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You were Evelyn’s youngest granddaughter, and you came to spend your vacation at your grandmother’s house in Pelican Town. You arrived on the 28th of summer, and during the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies, you met Elliott.
George and Evelyn introduced you with so much pride. Your cousin Alex was a pain, didn’t even bother introducing you to his girlfriend Haley, but you already knew the kind of girl she was—you’d end up running into her later anyway.
That’s when your eyes landed on his—Elliott, his red hair glowing beautifully in the moonlight. And about you, he could only write the sweetest poems, just about the way you smiled at him. God, he was such a romantic.
He came closer while your grandparents were distracted, talking to the mayor.
"I’ve never seen you here before." His voice carried an undisguised admiration, like you’d just become his new muse.
"My name is…" You told him, and to him, it was the most beautiful name he had ever heard in his entire career as a writer. He could have named the main character of his novels after you right then.
"Beautiful name. I’m Elliott, I live over there in that cabin." He pointed to the little cabin by the beach entrance and kissed your hand.
"Is that an invitation?"
"I’m sorry if I offended you…" he said, worried he’d been rude. Truth was, you kind of liked the idea of visiting him.
But you were interrupted—Elliott’s eyes dimmed a little, you noticed—by your grandparents calling you back into their conversation.
"I see you’ve already met my granddaughter, Elliott!" Evelyn stroked your shoulder with such tenderness it made your heart warm. "She’s spending her vacation with us before heading off to college!"
"Impressive." He couldn’t take his eyes off you. "Congratulations."
"The pride of the family," George added. You knew you were your grandfather’s favorite. "Well, Evelyn, let’s head home. I’m an old man, and I’m tired."
"All right, George," your grandmother replied, calling your cousin, who looked frustrated about leaving Haley behind at the festival.
"Why isn’t she coming?"
"Your cousin’s getting to know the town. She needs to mingle with the people here since she’ll be staying for a month!" Evelyn scolded Alex. Things were always different when you were around, and Alex hated it.
You and Alex had never been inseparable cousins, anyway.
"Mingle, sure," he muttered, eyeing you and Elliott. You stuck your tongue out at him once your grandparents weren’t looking, and with that, they all left for home.
Your gaze returned to the redhead who hadn’t stopped looking at you. This is going to be fun, you thought.
"Want to watch the jellies with me?" he asked.
"Of course." The two of you walked down to the pier. You chatted with other villagers along the way, but Elliott was the one paying the closest attention to you.
And all you wanted was attention. You’d even say you thrived on it.
Elliott watched your every move as if you were the only person alive, his mind completely tainted by romance.
Mayor Lewis lit the torch on the small boat out at sea, pushed it away, and the light vanished from the area, leaving the shoreline in complete darkness. But Elliott still saw light in you.
As the fire died, the jellies floated closer to the shore, glowing softly and filling everything with light again. The cool air brushed against your face—fall was just around the corner.
But Elliott’s chest had already skipped a season; inside, everything was blooming like spring.
You smiled, and he silently wrote a verse in your name. Your eyes sparkled with the dance of the jellies, and he admired how much you loved the sea.
"I have a jellyfish tattoo," you said, breaking the silence, eyes still locked on the glowing creatures. Elliott had to pretend he was just as focused on them.
"Can I see it?" he asked innocently.
"You’ll have to buy me a drink first, handsome," you teased. He hadn’t even thought about taking you to bed yet, but the fact that you’d hinted at it nearly drove him insane.
You both turned your eyes back to the ocean. You admired the rest of the dance while he clenched his sweaty hands, desperately trying not to imagine you naked.
"It’s sad, the pollution in the oceans. They’re going extinct, and it’s all our fault," he said, trying to change the subject.
"Way to kill the mood, Elliott." You laughed to yourself. "But yeah, it really is sad."
I’m such an idiot, Elliott thought. But at least you let him stay by your side for the rest of the festival. He made sure to walk you back to your grandparents’ house and returned to his cabin with a smile on his face.
꒰ ... ꒱
The first day of fall surprised everyone—it was still warm—and of course, Elliott found a way to poetize it. It was all because of his new muse. Without a doubt, you were to blame for his heart being so warm. How could that not affect the weather?
It was Monday, but he decided to stop by Pierre’s to pick up a few things he was missing at home. And there you were, his muse, the light in his eyes.
He had to greet you from afar since you were chatting with Abigail in one of the aisles. Still, he couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.
"You’re pretty cool, [name]. I thought you’d be a fitness muse like your cousin, you know?" the purple-haired girl said. You figured people in town would judge you by Alex’s behavior—it was only natural. "Me and the guys are hanging out at the beach tonight, you should come."
