TLDR: Acai Bowl inspired college reader x Elliot! + Lexi cameos.
Word count + info: 7.5k + dialogue.
Warnings + Content Ahead: mentions of alcohol, 🍃 + other substances, suggestive content ahead! (i love teasing smut)
Azzie Notes ✚: hiiiiii, happy valentine's!!! sorry for the jumpscare! It's been a longg time since I wrote Dom content, huh? I love this song down baddd, I hope I did this well for u anon (I didn't rly directly paste lyrics in, lmk if you prefer that style more!) ALSO, in no way am I condoning everrrr being this down bad for a bummy scrub like elliot pls stand up and listen to lexi.
Taglist: thank u for ur patience + support! if u wanna join the taglist, head on over here
🎤 -@r7leee @seesaw31 @flirtyfike
dressed in your favourite. - D.F.
Graduation couldn't have come at a better time; fresh starts, a new page, a breath of fresh air. Suddenly life seemed to open up to the world, you weren't restricted to this town or the peers that once circulated your life and consumed you. Now was the chance to take the jump, be bold and gamble a bit before people moved on with their lives, to college, to work or to wherever else life would bring them. You and Elliot certainly took that leap, anyway.
It had been months of admiring him from afar at East Highland until you had your first conversation with him, working on a creative project after it was casual, short interactions, lingering stares and a handful of physical touches; nothing extreme, just a high-five here or him patting your head while walking past you at your locker. It was painfully casual yet lingering which was just characteristically him with his dorky smile and just as messy as him, both literally and figuratively. But it fell into place so naturally, you found yourself lingering around Elliot, or rather, found Elliot lingering around you.
Now here you were, on a park bench opposite a waterfront, smoothing out your short black dress, pulling at the white frills that lined the top. You brought a small picnic basket, nothing too much - just two different wine bottles you "borrowed" from your mother's drink cabinet, varieties of cheese, bread, some cold cut meats, grapes... God, maybe you did bring a bit much? A soft breeze blew over as the sun warmed your skin, while the phone in your hand buzzed gently, some irrelevant notification that couldn't attempt to distract you from the nerves, part excited but mostly nervous with this impromptu meeting with Elliot, or how he phrased it, "just hangin' out, y'know?".
But you didn't know, that's not how you roll.
Lexi, your very close friend, often warned you not to mingle with him; it wasn't worth your effort or your time. You both spent nights dreaming of making it far, two women running away from here and diving deep out into the massive world out there, somewhere where you could both be the focus of your lives, not some shadowed figures that were hidden by your broken peers. Lexi swore that messing with Elliot was like tying an anchor to your foot; it was bound to weigh you down, ruin what you worked so hard for, and get you enthralled in chaos; you were better off moving on and looking ahead.
And while you knew you were crushing hard, that he had your heart skipping beats, you were "just hangin' out, y'know?".
As you mulled over her words again and again like a mantra, biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes lifted. He was walking right to you with that easy smile, low eyes, his signature black zip-up hoodie lazily hiding his white tee and straight darkwashed jeans. He wore his beat-up sneakers, scuffed from shuffling. He looked effortless, casual and yet more handsome than you could ever fathom. Admiring him didn't last long before the feeling of being overdressed sunk in, heat rising to your face as you looked at your dress and picnic basket. You awkwardly fumbled as you stood up, smoothing out your skirt, clammy hands gripping the woven basket handle and a clumsy big smile spreading across your face.
He stopped in front of you, hands still buried in his pockets, his shoulders slouched in a way that made him look careless and deliberate. Up close, you caught the faint familiar scent of weed mingling with something else, cologne, maybe, or aftershave? It was new, something you hadn’t noticed before, and it threw you off in the best way. His blonde-tipped curls, usually wild and untamed, looked softer like he’d run his fingers through them one too many times, trying to get them just right. The realisation hit you like a soft spark: he had tried. Not in a big, obvious way, but in the way Elliot did things; subtle, almost accidental, like he didn’t want you to notice. But you did.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a little rough around the edges.
His gaze swept over you, quick and observant, taking in the dress, the basket, the way your fingers toyed with the strap like you were regretting it all.
"Shit," he murmured, and you braced for whatever half-amused, half-inscrutable thing was about to fall from his lips. "You really-" He gestured vaguely at the setup. "Fuck, you got all prepared and shit."
