasn’t seen her in pajamas before. In fact, they’ve had countless sleepovers over the years. Back then, though, Dina always dawned one of Jesse’s big shirts paired with sweats or loose fitting sweat shorts. This is irrevocably different, intimate in a way. It's almost as if she is violating Dina’s privacy.
“I should probably go,” Ellie says, standing abruptly. The chair bumping against the desk with a soft thud. “It’s late, and you probably want to sleep, and I—”
Dina steps forward, placing a hand against Ellie’s chest, directly over her thundering heart. A grin tugs at her lips, teasing. “Hot date?”
Ellie swallows hard. “I was going to... go home.”
Dina’s lips curve into a smile, her eyes never leaving Ellie’s. “It’s late,” she echoes, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of Ellie’s t-shirt. “You should just stay here.”
The air between them is charged, crackling with electricity. Ellie searches Dina’s face, looking for any sign that she’s misreading the situation. “I don’t have any pajamas,” she says finally, the lamest excuse in the history of excuses.
Dina’s eyebrow arches. “You can always sleep naked…”
Heat rushes to Ellie’s face. “What? I — You can’t be —”
“You should see your face,” Dina laughs, releasing Ellie’s shirt to turn back to her dresser. “I think I have something you can borrow.” She digs through a drawer, then another. She straightens with a triumphant “Aha!” and tosses them at Ellie.
Ellie catches the items reflexively, a pair of black sweat shorts drops unceremoniously to the ground as Ellie unfolds the shirt in her hands. “This is my shirt,” she says, recognizing the faded Nirvana logo. “I’ve been looking for this.”
Dina shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Thief,” Ellie mutters, but she’s smiling too.
Dina mimes flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically. “Maybe, but at least now you don’t have to sleep naked.” She pauses, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Unless you want to.”
“In your dreams,” Ellie shoots back, but her voice cracks traitorously.
Dina smiles and gestures to the bathroom across the hall. “Go change, prude.”
“Says the girl who told me not to look,” Ellie chuckles, as she heads toward the bathroom.
When Ellie returns, wearing her own shirt (which somehow smells like Dina now) and the borrowed shorts (which are a bit too short for Ellie’s comfort), Dina is already in bed, covers pulled back invitingly on the empty side. She pats the mattress. “Come on, I don’t bite.” A pause. “Unless you ask nicely.”
“You’re impossible,” Ellie grumbles, but she slides under the covers, careful to leave a respectful distance between them.
Dina immediately notices. “Why are you all the way over there? Do I scare you?” There’s vulnerability beneath the teasing question, a flicker of uncertainty that makes Ellie’s heart twist.
“No,” Ellie lies. “Never.”
“Then stop acting weird and hold me,” Dina says, scooting closer. “I’m cold.”
Ellie hesitates only a moment before opening her arms. Dina turns, pressing her back to Ellie’s front, guiding Ellie’s arm around her waist. Ellie takes a moment to marvel at how well they fit, Dina’s curves nestling against Ellie’s body like a missing puzzle piece. Ellie holds herself stiffly, afraid to breathe too deeply, to disturb the perfect stillness of this moment.
“What’s with you tonight?” Dina murmurs, reaching back to touch Ellie’s hip. “Relax.” Dina says for the umpteenth time.
She takes Ellie’s hand in hers, pulling it up to rest beneath her chin. Their legs tangle beneath the covers. Dina’s feet are cold when they find Ellie’s warm calves. Ellie inhales sharply as Dina presses closer, eliminating any remaining space between them.
“You’re so warm,” Dina whispers, her voice thick with something Ellie can’t make out. She lifts Ellie’s hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.
The air leaves Ellie’s lungs in a rush. Dina turns in her arms, their faces now inches apart on the shared pillow. In the gentle glow of the fairy lights, Dina’s eyes are dark and fathomless.
“I think I wanna kiss you,” Dina whispers, her breath warm against Ellie’s lips.
Ellie forces a nervous laugh. “Very funny.”