"I’ll see if I can sneak out of dinner with my grandparents," you said. Abigail rolled her eyes—not at you, but at her dad.
"I have to escape him all the time. I get it," she laughed, brushing your arm before walking away.
Your eyes left her after the goodbye and met his. Elliott got nervous when you caught him watching you. You smiled.
He really needed to learn how to keep his composure around you—he was acting like such a fool. How was he supposed to build a comfortable closeness with you during your stay in Pelican Town?
He wanted to be near you so badly. Elliott forced himself to stay grounded for the rest of the day by burying his nose in books. Not that being grounded meant he wasn’t thinking of you. God, he was convinced he’d never spend another second without thinking of you.
When he left the Museum, it was already dark. He wondered if you’d managed to escape your grandparents and go to the beach. He doubted it. He still thought of you as innocent—not in a romantic sense, he’d already caught you shamelessly flirting with him. Elliott just figured you’d stay glued to your grandparents for the whole trip.
He was wrong. When he quietly stepped onto the beach, he heard laughter—one laugh in particular stood out to him—coming from the bonfire. You were there, wearing a bikini top and denim shorts.
Elliott’s thoughts shifted, but he wasn’t disappointed—not at all. He was judging himself for being so narrow-minded before. How dare he have such puritan thoughts, when he wasn’t pure himself?
Your new friends noticed his presence, waving at him—including you—and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He waved back but kept walking toward his cabin.
"Aren’t you guys gonna invite him?" you asked.
"Elliott’s the hermit writer of Pelican Town," Sebastian explained. "He thinks he’s too old for the stuff we do."
"And how old is he?" you asked. He overheard and loved your curiosity about him.
"Thirty-two. We keep telling him he’s not that old," Abigail added.
"Well, he’s twelve years older than me." You smiled, and everyone was stunned. You really did look young, but they were still shocked at just how much. Elliott felt a tightness in his chest—you were so young.
He had suspected there was an age gap between you two. But twelve years? When you were starting grade school, he already had poems older than you. He’d already had lovers. He wasn’t sure he could handle that.
"Come on, it’s obvious. She just got out of school," Abigail said, and it annoyed you—you hadn’t just gotten out of school.
"She’s more mature than you, at least," Sam teased. Abigail stuck her tongue out at him, and you laughed. They were fun.
Is he watching me right now? you wondered, glancing at Elliott’s cabin, dark and silent.
Does she know I’m watching her? Elliott asked himself, peeking through the one slit in his window that wasn’t covered by a curtain. Hopefully, you’d never notice.
He was still processing your age difference. Twelve years—a number that could never look small. Twelve years is a kid hitting puberty. Twelve years—when he was twelve, you were born, and when you were twelve, he’d already been an adult for a while. A shiver ran down his spine, guilt clawing at him for still wanting you.
His thoughts were interrupted when he saw you laughing a little too much at something Sebastian said, and his eyes widened when you lit your cigarette with his.
You were becoming unpredictable. Elliott’s face burned with jealousy, though he refused to admit it. He told himself he was just admiring how natural you looked. But the way you touched Seb’s face, and the way the idiot looked at you, gnawed at him.
You were so graceful with that cigarette, the way the smoke left your lips almost convinced him it was something healthy. He figured that’s why cigarette commercials had been banned.
He gave up watching you, convincing himself it was better to just go to bed.
꒰ ... ꒱
The rest of the week was cold, just like Fall should be. You ran into Elliott several times, exchanging glances and smiles, but the entire town also seemed entertained by you. As different as you were—rebellious in secret—you were careful with your grandparents, and you were softening the heart of every single person here.
He had become much more observant this week, and it was all your fault.
He saw you tending the flowers with your grandmother, such a bold contrast between what you did in front of them and what you did with your friends. Elliott saw more of George this week than in an entire year, and worse—he saw old George smiling.
Elliott saw you gathering leeks for your grandfather. You were something else—so thoughtful with others, yet careless with yourself—or so it seemed, since you smoked. But he thought he could handle that little flaw, just to stay close to you.
He told himself he could take care of you.
Elliott decided he needed a drink, so he went to the Saloon. Leah was there, they talked for a bit, but he preferred being alone and, secretly, he was thankful when she left early.
Imagine his surprise when you walked into the Saloon and sat down beside him at the bar.
“Hi, Elliott.” You stole all of his attention. He doubted his own sobriety. You ordered a drink from Gus, who gladly served you.
“[Name].” He wanted to sound indifferent, but he was far too enchanted to pull it off. His fingers tapped restlessly against the wooden counter.