You laughed, a little too hard, a touch too nervous, and immediately regretted it. “I didn’t know what you’d like,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “So I just… brought a bit of everything...Unless you made reservations-," you shot back, teasing, but your voice wobbled just enough to betray the fact that you were overthinking it.
He grinned, slow and lopsided. "Yeah, I, uh, didn’t do that."
Your eyes met his and your breath steadied, grounding and solid, before you let out a soft smile. "Not shocking."
Elliot nudged the basket with the toe of his sneaker, considering it. "You really did think all ahead, huh?"
He lifted a shoulder. "Dunno. Just thought we were, like, gonna sit on some curb, talk about life, maybe throw rocks in a lake."
"You have incredibly low standards for a date, Elli."
His lips parted slightly, and then yours, the realisation flickering between you two. He hadn’t called it a date, neither had you, well until now, and the word was hanging between you, unavoidable. Shit, shit, shit.
His tongue ran over his bottom lip like he was trying to smooth out whatever the hell this was, whatever shift had just happened. But then he nodded, the calmness coming back just as easy as a rolling wave as if deciding to roll with it. "Yeah, well," he said, rocking forward, closer now. "Guess I gotta step my game up now."
Something light cracked between you, the tension dissolving, and you both laughed, easy and unguarded. And just like that, the nerves shrank back into something manageable, something you could both pretend didn’t exist. You found a quiet patch of grass under the dappled shade of a tree, the sun peeking through in shifting patterns as the breeze moved the leaves. You kicked off your shoes, and Elliot did the same, stretching out beside you, propped on his elbows as he dug through the basket.
"Classy," he mused, pulling out one of the bottles of wine, and turning it over in his hands like he was assessing it. He raised an eyebrow. "Stolen?"
"Right, right. You gonna open this or am I just supposed to admire the bottle before you give it back?"
Rolling your eyes, you handed him a corkscrew, which he took off with a satisfying pop. Elliot took a long sip straight from the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and passed it to you. You mirrored him, tilting it to your lips and swallowing down the warmth, the burn of it settling low in your stomach. The wine was cheap and a little too sweet, but you didn’t care. It wasn’t really about the wine, anyway, as long as it got the job done.
Your fingers traced over the label absentmindedly as you exhaled, the small buzz of alcohol humming in your veins. "I called in sick for this, y'know."
Elliot turned his head toward you, eyes narrowing in amused scepticism. "No shit?"
"No shit," you confirmed, drumming your nails against the glass. "I was supposed to be at Frank’s, probably getting yelled at by some cracked-out dude demanding a burger right now."
Elliot made a low sound of amusement, reaching for a cracker from the picnic basket. He examined it, unimpressed, before popping it into his mouth anyway. "And instead, you’re here. With me. Drinking wine straight out the bottle and eating-" He paused, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay, yeah, that pastrami’s definitely been sweating in there."
You laughed, nudging his arm. "A small price to pay for freedom."
"Sure," he said, smirking. "Hope it was worth sacrificing your thriving fast-food career."
You hummed, thoughtful. "I mean, I could’ve been making minimum wage and smelling like fryer oil right now… or I could be here, getting tipsy in a park with you. Tough call."
Elliot smirked, tipping his bottle toward you. "To making questionable life choices, then."
You clinked your half-empty bottle against his newly opened wine bottle, the moment stretching between you, easy and unhurried. The light was softer now, the sun dipping lower, streaking the sky in golds and pinks.
After a beat, Elliot shifted, glancing over at you. "So, what’s the plan?"
You raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For, like, your whole life or whatever," he said, stretching out again, letting his head fall back against the grass. "You’re one of them people who actually has plans, right?"
You shrugged. "I mean… I wanna go to college. Get outta here. Make somethin' out of myself."
"Figures," he murmured, gaze still on the sky, a soft smile as he fluttered his eyes closed. "You’re good like that."
The way he said it made something settle in your chest. Not like he was saying it just to say it, but like he actually meant it.
You glanced at him. "You ever think about leaving?"
Elliot smirked, but there was something tired about it. "Thought about it. Just haven’t really figured out where I’d even go. Or why."
"Yeah, but it helps," he said, his fingers tapping against the wine bottle. "Not everybody’s got a roadmap like you, y’know?"
You huffed a small laugh. "A roadmap? Right. My super detailed life plan of ‘go to college and figure it out from there.’"
"Better than nothing," he mused.
The conversation lapsed into quiet again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just the sound of the park around you, distant laughter, the occasional bark of a dog, the breeze rustling through the trees.