Dina doesn’t smile. “I’m not joking,” she says, her gaze intensely focused. “I had a lot of fun tonight with you. You looked so cute when you played beer Pong with those guys from Jesse’s class. You crushed them.”
Ellie chuckles, her heart slamming in her chest so hard she’s certain Dina must feel it. “I can’t take all the credit; those dudes were trashed.”
Dina punches her arm lightly. “Shut up. Just take the compliment.”
They fall silent. The only sound is their soft breaths and the distant hum of the city beyond the window. Dina leans in closer, her movement deliberate and slow.
“What are you doing?” Ellie whispers, though she knows—she knows.
“I told you…I wanted to kiss you,” Dina says, pausing a breath away, and chances a glance at Ellie.
“You’re drunk,” Ellie protests weakly.
Dina shakes her head, her nose brushing Ellie’s. “Not really, not anymore. Maybe a smidge tipsy.”
Their eyes meet, and Ellie sees something raw and honest in Dina’s gaze, something that makes her chest ache with longing.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” Dina breathes, her hand coming up to cup Ellie’s cheek.
Ellie can’t form words, can’t think beyond the gravity pulling them together. Instead, she closes the distance herself, pressing her lips to Dina’s.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative — testing the waters. Then Dina makes a small sound in the back of her throat, her fingers sliding into Ellie’s hair, and the kiss deepens. Ellie tastes the vodka cranberry Dina had earlier and the mint lip balm she wears. Dina’s teeth scrape gently against her bottom lip, Ellie's mind going blank at the sound, the feel, the taste of her.
They break apart, breathing hard, and Ellie sees her own wonder reflected in Dina’s eyes.
“That was —” Dina whispers, a smile spreading across her face.
“Yeah,” Ellie agrees, dazed.
And then they’re kissing again, more urgently this time. Dina’s hands slip beneath Ellie’s shirt, tracing patterns on her skin that leave goosebumps in their wake. Clothing becomes an obstacle, shed piece by piece as they explore each other with growing confidence, laughing against each other’s lips at their own eagerness.
Dina’s breathy sighs hit Ellie like a truck. The arch of her back, the flutter of her eyelashes against flushed cheeks — Ellie commits each detail to memory, certain she’ll never witness anything more beautiful than Dina coming undone beneath her touch.
Later, tangled in the sheets, they lie facing each other, breathless and spent. Dina's fingertips gently glide along the intricate lines of Ellie's tattoo, the inked patterns a stark contrast against her skin. The room is dimly lit, casting soft shadows around them, as they savor the warmth and intimacy of the moment.
Morning light filters through navy curtains, painting soft blue patterns across the rumpled sheets. Ellie blinks awake slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves. She registers warmth first—the heat of Dina’s body still pressed against hers—then awareness: they’re naked beneath the thin cotton sheet, legs tangled together, Dina’s arm draped across her waist. When Ellie’s eyes fully open, she finds Dina already awake, propped on one elbow, studying her with an unreadable expression that makes Ellie’s stomach flip.
“Hi,” Ellie croaks, voice rough with sleep.
“Hey there,” Dina replies softly. Her hair falls in messy waves around her face, and there’s a small mark on her collarbone that Ellie recognizes with a jolt as having put there herself. The sight sends heat rushing to her cheeks.
A charged silence stretches between them; fresh, delicate, and a little uneasy. Ellie can’t read Dina’s expression—there’s a guardedness there she’s not used to seeing—and panic bubbles in her chest, threatening to boil over.
Did Dina regret last night? What if their friendship is ruined? What if this was just a drunken mistake that Dina now wishes had never happened?
The questions crowd Ellie’s throat, but only one makes it past her lips.
“Do you regret it?” The words come out more vulnerable than she intends, hanging in the air between them like something breakable.
Dina’s eyebrows pull together slightly, her head tilting. For one horrible moment, Ellie thinks she’s going to say yes. Then Dina’s expression softens, and she shakes her head.
“I — no, Ellie, not at all.” She says, her voice steady, sure. “I really enjoyed it,” she finishes softly, her fingertips trace patterns on Ellie’s bare shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “What about you?”