“I’ve been looking for you, you’ve been disappearing on me, mister.” You scolded him. Mister? Elliott swore you were trying to kill him. “They told me you were at the museum.”
“Left early today. To what do I owe the honor of being sought out by you?”
He was nervous, but he wouldn’t admit it. He wouldn’t lose the chance of being near you again.
“They told me you’re a writer.” You seemed genuinely interested. “So I bought this for you. But in return, I want you to let me read something you’ve written.”
Now you were bargaining with him? Elliott thought he was losing his mind. Your velvety voice truly did things to him.
“Ink is never too much for a writer… and this one is expensive. Thank you.” He took the bottle without trembling—point for him. “As for your proposal…”
“Please…” You whispered.
That was when he realized you knew exactly how much you affected him. His heart raced, and he downed the rest of his drink.
“Alright, but I need to choose a draft that will be more pleasant for you.”
“I’ll be waiting eagerly.” You declared, sipping your beer and letting the silence linger. The way your body moved, the way your throat shifted as you drank—
Elliott decided to leave before the silence turned uncomfortable. He said goodbye.
Regret hit him the moment he got home, aching to be near you again. Why was your presence so magnetic?
He couldn’t sleep…
Sure, it was only eight at night, but he couldn’t write either. It was as if you’d cursed him with writer’s block. Would you think it strange if he wrote only about you? Because that was all he had in his mind.
Little did he know, you were at the beach just an hour after he’d left the Saloon. You wanted more—you were bored of this village, even if you had made friends. You even chatted with your cousin’s girlfriend, Haley, but you wanted something different.
And you had no doubt you would find it.
You left your sandals by the shore, your feet sinking into the soft, warm sand—a stark contrast to your body’s temperature and the cool air around you. You whistled loudly, checking if Willy’s Fish Shop would light up. You didn’t want to wake him. You wanted to wake a certain red-haired writer haunted by your beauty.
He wasn’t asleep, but he jumped at the whistle. Peering cautiously through the window, he saw what looked like the reason for his death.
You, facing the sea, wearing tight little shorts and a t-shirt that hid everything perfectly. Your body moved slowly, dancing to music only in your head, while he stood there admiring. Elliott felt like he was trespassing into a space that wasn’t his, but he felt no guilt about it.
You looked in the direction of his cabin—he noticed, but didn’t stop watching, knowing you couldn’t see him. And you really couldn’t, but you hoped he was looking.
You lifted your shirt over your arms, teasing as if you were going to take it off. He swallowed hard. His pants were already tight around his groin. I’m a filthy pervert, he whispered. She’s so young, she can’t possibly want someone like me.
His hand pressed against his crotch, and he groaned. When his eyes returned to the window, you were no longer by the shore. He searched, thinking you’d gone swimming, but you were nowhere to be found. The knock on his cabin door caught him off guard. He straightened his clothes, stood tall. She saw me? No, she couldn’t have…
Elliott opened the door, only to find you smiling, fully dressed—for his relief or despair, he wasn’t sure.
“Hope I didn’t wake you.” You said with fake innocence. You hadn’t woken him, but you had definitely woken something else.
“No, it’s fine. I was… mulling over ideas. I’m a bad sleeper, actually.” He lied. His sleep had been perfectly fine before you.
“I was so lonely, I wanted company. This beach is so beautiful—I could live here.” You admired the moonlit shore. Elliott’s chest sank with anxiety.
“I-I could join you, if you’d like.” He stammered, cursing himself. Idiot. I sound like a virgin pushing thirty.
“I thought that was obvious.” You crossed your arms. “But it seems a certain redhead has been avoiding me…”
Elliott swallowed hard, closing the door behind him.
“Excuse me? What makes you think I’ve been avoiding you?”
“I went everywhere they said you’d be, and I didn’t find you…” You two walked toward the pier, in front of Willy’s shop, while you continued. “Only found you at the Saloon… and guess who left right after I showed up?”
“You make a good case, but you’re wrong.” He chuckled, feeling a little more at ease.
“I thought there was something between us…”
You sat at the edge of the pier, your feet almost brushing the water. Suddenly, Elliott became very aware he was wearing pajamas—a pair of comfy sweatpants and a thin baby-blue t-shirt. He sat beside you, his feet easily reaching the water.
“There is.” He answered without hesitation. “But you’re very young.”
You shot him a look, eyebrow arched in mockery.
“You say that like I’m a teenager.” You pointed out. “I’m a grown woman.”
“Evelyn is very fond of me—I wouldn’t want to…”
“Shut up, redhead.” You cut him off clearly, eyes still on the sea. Elliott frowned and looked away too.