Elliot sighed, rolling onto his side again, his arm brushing against yours. "Promise me one thing though?"
You perked up as you turned to him.
"Just don’t become one of those people who leaves and never looks back."
You tilted your head slightly. "You mean, pretend like I never lived here?"
"Yeah," he muttered, absently running a hand through his hair. "Don’t turn into one of those people who acts like they’re too good for all this just ‘cause they read a couple college books."
You smirked. "I don’t think I could ever pretend I didn’t know you, Elliot."
Elliot let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "That so?"
"Mhm," you murmured, resting your chin on your folded arms, your body strewn belly-down on the blanket.
For a second, he just watched you, his fingers drumming absently against the bottle, that usual lazy half-smile playing at his lips. But then his gaze flickered lower, skimming over the fabric of your dress, slow and deliberate.
"You know," he said, tilting his head slightly. "I think that’s my favourite dress on you."
You blinked, caught off guard. "You’ve barely seen me wear any dresses."
Elliot smirked like he knew that; that was exactly why he was saying it. "Guess that makes it special, then."
A warmth spread through you, unexpected but not unwelcome. Your fingers toyed with the hem of the fabric, suddenly hyperaware of how it hugged your frame, the way it bunched slightly where you were lying on your stomach.
Elliot stretched out onto his back, face inches away from yours, propped up on his elbows, his eyes lazily dragging over you with something unreadable behind them. Not in a way that made you uncomfortable, just enough to make your pulse tick up a notch like he was seeing something you weren’t sure you were ready to acknowledge yet.
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head, and looking away. "You’re full of shit."
"Maybe," he admitted easily. "But I mean it."
Something about the way he said it, low and unhurried like he wasn’t in a rush to convince you, made it feel different. Made it feel real.
You swallowed, shifting slightly. "Well… thanks, I guess."
Elliot smiled to himself, tipping the bottle to his lips. "Just sayin’. Looks real fuckin’ nice."
A beat passed. Your stomach flipped in a way you weren’t ready to name, but you ignored it and took a slow sip from your almost-empty bottle instead. The sun had dipped lower now, the air turning a little cooler, the park emptying out around you. The world felt quieter, more still.
It was one of those rare moments where everything else faded, where time stretched and bent in a way that made you forget about whatever came next, about shifts at Frank’s, about college, about everything waiting outside this little bubble. It was just you and Elliot, something that felt so right, so natural. From there, it was only natural for days to bleed into each other. It wasn’t planned, wasn’t anything you could define easily, just an understanding between the two of you, a magnetic pull that neither of you cared to fight.
Elliot would visit you on your shifts, especially for lunch breaks, drive you home, sit outside your window with his guitar and stupid jokes until you couldn't stay awake anymore and send you ridiculous messages to make your mornings. Free days were almost always spent with each other, hand in hand, stealing kisses and despite Lexi constantly warning you, her voice drowned out in the blur of everything.
The summer blurred, days bleeding into nights, your time with Elliot turning into something more than just casual hangouts. Your presence in his life became habitual, natural. You spent more time at his place than your own, both of you perpetually a little buzzed, a little reckless, soaking in the last stretch of freedom before life called you elsewhere. Tonight was no different.
This was the first time you got high. You watched, slightly nervy as he rolled the joint with effortless ease, like it was second nature while the TV blared noise. The dim light from the TV flickered across his face, his tongue peeking out slightly in concentration.
“You don’t have to, y'know,” he murmured, glancing up at you through his dark lashes.
You hesitated, chewing your lip, then shrugged. “I wanna try.”
He smirked, lighting the joint with a flick of his lighter, taking a slow drag before handing it to you. “Alright, doll. Go easy.”
The first inhale was rough, you coughed so hard your eyes watered, and Elliot laughed, reaching out to rub slow circles on your back. “Yeah, that happens.”
But then after a couple more puffs, the high settled in, creeping slow and warm through your limbs, turning everything a little softer, a little funnier. You relaxed on the couch, your head tilting back against the cushions, and Elliot watched you, eyes dark and amused.
"See?" he murmured, nudging your knee with his. "Ain't so bad, huh?"
The both of you were sprawled on his sofa, empty cans of something cheap on the floor, the scent of weed now fresh in the air. Your limbs were heavy, mind light, floating somewhere just above reality, unburdened. You weren’t entirely sure how long you'd been curled into Elliot’s side, how long had passed, his arm slung lazily over your shoulder, fingers tracing idle patterns on your upper arm. The animated movie on his old TV flickered in the background, barely acknowledged, just something to fill the space.