Ellie swallows hard. This was her moment—she could tell Dina everything. Confess that she’s had feelings for her since freshman year. Tell her how last night felt like something she’s been waiting for her entire life. How waking up next to Dina feels right for her, like something she didn’t realize she had been missing.
But what if Dina doesn’t feel the same? What if this was just sex for her—good sex, sure, but nothing more? The risk of losing Dina entirely causes a pit to form deep in Ellie’s gut.
“No, I don’t,” she says finally, aiming for casualness. “It was... nice.”
Nice.
What a pathetic, inadequate word for the most intense experience of her life.
Dina’s eyebrow shoots up, and she gives Ellie’s shoulder a light shove. “Just nice? You’re such an asshole.” But there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—disappointment? Relief? Ellie can’t tell.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Ellie protests, defensiveness creeping into her tone. “I’ve never had sex with my best friend before.”
The word ‘friend’ lands between them like a ten ton weight. Dina’s expression shifts, almost imperceptibly, before she smiles—a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Well, it’s probably the best stress relief we’ll get this semester,” she says lightly, her hand moving from Ellie’s shoulder to brush a strand of auburn hair from her face. “Senior year is going to be brutal.”
Ellie’s heart sinks. Stress relief. Of course, that’s how Dina sees it—just a fun distraction, nothing more. She forces herself to nod, to smile like her chest isn’t aching.
“Yeah, definitely,” she agrees, her voice only slightly strained. “Between my thesis project and your Urban Planning Capstone, we’re going to need all the stress relief we can get.”
Dina studies her for a beat longer, then sits up, keeping the sheet tucked around her chest. The morning light catches the curve of her bare back, the delicate knobs of her spine, and Ellie has to look away.
“You know,” Dina says, her voice casual in a way that feels practiced, “there’s no reason this has to be a one-time thing.”
Ellie’s gaze snaps back to her. “What do you mean?”
Dina shrugs, the gesture deliberately nonchalant. “We could do this again. Whenever we want. No strings, no drama.” She meets Ellie’s eyes, her expression neutral. “Friends-with-benefits.”
“It makes sense, right? We’re both single, we enjoy each other’s company, and...” She gestures between them at the rumpled bed. “This was good. Really good.”
Ellie’s mind races. On one hand, the idea of being with Dina again—of being allowed to touch her, to kiss her, to make her come apart—is intoxicating. She knows herself well enough to recognize the danger. Her feelings for Dina already run deep; how much worse will it be if they keep sleeping together while Ellie pretends it's just casual fun?
But the alternative is going back to just being friends, with the memory of last night forever ingrained in her memory and no hope of it happening again.
“You don’t think it would make things weird?” Ellie asks, stalling.
Dina reaches out, squeezes Ellie’s hand. “Only if we let it. We’re adults. We can handle this.” Ellie thinks she might imagine the uncertainty in Dina’s voice. There is a pause, then: “Unless you don’t want to, which is totally fine. Last night can just be a fun memory. No pressure.”
The thought of never touching Dina again makes the decision for her.
“No, I want to,” the words slip past her lips before she can stop them. Ellie winces at her own eagerness. “I mean, yeah, that makes sense. Friends-with-benefits. No strings.”
Dina’s smile widens, genuine this time. “Cool.” She leans forward, brushing her lips against Ellie’s in a kiss that’s gentle, sweet. “And we can stop anytime, no questions asked, if either of us feels weird about it.”
“Deal,” Ellie agrees, trying to ignore the voice in her head that whispers she already feels weird about it—not because she doesn’t want it, but because she wants so much more.
Dina flops back onto her pillow, stretching like a cat, the sheet slipping dangerously low on her chest. “So, friend,” she says with a playful glint in her eye, “what are your plans for the day?”
Ellie forces herself to focus on Dina’s face, not the expanse of skin being revealed as the sheet continues its downward journey. “Uh, I have to meet with my advisor at two, but nothing before that.”
“Perfect.” Dina’s hand slides across the mattress, finding Ellie’s thigh beneath the sheet. “Because I was thinking we could order breakfast and then maybe...” Her fingers dance higher, and Ellie’s breath catches. “... continue exploring some benefits ?”