Silence wrapped around you both, only the sound of waves filling the air.
“You don’t want to be judged, do you?” You asked, and he nodded. “I don’t care about what haunts you, Elliott. I want to know if you want me the way I want you.”
His eyes widened at your bluntness. You wanted him—the poet, the hermit. He feared judgment, but he couldn’t deny the desire burning inside him. You stared at each other, and he was about to answer with a kiss, when you stood up, leaving him anguished again.
But when he looked up, he saw the same scene as before—your shirt coming off. A jellyfish tattoo winding beautifully down your side and back, delicate as if an ancient artist had drawn upon his muse. He wished he were the artist to touch your body. Before he could admire more tattoos, you slipped off your shorts, revealing red panties that stole his focus.
He didn’t deserve you.
“You’re coming in with me, right?” You turned to him. Now he could see your bare chest, nipples hard from the cool night air.
You dove into the sea before he could say a word.
“Uh!” You squealed, making him glance nervously at Willy’s shop, worried the noise would wake his friend. “Come on, redhead, I’m waiting.”
The redhead in question was at war with himself. If he stepped into that water, it would be the end of him—the end of his sanity. He wouldn’t be able to do anything but surrender, completely and recklessly, to you.
“Why do you have to be such a goody two-shoes, Elliott?” You teased, grabbing his foot, the only part of him in the water. “Life’s short—why don’t you lose yourself a little?”
Oh, you had convinced him—your eyes pure innocence while you were nearly naked, wet, performing for him, with him. The man before you stood, peeling off his pajama shirt, then his pants. He was now as dressed as you were. And then he jumped, splashing water at you, both of you laughing, the sound echoing into the night.
When the laughter faded, you swam toward him. Your arms looped around his shoulders, Elliott’s hands gripped your waist like a starving man, though he’d never admit it.
“Here we are.” You giggled again. Your chest pressed to his, your legs coiling around his waist, the cold water clashing with your burning bodies.
“I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.” Elliott whispered, almost praying you hadn’t heard.
“Shh…” You hushed him, as if his words could ruin the moment. Your hand caressed his face, pulling closer until your lips met his.
His mind emptied of all bittersweet thoughts about you two. Tomorrow didn’t matter. He just wanted to be in your arms now.
The kiss was searing—you pushed your tongue into his mouth, and he welcomed everything you gave. His hands gripped your waist tighter, while yours tangled in his wet hair. You kissed until there was no breath left in your lungs.
And after the kiss, you both decided there was nothing more to say—just to stay there, beneath the stars, touching and holding each other.
꒰ ... ꒱
He woke up the next morning like a drunk with a hangover—but his addiction was your kiss. You hadn’t gone to his cabin last night—you went straight to your grandparents’ house. It had been a fun night.
Elliott got out of bed and sat at his desk. With pen and ink, he began an entire paragraph. He wrote about you, just as you asked. He started with what he knew: that you were younger than him, yet fearless of judgment, unlike him.
He wrote about how beautiful your lips were, even with something rotten like a cigarette between them. He admired your will to be different, surprising, unpredictable. How confident you were showing your body, yet never making it vulgar.
He wrote about making love to you. Then he tore the page apart, horrified at his own depraved thoughts.
The redhead stood and went for a walk around the village.
At Pierre’s shop, people were gossiping about how Evelyn’s granddaughter had gone for a midnight swim at the beach. Elliott listened carefully, wondering if Pierre was fishing for more information.
“Seems she wasn’t alone in the water,” the older man said. “Who are we to judge—but what a bold girl…”
“She’s of age.”
“Doesn’t look it,” Pierre added. Elliott boiled inside, though he held his tongue. “Bet it was Robin’s boy. That kid has no sense.”
Nobody talks about Abigail, huh? Pierre forgot his daughter wanders the graveyard like some lunatic? he thought, laughing at himself. Pierre didn’t get it, only took his money for the items, and that was the end of it.
Leaving Pierre’s insufferable shop, Elliott ran into you. You were walking with Haley as if you’d been childhood friends, her complimenting your hair and even your style—even though it was nothing like hers, she had good taste.
His hands trembled when you looked at him and smiled, exhaling your last drag before tossing the cigarette and stomping it out.
“Elliott!”
“Hi, Elliott,” Haley chimed, sounding nothing like the sweet girl she’d been seconds earlier.
“How was your night?” you asked, running your fingers through your hair, fixing yourself up. “Hope you had wonderful dreams.”
“Bet you did,” he shot back, finally comfortable enough to tease you in return. There was something thrilling about only you two knowing your secret.