You turned your head slightly, your nose nearly brushing his jaw. “I think I’m high,” you admitted softly, a laugh catching in your throat.
Elliot grinned, his fingers ghosting along your wrist. “Yeah? Feelin’ good? S'good?”
You nodded, eyes half-lidded, resting your cheek on his shoulder, soaking in the warmth radiating from his body. “Mmm.”
He looked up at you, his pupils blown wide, his hands steady on your waist, grounding. "You're lookin’ at me like you wanna say something," he murmured, his voice low, rough.
You swallowed, your fingers ghosting over his bottom lip. "I just..." You shook your head, exhaling a soft laugh, a bit harder than the last. "I don't know."
Elliot smirked, but there was something softer beneath it. "S’cool...you don't gotta know."
His hand slid up to cup your face, thumb tracing over your cheekbone, his touch featherlight but grounding. “You’re fuckin' cute when you’re like this,” he murmured, his voice a little rough, a little amused.
Something warm bloomed in your chest, slow and inevitable. Your fingers found his jaw, tracing the sharp lines, the faint dark stubble prickling against your touch. The closeness wasn’t new, but the way you were touching him now, lingering, deliberate, felt different. Felt heavier.
Elliot didn’t pull away. Instead, his eyes flickered to your lips, his breath shallow. And then, like a slow-motion unravelling, you leaned in, pressing your mouth to his.
It started soft, slow, just a press of lips, but then Elliot tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers slipping into your hair, getting lost in the knots. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, guiding you until you were straddling his lap. Your breath hitched as his hands roamed, exploring, mapping you out like he’d been waiting for this like he’d been holding back.
You kissed him harder, boldness consuming you as you slipped your tongue in, fingers threading through his messy curls, tugging slightly just to hear that quiet, breathy sound he made against your lips, one that made your head thump intensely. His hands slid under your shirt, fingertips tracing the bare skin of your back, and suddenly the room felt too hot, the space between you unbearable.
Clothes became an afterthought, discarded in lazy, desperate movements. His tee hit the living room floor first, then your top, his hands skimming down your arms as he pulled it over your head. Your skirt pooled around your waist, his lips finding your collarbone, your shoulder, any part of you he could reach.
You kissed and suckled, before you bit down on his shoulder when his mouth ghosted down your throat, his teeth dragging just enough to tease, his breath warm against your skin. A rush of white-hot ran through you, and before you could think, your teeth found the sharp curve of his jaw, sinking in just enough to make him groan, low and rough. His fingers flexed on your waist, grip tightening as he let his head drop back slightly, exposing the long, tensed line of his throat.
“Shit, I love it when you bite,” he exhaled, his voice thick with something raw, something desperate.
You smirked, breathless, dragging your lips down to his Adam’s apple, feeling the way it bobbed under your mouth. And then, just because you could, you bit down, not hard enough to hurt or bruise, but enough to make him shudder before kissing and leaving a trail of hickeys, his hands gripping your hips like he was trying to ground himself.
“Fuckin’ tease,” he muttered, voice hoarse, but there was no real bite to it.
“Yeah?” you murmured against his skin, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss over the spot you’d just bitten. “What are you gonna do about it?”
Elliot’s response was immediate. He flipped you onto your back in a fluid motion on the sofa, his body pressing flush against yours, his mouth at your ear.
“Guess you'll have to see,” he murmured, his lips curving against your skin.
His hands were slow, deliberate as they explored, tracing the curves of your body, entranced on every inch. His mouth followed, mapping a path down from the base of your neck to your ribs. You arched into him, breathing his name in a way that had him cursing under his breath, his lips finding yours again like he couldn’t stand the distance.
“Tell me if-” he started, voice strained, but you cut him off with another kiss, a soft groan leaving you, letting him know you didn’t want him to stop.
His touch was careful, reverent like he was enchanted by every inch of you. You gasped when he lifted you, disregarding your last piece of clothing, his body hovering over yours. His eyes met yours, searching, waiting for confirmation. You gave it, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him down to you, your body arching into his. There was no rush, no pressure, just you and him, moving together, letting whatever this was consume you. You wanted this, wanted him, and as the night stretched on, you let him show you exactly how much he wanted you too. Souls mixed, intertwined and bound together like it was written in the stars, as though it were fate itself.