Any doubts Ellie has disappeared under the heat of Dina’s touch. She’ll worry about her heart later. Right now, with Dina looking at her like she’s something delicious to devour, Ellie can’t bring herself to care about the inevitable fallout.
“I like the way you think,” she says, and pulls Dina closer for a kiss that tastes like morning breath and stale alcohol, but she can’t bring herself to care because this is everything she’s ever wanted.
Three weeks into their arrangement, Ellie finds Dina in the back corner of the library’s fifth floor, surrounded by urban planning textbooks and half-filled notebooks. She slides into the chair across from her, passing over a paper cup of perfectly steeped chai—two pumps of vanilla, splash of oat milk, exactly how Dina likes it. Dina glances up, her tired expression melting into a smile that makes Ellie’s chest tight. “You’re a lifesaver,” she whispers, fingers brushing Ellie’s as she accepts the cup.
Ellie pretends the contact doesn’t send electricity up her arm, pretends this is just what friends do. Twenty minutes later, Dina’s foot hooks around Ellie’s ankle, and when their eyes meet over highlighted textbooks, Ellie recognizes the look that means studying is about to be postponed.
They end up in the deserted classics section. Dina’s pressed against the dusty volumes of Homer and Virgil, her hands tangled in Ellie’s hair as Ellie trails kisses down her neck. “Shh,” Ellie murmurs against her skin when Dina’s breath hitches too loudly. “Someone’s gonna hear.” But there’s a thrill in the risk, in the way Dina’s teeth sink into her lower lip to stay quiet, in the flush that spreads across her cheeks and down her chest.
When they emerge, disheveled and slightly breathless, a gray-haired librarian eyes them suspiciously — it makes Ellie want to crawl under the nearest study carrel.
Dina just grins, utterly unrepentant, and drags Ellie back to their table to actually finish their work.
On a rainy October evening, they sprawl out on Dina’s couch watching some Netflix crime documentary that neither of them is really following. Ellie sits with her back against the armrest, Dina nestled between her legs, her dark hair tickling Ellie’s chin. They’re still dressed—Ellie in her usual flannel and jeans, Dina in leggings and an oversized Henley shirt—but there’s an intimacy to their position that is more revealing than nakedness.
“You’re not watching,” Dina accuses, tilting her head back to catch Ellie staring at her profile.
“Neither are you,” Ellie counters, nodding at Dina’s phone, where she’s been scrolling Instagram for the past ten minutes.
Dina laughs, soft and warm. “Fair point.” She shifts, turning in Ellie’s arms until they’re face to face, her weight pressing Ellie deeper into the couch cushions. “Should we find something more interesting to do?”
The documentary drones on, forgotten, as Dina’s mouth finds Ellie’s, soft and insistent. They move together with the familiarity of bodies that have learned each other’s rhythms, hands slipping beneath clothing, breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. When Dina’s fingers slide into her, Ellie gasps into her mouth, clutching at Dina’s shoulders like she’s drowning, and Dina is the only solid thing in a rushing current.
Afterward, they stay tangled together on the couch, clothes askew, the blue light of the TV painting Dina’s skin in cool tones. Ellie traces idle patterns on Dina’s back beneath her shirt, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. There’s a moment—brief but intense—when Ellie nearly says something dangerous, something that would shatter the careful boundaries of their arrangement. She swallows the words like medicine, bitter but necessary.
A week before Thanksgiving, Dina texts Ellie to come over for dinner. Ellie arrives to find the small kitchen filled with delicious smells and Dina wearing an apron over her jeans and shirt, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. “I’m making my mom’s Shakshuka,” she announces, handing Ellie a wooden spoon. “And you’re helping.”
“You know I’m useless in the kitchen,” Ellie protests, but she accepts the spoon anyway.
Dina hip-checks her playfully. “You’re not useless. You’re my taste-tester.” She guides Ellie’s hand to stir the bubbling tomato sauce. “Like this, see? Gentle.”