“You’re both weird,” Haley joked, frowning playfully. “I’ll go find Alex, he’s been so moody…”
“My contagious presence always ruins his mood, it’s always been like that.” You shrugged. Haley laughed, kissed your cheek, and walked off. Once she was gone, you turned to Elliott with a different kind of spark in your eyes.
“Sweet dreams, huh?” He echoed your words. “Did you know Pierre heard about you?”
“Kinda hard not to, since I ran into his wife near Marnie’s. Guess we’re not the only ones with secrets.” You winked, walking alongside him. “But one swim doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“Pierre thinks you weren’t alone.” He added.
“Oh.”
“He thinks you were with Sebastian.” Elliott said, a bit pained.
“And you got jealous?” You stared at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Nah.” He shrugged. “Maybe. Just a little.”
“It was only a kiss, redhead,” you whispered. “Living life, remember?”
Elliott blinked several times, struggling to keep up with the pace of the conversation. You flirted so naturally, sometimes he couldn’t tell if you meant to sound cruel or not.
“I like Sebastian, he’s cool,” you said, and now he understood. You were playing a game. “But I’d rather play with older men.”
Play?
You two reached your grandparents’ door. You sighed, looking at him.
“This is where I stay, handsome.” You turned, shoving both hands into your coat pockets—it really was chilly today. “See you another time.”
“Another time?” He repeated, as if those two words were impossibly complex. He really was a dramatic writer. “Why not come over tonight?”
“Hm, I thought we were supposed to be a secret?” You playfully punched his shoulder. He rolled his eyes.
“You could help me write.”
Idiot, he thought. He remembered how blocked he’d been, scribbling filthy thoughts about you—imagine writing with you right beside him. He’d die of a heart attack at thirty.
“It would be my pleasure, Elliott.” You accepted, saying his name in a funny way.
Shit.
꒰ ... ꒱
He had never been messy, but the day he decided to invite you into his corner of the world, his cabin suddenly seemed filthy. Elliott cleaned every corner, as if a queen were about to arrive. Well, to him, you were one.
He hadn’t specified a time, so when the late afternoon rolled around, he suspected you wouldn’t show up anymore. Until he was in the middle of a poem and you knocked on his door.
Elliott opened it anxiously, fingers barely holding the knob. When he saw you, he didn’t bother hiding his smile. You had dressed up a lot just to see him, and he couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. He hoped his charm had affected you half as much as you were affecting him right now, with that fitted dress under a thin coat. A pack of cigarettes dangled from your hand, your hair slightly tousled by the autumn breeze.
── “Thought I wasn’t coming, huh?” you teased. Elliott chuckled nervously — it was exactly what he had been thinking.
── “I don’t stand people up. I just look reckless.” You seemed to read his every thought, scolding him for doubting you.
And he deserved every bit of your criticism. He stepped aside to let you in, watching how quickly you made yourself at home. You strolled through his cabin like it was your own private stage, your fingers brushing across the piano keys before you sat on his bed.
── “It’s cozy here,” you said, still exploring with your eyes. “I bet women love it.”
── “I’m a discreet lover, if that’s what you’re asking.” Elliott cut you off. “Not many women come here.”
Not many… meaning it had been a while. He remembered Leah visiting last month, but that didn’t count — they were just friends. He tried recalling the last time he’d been with someone and wondered if you’d mind if he was a little rusty.
God, his mind was betraying him again with these thoughts of you. You kicked your feet lazily as you sat on his bed.
He awkwardly pulled up a chair, trying to warm his hands.
── “Written much this week?”
A simple question — but it might as well have been: Am I inspiring you? Elliott nearly forgot why he’d invited you here in the first place.
── “I’ve been writing, but I don’t like the results,” he admitted. “Not for lack of inspiration… nothing feels good enough.”
── “How can I help?”
Stop provoking me, he thought. Turning his back in the chair, he glanced at you.
── “By being patient… waiting for a barely acceptable draft?”
── “Hm…” You got up and went straight to his little basket of discarded drafts, fishing out a perfectly crumpled page. Elliott shot up, following you into the corner as you smoothed it out to read.
── “ ‘You arrive and my chest burns as if summer had never ended…’ Is this new? It feels so… passionate.”
── “Passionate?!” He cleared his throat, as though loving you were some kind of mortal sin. He lunged to snatch the paper. “Must be an old draft I tossed out!”
── “ ‘I imagine how sweet it must be, I imagine drowning in your body…’ ” You kept reading, enough to make him pin you against the wall, his hands trapping yours above your head. His brow furrowed, while your face remained calm, almost teasing. “What? Is it about me?”