The night went by as a fuzz, the golden morning light bled through the blinds as a harsh awakening, casting long shadows over the living room. The TV screen had long since dimmed, stuck on the Netflix “Are you still watching?” prompt, forgotten in the haze of the night before.
You stirred, the warmth of his body anchoring you in place, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. Your fingers curled against his skin, tracing the faint outline of a tattoo near his ribs, feeling the way it shifted with every breath he took.
Elliot’s arm was draped over you lazily, his fingers twitching in sleep like he was holding onto you even now. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, the slow thump of his heartbeat in your ear, the scent of weed and faded cologne still clinging to the both of you.
Your eyes snapped open, your stomach plummeting as the realisation settled like a rock in your gut. You scrambled for your phone, heart lurching when you saw the time.
“Oh, fuck,” you muttered, sitting up so fast that Elliot grumbled, his arm tightening around you like he was trying to drag you back down.
“Wha-what's up?” His voice was thick with sleep, rough and low as he blinked up at you.
“I’m so late,” you groaned, raking a hand through your hair. “I was supposed to open.”
Elliot cracked one eye open, taking in your panicked state, then sighed dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face, wincing a bit from the harsh awakening. “S’fineee. Tell ‘em you had an emergency.”
You shot him a look. “An emergency?”
He smirked, stretching lazily. “Yeah. Like, I dunno… you got abducted by aliens. Or your soul left your body ‘cause you had the best night of your life.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s not gonna fly, dumbass.”
Elliot sighed, finally sitting up, his hair an absolute mess, eyes still half-lidded with sleep, wincing a bit. “Alright, c’mon.” He reached for his keys on the coffee table, tossing them to you. “Take my car.”
You frowned, catching them mid-air. “You’re not driving me?”
His lips parted, but then he winced again, rolling his shoulders like he was working out a knot. “Fuc- Nah, I can’t. I think I fucked up my back last night-pretty sure it was that damn couch.” He shot you a knowing look.
Your face burned as you clutched the keys in your hand, choosing to ignore the implication. “Right. Okay. You’re actually useless. Guess I'll find a way to make it work, huh?”
He grinned. “Hey, I provided the transportation. That’s at least, like, 50% useful. But you might wanna fill up the tank a bit, I'm kinda stuck for cash right now.”
Shaking your head, you swung your legs off the couch, reaching for the nearest discarded clothing you could find. “You’re lucky I don’t crash your car out of spite.”
Elliot snorted, watching you with that lazy, lopsided smile. “Mmm. You wouldn’t.”
You shot him a glare. “You don’t know that.”
“Sure I do.” He leaned back against the couch, arms draping over the cushions, eyes scanning you like he was committing the sight of you in his clothes to memory. “’Cause you’re gonna wanna drive it again.”
You rolled your eyes, already heading for the door. But before you left, you paused, glancing back at him.
Elliot raised a brow. “What?”
You hesitated, then smirked. “Don’t miss me too much, alright?”
Elliot grinned, lazy and knowing. “No promises, you better get goin' though, honey. Time's tickin'.”
And with that, you slipped out the door, running on borrowed time and borrowed keys with the taste of last night still lingering on your lips. Just as the shifts came now and then, intimacy became second nature, slowly mixing with the early lazy mornings and intoxicating late nights spent together, legs and arms intertwined in his bed, or yours, whichever way the wind took you. The way he curled into you in sleep, the way his fingers tangled with yours absentmindedly when you talked about nothing and everything, Elliot became the only thing that felt like home. It was messy, although undefined, but real.
That was until it was time to pack up for college.
Lexi sat cross-legged on your bed, sorting through the mess of clothes you hadn’t finished folding into your suitcase. "This is insane," she muttered, holding up a shirt you hadn’t worn in years. "You don’t need this. When’s the last time you even put this on?"
You huffed, snatching it from her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll wear it.”
She gave you a knowing look. “You’re holding onto things just ‘cause you’re scared to let go, thinkin' these things are gonna hold you together.”
You knew what she was hinting at. You didn’t answer. It was easier to push everything off until the day of your flight.
One minute, you were tangled in Elliot’s sheets, whispering sleep-drunk confessions into his skin, and the next, you were standing in the driveway while your mom loaded the last of your bags into the car. The sun sat heavy in the sky, casting long shadows across the pavement. It was too bright, too warm, for a morning that felt so cold.