There’s something unbearably intimate about cooking together, about the domesticity of it all. Dina stands behind Ellie, her chin hooked over Ellie’s shoulder as she shows her how to crack an egg directly into the sauce without breaking the yolk. Their hands overlap on the handle of the pan, and a different kind of heat spreads through Ellie's chest—something deeper and more frightening than simple desire.
They don’t make it to the table. The food is temporarily forgotten as Dina backs Ellie against the refrigerator, magnets clattering to the floor as they kiss with urgency. They end up on the kitchen floor, a thin rug providing minimal cushioning against the cold linoleum.
Afterward, they eat Shakshuka straight from the pan, cross-legged on the floor, passing a single fork back and forth, laughing at nothing and everything.
As fall slides into winter, their encounters multiply like snowflakes. Ellie keeps a toothbrush at Dina’s place. Dina clears a drawer for Ellie’s spare clothes. Neither of them acknowledges these developments out loud—to name them would be to admit something is changing, evolving beyond their original parameters.
Ellie notices the small things: how Dina remembers how she likes her eggs, how she stocks Ellie’s favorite brand of chips, how she’ll absently run her fingers through Ellie’s hair while they study together. Ellie responds in kind—bringing Dina her favorite pens before exams, remembering to pick up the chocolate-covered pretzels Dina craves during her period, learning exactly how she takes her tea when she’s stressed versus when she’s relaxed.
In early December, Jesse catches Ellie’s arm after their shared elective. “Hey, haven’t seen you around lately.”
“Yeah, just busy with classes,” Ellie shrugs, scratching the back of her neck, and avoiding his knowing gaze.
“Uh-huh,” Jesse says, clearly unconvinced. “And it has nothing to do with the fact that you and Dina are basically attached at the hips these days?”
Ellie’s cheeks burn. “We’ve always been close.”
“Not like this.” Jesse’s tone isn’t accusatory, just observant. “Look, I’m not trying to pry. I’m glad you two are... whatever you are. Just be sure you guys show your faces from time to time, okay? It’s our last year together.” Jesse chuckles.
That night, when Dina texts her the now-familiar “you up?” Ellie hesitates only briefly before responding: “on my way.”
Dina opens the door wearing Ellie’s Nirvana shirt and nothing else, her hair still damp from a shower. The sight knocks the air from Ellie’s lungs. This isn’t new—they’ve seen each other naked countless times now—but tonight different somehow.
The sex is different tonight — slower, more deliberate. Dina’s hands cradle Ellie’s face as they kiss. Her gaze locks onto Ellie’s, refusing to let her look away. When Ellie’s fingers enter her, Dina gasps, “Stay with me,” and Ellie isn’t sure if she means physically or something else entirely, but she nods, whispering, “I’m here, I’m right here,” against Dina’s lips as she comes apart.
After, they lie facing each other, legs intertwined, sharing a pillow. Dina traces the outline of Ellie’s tattoo, her touch feather-light.
“What are you thinking?” Dina asks, her voice hushed in the darkness.
I’m in love with you.
This isn’t casual and it never was. Not for me.
I don’t know how to keep pretending.
Each thought passes as quickly as it comes. Ellie bites her tongue.
“Nothing important,” she says instead, and pulls Dina closer, breathing in the smell of her shampoo, storing away the feel of Dina’s skin against hers like a treasure she might someday lose.
Ellie pauses outside Dina’s door, the bottle of rosé cool against her palm, her other hand hesitating before the knock. It’s Valentine’s Day—a fact she’s been trying to ignore all week despite the explosion of pink and red across campus, the couples pairing off, and the knowledge that tonight’s “casual hangout” with Dina is anything but casual for Ellie. She knocks, three quick raps, and waits, heart thudding against her ribs like it’s trying to escape.
The door swings open, and Ellie’s carefully constructed nonchalance crumbles instantly. Dina stands before her in a deep green sweater that brings out the amber flecks in her eyes ,and dark jeans hugging her curves. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and there’s a flush to her cheeks that suggests she’s been cooking or already started on wine.
“You’re right on time,” Dina says, stepping back to let Ellie in.