Your wicked smile destroyed him. He’d been found out.
── “I told you it wasn’t good,” Elliott muttered, trying to deflect.
── “But there was something really good in it… I almost read it all…” You wiggled the hand still holding the page. Elliott pressed you harder against the wall. “What do you want to do to me?”
── “Nothing, [Name].” He lied, breath uneven, on the verge of confessing.
── “Don’t be a coward, redhead,” you whispered, one leg brushing against his calf seductively. “Say it.”
── “I want…” Elliott buried his face in your neck, ashamed of what he had written, regretting he hadn’t burned it. “…I want… to make love to you?”
He wasn’t even sure that was what you wanted to hear. A laugh vibrated in your chest — he felt it — and he wished he could just dissolve into you rather than face your gaze.
── “You’re adorable, Elliott.” Your voice softened as his grip loosened, arms circling your waist instead.
── “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, as if you were royalty and he, a lowly servant, daring something forbidden.
── “I want you, Elliott,” you confessed. “But you need to deal with your feelings.”
It was ironic. You led the situation like the experienced one — maybe you were. He was the romantic, you were the casual.
── “I’m leaving in a few weeks, we couldn’t start something real. But I like your game.” You stopped, eyes locking on his. Did he think you were joking too? You slipped free of his arms, trailing fingers over the piano. “And this isn’t about our age difference. It doesn’t have to be.”
Elliott swallowed the sting in his chest but kept listening, kept admiring. If he had to, he’d settle for being a fleeting fling in your life.
How could someone so young have him so under control?
You waited for his response. He leaned in and gave you a soft kiss.
── “Was that supposed to be an answer?” you asked, exasperated. To him, it was enough.
── “I want you, [Name]. More than anything. But we barely know each other.”
He realized the gap wasn’t just age. You had the kind of flexible, unburdened mind he lacked. Elliott longed for connection — marriage, children, growing old beside someone…
Could it be you? You’d only known each other days.
── “We’ll talk when you’re ready. Until then, happy birthday, Elliott.” You left, and he didn’t have the courage to chase after you — or return the cigarette pack you’d forgotten on his desk.
꒰ ... ꒱
A few days passed; the two of you didn’t completely avoid each other. You exchanged glances on the streets, a few smiles. He tortured himself the entire month, autumn’s cold revealing itself crueler each day without your touch.
You only started talking again on your grandfather’s birthday. George, for the first time, was happy on such a date.
You enjoyed every person’s party in town, and you were radiant at your grandfather’s. Elliott showed up with a gift. When the door opened, he came face to face with you.
“Elliott, what a surprise.” You teased, letting him in. He greeted your grandparents, chatted with other villagers, and congratulated your grandfather before leaving.
You disappeared during the party. He thought it odd, but he wouldn’t raise suspicion by asking your grandfather anything. When he stepped outside, he found you there, trying to warm your hands against your coat.
“[Name].” The redhead called your attention, handing you your pack of cigarettes. “You left this at my cabin the last time you came by.”
“Thanks.” You winked, taking the pack and pulling out a cigarette, already lighting it. “Want one?”
He shook his head.
“I missed you.” Elliott admitted, his tone making you shiver. You missed him too.
“I’m leaving in a few days.” You inhaled and blew the smoke into the air. “Did you work things out with your feelings?”
“I did.” Elliott lied, because he just wanted to be near you.
You smiled. And for the first time, a comfortable silence settled between the two of you. And Elliott stayed there, with you.
꒰ ... ꒱
Days went by; you two were close but had no other romantic interactions. He watched you be young with your friends. You and Abigail seemed more distant each day, while you opened up more to Haley—perhaps just to provoke your cousin, he couldn’t tell.
He noticed he never stopped watching you. You exchanged smiles from afar, quick conversations here and there, but his nervousness and anxiety had worn away.
Today was Spirit’s Eve, your second to last day in Pelican Town, and it was haunting him a little. You’d given him unforgettable moments—he hoped they had been special for you too.
When he arrived at the town square, he searched everywhere for you but couldn’t find you.
“Elliott.” George called. “Looking for my granddaughter?”
“Yes, sir.” He swallowed hard.
“Hmm, I think she was with Haley.” George concluded. “They went into the maze. Alex went after Haley, he was really mad at [Name]. These kids never grow up.” He tapped the side of his wheelchair.
“I bet you’ll miss her a lot here. I’ve never seen you this happy.” Elliott commented.
“[Name] has always been very special. I already miss her.”
While they talked, you were arguing with Alex.