Your mom clapped a firm hand on your shoulder. “You ready, kid?”
You weren’t. But you nodded anyway.
Lexi was flying part of the way with you before her own connecting flight, and she stood beside you now, arms crossed as she watched Elliot lean against the passenger door of his car, quiet, unreadable. He hadn’t said much since showing up. Just a small nod to your mom, a half-smile at Lexi. Now, with your flight creeping closer, he looked at you, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
"Can’t believe you’re actually going," he muttered, voice light but strained.
Elliot glanced down, then exhaled sharply, lifting his head again. "You’re gonna do great things," he said, like he needed you to hear it. "I mean that. I always knew that. But now-" He trailed off, shaking his head with a dry laugh. "Now you’re actually doing it."
Your heart ached at the way he said it, as it hurt him to be proud of you like he was happy for you and miserable for himself all at once.
Lexi cleared her throat. "I’ll give you guys a minute." She walked toward the car where your mom was waiting, giving you space.
Elliot took a step closer, his hands twitching at his sides. "So… what happens now?"
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
He huffed, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, are we-" He gestured between the two of you. "Is this real, or is this just, like… something we did ‘cause we knew it was gonna end?"
Your stomach twisted. "Elliot-"
"I need to know," he said, voice firmer now, the most serious you’d ever heard him. "Because if this was just fun, if this was just some summer thing, I’ll be fine...I’ll move on eventually. But if this-if you-mean something real, I need to hear you say it."
Your chest felt tight. The answer was sitting on the tip of your tongue, but saying it out loud felt too big, too final.
Elliot’s eyes searched yours. "If you tell me to wait for you, I will."
The air between you felt impossibly heavy. And then, finally- "I don’t want you to move on." Your voice was small but sure.
"I want you," you said, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them. "I want this. I don’t care how far I go, I don’t care if it’s hard, I just-I don’t want this to be something we let slip away."
His lips parted, but no words came out. And then, suddenly, he was closing the space between you, hands cupping your face, kissing you with a desperation that made your knees weak. You held onto him like an anchor, like if you let go, you’d float away completely.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. "You better call me every day," he muttered, trying to play it off like this wasn’t killing him.
You smiled shakily. "Every fuckin' day."
He exhaled, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before pulling away. "I’ll see you soon, yeah?"
You nodded, stepping back, because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t leave.
"You better," you whispered, and with that, you turned toward the car, toward the airport, toward the next chapter of your life - leaving your heart behind with him.
College is everything you thought it would be, new, exciting, overwhelming in the best way. The days are packed with classes, late-night study sessions, and parties that you sometimes go to but mostly don’t. You get caught up in the rhythm of it all, letting it sweep you up in a way that keeps you from thinking too much about home, about what you left behind.
Missing Elliot was something that lingered, a quiet ache that settled into your chest at the most random times; when you’re walking back from class and hear a song he used to play, when you catch the scent of cigarette smoke in the air and, for a split second, think he’s behind you. It crept into your bones, settled in the spaces between your ribs, something hollow and stretching. You called him every night, and when he picked up, his voice was always a little tired, a little distant, but the second he heard yours, it softened.
"Hey," he’d mumble like he was exhaling a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
"Hey," you’d whisper back, pulling your knees to your chest in your too-small dorm bed, staring at the glow of your phone screen in the dark.
Sometimes, you’d talk for hours, about nothing, about everything. What you have for lunch, what his day was like. He never told you much, just that he was “figuring shit out,” but you didn’t push. On other nights, you didn’t need to talk at all, just listening to each other breathe was enough.
"I miss you," he admitted once, voice thick with exhaustion.
You pressed your face into your pillow. "I miss you more."
It wasn’t enough. The calls, the texts, the blurry FaceTimes when he’d half-smile at you and tell you, you look good, college girl. None of it was enough.
So, you booked him a flight.
The first time, it felt reckless and impulsive. A ticket purchased with the money you’d saved from your summer job, money your family wired you for rent that you had no business spending. But the moment he stepped off that plane, hood up, backpack slung over his shoulder, it felt right.
"Look at you," he said, tugging at the sleeve of your sweater. "All college and shit."
"Shut up," you giggled, throwing your arms around him.
And for a few days, it was perfect. Late nights tangled in sheets, sneaking him into your dorm, skipping class just to lie beside him and breathe him in. You bought him coffee before his eyes had even opened in the morning, and let him steal your college hoodies even though he never returned them. It felt like he belonged there like he was a part of your world.