The apartment has transformed. Strings of fairy lights drape from ceiling to wall, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. Clusters of candles flicker on every available surface—the coffee table, the bookshelves, the windowsills. The air smells of vanilla and cinnamon, and something buttery cooking in the kitchen.
“Oh,” Ellie breathes, unable to hide her surprise. “This is...”
“Too much?” Dina asks, a note of vulnerability creeping into her voice.
“No,” she says in a rush, holding out the wine. “It’s good...great.”
Dina’s smile returns, bright and genuine. She takes the bottle, her fingers brushing Ellie’s in a touch that sends familiar sparks through her system. “I figured, just because we’re not dating doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the perks of this manufactured holiday,” she says cheekily, winking.
“Corporate America wants us to celebrate, so who am I to argue?” She leads Ellie to the living room, where she has set a low coffee table with mismatched plates and two wine glasses. On the plates: stacks of fluffy pancakes, scrambled eggs with herbs, and what looks like freshly sliced strawberries.
“Breakfast for dinner?” Ellie asks, charmed despite herself.
“I remembered you said it was your favorite thing when you were a kid.” Dina uncorks the wine with practiced ease, pouring two generous glasses. “Joel would make pancakes for dinner whenever you aced a test, right?”
The fact that Dina remembered that throwaway comment from months ago makes something warm bloom in Ellie’s chest. “Yeah,” she says, swallowing past the sudden tightness in her throat. “He did.”
They settle on cushions on either side of the coffee table, knees touching beneath its surface. Dina raises her glass. “To a manufactured holiday and real friendships.”
“And breakfast for dinner,” Ellie adds, clinking her glass against Dina’s.
The wine is sweet and crisp, complementing the buttery pancakes and savory eggs. They eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds the clink of forks against plates and the soft indie playlist Dina has queued up on her phone. Ellie watches Dina cut her pancakes into perfect triangles, a habit she’s noticed before and finds inexplicably endearing.
“So,” Dina says, looking up to catch Ellie staring. “How was your Valentine’s Day? Thrilling?”
Ellie rolls her eyes. “Oh, you know it. I’ve been fending off countless admirers, breaking hearts left and right.”
“I believe it.” Dina’s foot nudges Ellie’s under the table. “You’re quite the heartbreaker, Williams.”
“Says the woman who turned down three separate date offers this week,” Ellie counters, spearing a strawberry with her fork.
Dina shrugs, a small smile playing at her lips. “None of them were my type.”
“And what exactly is your type these days?” Ellie asks, trying to keep her tone light, casual, like the answer doesn’t matter.
Dina takes a long sip of her wine, watching Ellie over the rim of her glass. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
There’s something in her gaze—heated and intentional—that makes Ellie’s breath catch. She looks away, focusing on her plate, on the patterns of light and shadow cast by the candles, on anything but the way Dina’s sweater slips off one shoulder, revealing the curve of her collarbone.
They finish eating; the conversation flowing between them as it always has, punctuated now by lingering glances and deliberate touches—Dina places a hand on Ellie’s wrist as she makes a point. Ellie’s fingers brush Dina’s as they reach for the wine bottle at the same time. The space between them seems to shrink with each passing minute, the air growing thicker, charged with anticipation.
After dinner, they migrate to the couch, bringing the wine with them. An old ‘80s teen movie plays on the TV, but neither of them is watching. Dina sits close enough that their thighs press together, her head resting on Ellie’s shoulder. Dina’s perfume — something floral and understated mingles with the candle wax and wine, creating a heady combination that makes Ellie’s head swim.
“This is nice,” Dina murmurs, her voice soft in the dim light. “Being with you like this.”
Ellie’s heart stutters. “Yeah,” she agrees, her own voice rougher than she intends. “It is.”
Dina shifts, turning to face Ellie more directly. “You know what would make it nicer?” she asks, and there’s a playful glint in her eye that Ellie recognizes.
“What?” Ellie plays along, though she knows, she always knows where this is heading.
Instead of answering, Dina sets her wine glass on the coffee table and takes Ellie’s, placing it beside her own. Then she moves with fluid grace, swinging one leg over Ellie’s thighs until she’s straddling her lap.