“Fuck off, Alex!” you shouted, storming out of the maze.
“Thank God you’re leaving tomorrow.” He slung his arm around Haley, who rolled her eyes. “I’m sick of you two being glued together.”
“It’s sad when even your girlfriend prefers the better one!” you teased, running off with the golden pumpkin in your hands. Alex chased after you, while Haley stayed behind laughing at how childish you both were.
You ran so fast you bumped into the long-haired redhead. Elliott caught you before you fell, and you were laughing.
“Sorry, Elliott.” You apologized, quickly turning to your grandfather. “Look what I got, Grandpa!”
“That’s incredible, darling!!” George grinned, taking the golden pumpkin you handed him. “Well done. Alex, help me, I want to put this inside!”
Alex rolled his eyes as he followed him.
“Didn’t think I’d see you today, handsome.” You teased, and he chuckled.
“Couldn’t go without hearing your teasing one last time.” Elliott clarified. The two of you began walking away from the festival. “So, are you excited for your classes?”
“A little. You know, between chilling and studying, who’s crazy enough to choose studying?” You compared, and looking at him, you decided you didn’t want the answer. “Of course, you, crazy man.”
“I do, if reading counts as studying. I prefer it.” He concluded simply, in the way he knew you liked.
The air grew colder as you reached the bridge leading to the beach, where you leaned against the railing, gazing at the river below. You pulled out your pack of cigarettes, took one, and looked at him.
“Mind?”
If he were honest, he’d say he did. That it broke his heart to see someone so beautiful damaging their body with something so vile.
“No, go ahead.” Elliott answered, choosing to indulge your whims. “You’ve never asked me before if it bothered me.”
“Today I feel like pleasing you, redhead.” You explained. Your lipstick stained the cigarette red as you looked at him.
“You enchant me simply by existing.” He continued. “Even the impurities of this world, when touched by you, could be healed…”
“Wow… I liked that.” You exhaled, the smoke drifting into his face by accident. He barely cared, his eyes only narrowing slightly. “I like this charming Elliott.”
“I’m working on my writings, but I fear I’ll have to send them by mail.” He said. The idea of receiving something from him while in college made you smile.
“That’s fine, Elliott.” You stepped closer, removing the cigarette from your lips and using your free hand to pull him by the collar, pressing your bodies together. “So, how are you going to apologize to me?”
He pressed his lips to yours, tasting nicotine mixed with the sweetness of your lipstick.
“I don’t think I’ll forgive you like that.” You teased, giving him a peck before your lips finished the cigarette. “Take me home, Elliott.”
And just like that, he was the same nervous young man from the start of the season, his hands trembling at your waist. He wanted you badly.
When you entered Elliott’s cabin, he didn’t know what to do. All that nervousness from the early days came flooding back. You clung to each other as you stumbled through the cabin. You nearly fell on the piano, a crash of messy notes echoing through the room, before you landed sitting on his bed.
You bit your lower lip as you leaned back slightly, resting your hands behind you. As if asking him what he’d do with you now.
“Honestly, I don’t even know where to start… it feels unreal.” He caressed your face gently. “I’m rusty, forgive me.”
“Relax, redhead.” You whispered, your hands sliding up his legs, squeezing his thighs and pulling him closer by the waist. “You don’t know what to do, but I do.”
Elliott froze for only a moment before your fingers began undoing the buttons of his pants. You stroked his cock as soon as you pulled it free, already hard though you’d barely begun.
You stripped away everything in the way of you being face to face with his length. It was a particularly beautiful cock, you dared to think. You licked the tip experimentally, and he moaned.
You smirked wickedly and sucked the same spot. He groaned, his hands gripping your hair gently, careful not to pull. You sank deeper and deeper, until his cock touched your throat and you gagged.
“S-sorry…” Elliott groaned, his eyes watering, his face burning. You didn’t look away, gagging deliberately as you stared at him.
Your tongue trailed along his length, your movements precise, experienced despite your youth. It didn’t bother him, not this time. He was a hypocrite.
He felt his climax approaching, caressed your face, and begged you to stop. You didn’t.
“[Name], ah… I’m gonna cum in your mouth…” He warned, chest nearly bursting.
“I want it, Elliott.” You said, pulling back only to continue with your hand. “Please, I want your taste, love.”
Love. The simple word struck something in his chest. He fell apart as you took him back in eagerly, filling your mouth with his thick release.
You pulled away, wiping what spilled. You felt yourself dripping because of it.
He watched you take off your shirt, revealing your bra.
“Like it? I wore it for today.” You teased, kicking off your shoes. He chuckled and took the chance to strip too, leaving himself completely bare while you remained in your black lingerie. “Just for you, Elliott.”