But then he had to go back.
And then, you did it again.
Every few weeks, whenever the ache got too heavy, you drained your savings, shuffled money around, and did whatever you had to do to get him back on a plane and into your arms. You’d scrape by on instant ramen, skimp on nights out with friends, and tell yourself you didn’t need a new pair of shoes. You didn’t care. You had him.
“I think you’re addicted to me,” Elliot teased over FaceTime, his voice low and a little scratchy through the speaker. He was lying on his bed, one arm behind his head, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. You could barely see his face in the dim glow of his lamp, just the outline of his sharp jaw and the way his lips curled up when he smirked.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Your laptop screen was bright in the dark of your dorm, open to a flight booking page, your fingers hovering over the "confirm purchase?" button. You never felt more sure of something, it was almost an insult for the prompt to come up as a question.
“You're really flying me out again?” he asked, a little amused, a little disbelieving.
You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah.”
“You don’t gotta do that, baby,” he said, but he didn’t mean it. You could hear the want in his voice, the way he was already picturing it-already seeing himself stepping off that plane, finding you in the crowd, pulling you in by the waist.
“I want to,” you murmured.
He exhaled slowly, watching you through the screen. “Yeah?”
He took a drag, and exhaled. "Kinda crazy about me, huh?"
And then you pressed confirm.
The next morning, your phone buzzed violently against your nightstand. Half-asleep, you groaned and fumbled for it, barely prying your eyes open before answering.
“Hey,” you mumbled, voice scratchy, face still half-buried in your pillow.
“Good, you’re up,” Lexi said, way too awake for the ungodly hour. “Tell me everything. How’s college? Made friends? Gotten blackout drunk yet? Met your dream professor who doubles as a GQ model?”
You grinned, stretching your legs under the covers. “College is good. Weird, but good. I have a psych professor who could definitely be moonlighting as a Calvin Klein model.”
“I knew it,” she groaned. “You’re living my dream. Meanwhile, my professor looks like he lives off gas station hot dogs.”
You laughed, and for a few minutes, it was easy- just catching up, just being you and her. She told you about the weird girl in her dorm who talked to herself in the mirror at night, the guy who tried to hit on her by explaining Marxism wrong, and the overpriced sushi spot she caved into trying. It felt normal. It felt like home.
The second Lexi brought up Elliot, your blood ran hot.
"Alright," she said, dragging out the word like she was gearing up for war. "Now that we’ve gotten the fun part out of the way... can we talk about Elliot?"
Your stomach twisted. Your jaw locked. You knew where this was going, and you weren’t in the mood.
"Don’t Lex me," she snapped, her tone already sharp as a blade. "I know what you’re doing. You’ve been flying him out. With what money? Your fucking rent money? Or the money your family sent you to survive? The money you saved and worked for because you knew it would be the only cash you have to keep you floatin'?"
Your heart pounded a slow, steady drum of defiance. "My money, Lexi. Not yours. So what the fuck does it matter to you?"
"It matters because you’re being stupid!" she fired back. "Jesus Christ, you are throwing every goddamn thing away for a guy who is running around East Highland playing fucking Grand Theft Auto in real life!"
Your grip on your phone tightened. "You don’t know shit."
"No, but I know enough," she shot back. "I know he’s been selling to high school kids. I know he’s running with guys who are going to get him fucking shot. I know that the second you’re not funding his ass, he’s gonna find someone else to leech off of. So tell me, how much was this last flight? Huh? Three hundred? Four?"
"Five?" she pushed, her voice dripping with venom.
"Shut the fuck up, Lexi!"
"You know I’m right!" she yelled. "You fucking know I’m right, that’s why you’re mad!"
Your vision blurred, your anger choking you. "No, I’m mad because you can’t stand that I love him. You’re mad as fuck because no matter what you say, no matter what fucked-up little lecture you try to throw at me, I’m never going to leave him."
Lexi let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Oh my God. You sound insane."
"No, you sound insane, calling me like you’re my fucking mother, like you get to dictate what I do, like your shitty little opinions hold any weight in my fucking life," you seethed. "You think you’re some moral fucking compass? Like you have it all figured out? News flash, Lexi, you’re miserable. You’re at that bullshit school pretending to be some genius playwright when you’re too much of a fucking coward to write anything real. You hate your life, and you hate that I don’t."