“This,” she says, and leans down to capture Ellie’s lips in a kiss that tastes of wine and syrup and possibility.
Ellie’s hands find Dina’s waist instinctively, pulling her closer. The kiss deepens, growing more urgent as Dina’s fingers tangle in Ellie’s hair. There’s a hunger in the way they move together, familiar yet somehow new, as if each time they do this they discover something different, something more.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Dina confesses against Ellie’s lips, her voice a breathless whisper.
“Just today?” Ellie teases, sliding her hands beneath Dina’s sweater to find warm skin.
Dina laughs, the sound vibrating through both their bodies. “Someone’s cocky.”
Ellie doesn’t respond, just trails her fingers higher and higher until she reaches the clasp of Dina’s bra.
They’ve done this dozens of times now—undressed each other, mapped each other’s bodies with hands and mouths, learned what makes the other gasp and moan—tonight, though, there's something more and it's spilling above the surface. There’s a tenderness to Dina’s touch, a deliberateness to the way she looks into Ellie’s eyes as she unbuttons her shirt. When they’re both naked, bathed in the golden glow of fairy lights, Dina pauses, her hands framing Ellie’s face.
“You’re beautiful,” she says, with such sincerity that Ellie has to look away.
“Shut up,” she mumbles, embarrassed.
Dina tilts her chin back up, forcing Ellie to meet her gaze. “I mean it.”
And then they’re kissing again, falling horizontal on the couch, legs intertwining. They don't rush their movements—they take their time, touching and tasting and teasing. When Ellie gives into desire, fingers slipping inside, Dina arches against her, head thrown back, throat exposed. Ellie presses kisses there, against her pulse point, feeling the rapid flutter beneath her lips.
“Ellie,” Dina gasps, and her name has never sounded so sacred, so right. “Ellie, please.”
She knows what Dina needs, knows just how to curl her fingers, how to press her thumb in tight circles, how to read the sounds Dina makes and the way her body responds. When Dina comes, she clings to Ellie like she’s afraid of falling, her face buried in Ellie’s neck, her body trembling.
After, they lie tangled together on the too-small couch, a throw blanket draping over them. The candles have burned lower, casting longer shadows. The movie plays on, forgotten. Dina’s head rests on Ellie’s chest, her breathing slow and even. She traces idle patterns on Ellie’s stomach, just above her navel.
“Best Valentine’s Day ever,” she murmurs, voice already laced with sleep. .
A wistful smile pulls at Ellie’s lips in the darkness, her hand stroking Dina’s hair. She tries to keep disappointment from coloring her tone as she asks, “Even though we’re not dating?”
“Mmm,” Dina hums, already half-asleep. “Who needs a dating and all the complicated shit when you have this?”
She drifts off soon after, her weight a comforting pressure against Ellie’s side. Ellie stays awake, watching the play of light and shadow across Dina’s face, the delicate curve of her eyelashes, the slight part of her lips as she breathes. And in this quiet moment, with Dina warm and soft in her arms, with fairy lights twinkling like stars around them, with the remnants of their not-date scattered across the coffee table, Ellie faces a truth she can no longer deny.
This isn’t casual, it’s not just stress relief or friends-with-benefits or any of the other labels they’ve tried to put on it. Ellie is completely, irrevocably in love with her best friend. Every day, she’s falling deeper, with every shared moment, every laugh, every touch. She realizes that if she lets this continue, she won’t be able to go back to being just Dina’s friend when it inevitably ends.
Because it will end. It has to. Dina doesn’t want her like that—she’s Ellie’s best friend, nothing more, nothing less. And Ellie can’t keep pretending that her heart isn’t involved, that she can separate the physical from the emotional, that every time they’re together like this, it doesn’t feel like they’re making love rather than just having sex.
She presses a gentle kiss to the top of Dina’s head, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo, memorizing the weight of her in her arms. Tomorrow, she’ll have to pull away. Tomorrow, she’ll have to protect what’s left of her heart. But for tonight, just for tonight, she will let herself have this— the illusion of something real with the woman she loves.