A shiver ran down his spine at your words. You lay back on his bed, and the redhead covered you with his body, kissing you and tasting himself on your lips. You explored him, your hands running over his shoulders, chest, hair. His touch was simple, respectful, never leaving your thighs and waist even as you lay nearly naked beneath him.
Elliott kissed down your neck, licked and nipped without leaving marks. You gasped. He kissed your ribs, admired your jellyfish tattoo closely. Kissed your navel, lower… until reaching the waistband of your panties.
You were melting under the romantic man, the way he adored your body like you were art itself…
Your panties soon joined the rest of your clothes. He gazed at your pussy like a masterpiece, touched you without a hint of vulgarity, tasted you with the delicacy of a true artist. It felt like he wanted to memorize every inch of you, every moan, every heartbeat.
You moaned as his tongue explored you like a starving man, thrusting into your entrance, savoring you. You’d never seen a man moan while going down on you, but here he was.
At least something he could teach you.
“Elliott…” You gasped, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling mercilessly.
He teased your clit with his tongue, then tried two fingers inside you.
“Elliott, no, I want your cock… please…” You whined, begging.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Fuck, baby, I’m not made of glass.” You snapped, chest heaving, eyes locked on his. You were serious. “I’m not a little girl. I won’t break.”
You were annoyed but needy. He wouldn’t miss his chance this time. Elliott climbed over you, stripping off his briefs as you unhooked your bra, both of you finally naked in the writer’s silent cabin.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, he pressed your waist, spread your legs, lifting one behind your knee while caressing the other. His cock pressed teasingly against your entrance, making you clench at nothing.
When he finally entered, you needed nothing else but to kiss him, tugging his hair as you stretched deliciously around him.
“Fuck…” It was the first time you’d heard him curse. “You feel so good.”
Your head hit the pillows as his hips slammed against you, thighs trembling with each thrust. You were a mess now.
He kissed you sloppily, your neck, your chest, your collarbone—anything he could reach, he kissed, desperate for your moans.
“Elliott, I’m close.” You confessed, biting your lip, eyes rolling back.
You scratched his back, he slowed down. You pushed him over, and he understood—you wanted to be on top. Elliott flipped easily without pulling out.
You rode him like it was the last time—because it was.
Your first and last.
“I lov… I’m close.” He cut himself off mid-declaration, but you didn’t notice, too lost in your pleasure. Your pussy clenched, milking him as he came inside you.
You felt him fill you, but you kept moving your hips. Elliott let you do whatever you wanted with his body, even while oversensitive. He rubbed your clit, desperate to feel you tighten around him again.
You collapsed on top of him, exhausted, ready to fall into a coma from the sheer intensity. The redhead stroked your back softly, savoring your affection while he still could.
Nearly half an hour passed before either of you spoke.
“It’s a shame I’m leaving in a few hours.” You said distantly.
“Yes. A shame.” He looked at your back, admiring your tattoos—a jellyfish and a stingray, so delicate. “Are you excited to leave?”
He’d asked something similar before, but he didn’t know how else to keep the conversation going.
“Not really.” You propped your chin on his chest, finally meeting his eyes since sex ended. “I like being somewhere I’m not pressured to be the smartest all the time. Like here—I don’t have to constantly prove I’m the best, you know what I mean?”
“I understand.” He affirmed.
“Elliott, I like you, this month here was amazing.” You admitted. But he knew your liking didn’t match the depth of his.
“Will you come back?” He risked asking. You got up, leaving him aching, but only to light a cigarette. This time, you didn’t care what he thought.
“Maybe. But don’t wait for me to.” You clarified, as if reading his thoughts. “When I leave, I hope you live your life—date, marry, do all the things I know you want. I can see it in your eyes.”
He averted his gaze, but still held you when you lay back down with him.
“I won’t wait for you to be free again, Elliott. And I don’t want you to wait for me either.” You added, as if not putting a definitive end to your story. He blinked, trying to process.
“And how will you know if I wait?”
“I’ll know.” You affirmed, taking a long drag before offering it to him. He accepted for the first time.
“All right.” Elliott finished the cigarette. You rested on his chest, finally allowing yourself to drift off.
꒰ ... ꒱
You left the following afternoon. He gave you a simple hug, like everyone else in town, but he hoped his carried something that would make you come back soon. He watched you board the bus.
He could still taste your lips when you waved especially at him from the window as you left. He scoffed when he heard Alex’s little celebration over your departure. Elliott was bitter like never before.
Winter came with warning, but he wasn’t ready.