For the first time, she didn’t have a comeback.
And then, quietly, she said, "Wow."
You breathed heavily, still shaking, still fuming.
"You know what?" she said, her voice suddenly too calm. "Fine. Be stupid. Let him drain you dry, let him fucking wreck your life. But when you wake the fuck up? When it all crumbles? Don’t you dare call me."
You stared at your screen, heart pounding, hands shaking, vision still blurring at the edges.
And suddenly, none of it mattered.
"Hey, baby," he said, voice scratchy from sleep.
Your breath hitched, your whole body melting at the sound of him. "Hey."
"You sent the ticket to me yet?"
Your lips curled into a small, tired smile. "Doing it now."
And you did. Without hesitation. Without regret. Because Lexi was wrong.
There was never any doubt and as Lexi faded out and her new friends occasionally lit your screen up, you realised Elliot was the only warmth and grounding force that was constant and real. You never doubted him. Your phone rings in the middle of the afternoon. You answer without checking the caller ID, distracted as you shove books into your bag.
But the voice on the other end isn’t casual. It isn’t teasing.
“Yo.” Elliot’s voice is tight, low. “I, uh… I need you.”
Your stomach drops. “What happened?”
A pause. Then: “I’m in holding.”
You stop moving. The world goes quiet.
“Holding?” you echo. “Like-”
“Not serious,” he rushes to say. “Stupid shit, don't worry. Speeding, I guess. They checked all my shit too, they found nothin' but I was resistin' or whatever that bullshit is.”
You’re already grabbing your keys. “I’m coming.”
“You don’t have to, you can get someone here to get me out-”
“Shut up, Elliot. I’m coming.”
You don’t even hesitate. You book the first flight out, barely stopping to throw things into a bag before heading straight to the airport. The flight back feels like it takes forever, your heart pounding, leg bouncing with anxiety.
By the time you land, you’re running on adrenaline, barely able to sit still in the cab on the way to the station. When you get there, you don’t even stop to take a breath before you’re at the front desk, hands gripping the counter.
The officer barely looks up. “You’ll have to wait a minute before we-”
“No,” you say, voice firm. “I’m here for Elliot.”
A few agonising minutes later, he walks out, that same lazy smirk tugging at his lips like this is no big deal. But his eyes meet yours, and there’s something underneath it, something smaller, something almost guilty.
“You really flew back for me?” he asks, voice quiet.
You exhale sharply. “Of course I did, dumbass.”
He studies you for a second, shakes his head with a small, lopsided grin.
“You’re insane, you know that?”
You shove him, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “And you’re reckless.”
His grin fades just a little like he knows you’re right. Like he knows this won’t be the last time something like this happens. But for now, you don’t think about that. You just grab his hand and pull him toward the exit.
And like always, time moved the way it always did, fast when you wanted to hold onto something, unbearably slow when you wished it away. Lexi had long faded into the background like an old song you used to love but couldn’t bear to listen to anymore. There were occasional texts, mostly polite, mostly hollow. You stopped reaching out. So did she.
Elliot, though, Elliot was still everything. Your sun, your moon, the gravity that kept you in orbit. No matter how many miles stretched between you, no matter how many times people told you he was a dead end, you knew better. You felt better. Because every night, when your phone buzzed and his name lit up your screen, it was proof that love was still right there.
He was doing well. Better than well. It was clear something clicked in him after that day you bailed him out. He never told you exactly how not in detail, but you knew he wasn’t scraping by anymore. He had his own thing now, something that kept him busy, that kept money in his pocket, that had people answering to him instead of the other way around. It was different, darker, but it was working. He was working. And the way he talked about the future, the way he talked about you, it felt like a promise.
So when graduation rolled around and you walked out of your apartment to collect your cap and gown the day before, you weren’t expecting anything other than a brisk walk. When you stepped outside and saw Elliot leaning casually against the hood of a rental car, looking so out of place and so right at the same time, you nearly dropped everything.
He grinned at your shock, a lazy, knowing smirk like he had won something. “What? You think I’d miss this?”
You ran to him before you could think twice, throwing your arms around his neck, his familiar scent washing over you as he held you tight. “You’re here,” you whispered, almost disbelieving.
“I’m here.” He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your lips, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.
That would have been enough. But then he was reaching into the car, pulling out a carefully wrapped box, placing it into your hands like it wasn’t the weight of the world itself.
“What is this?” you asked, even though you were already peeling the paper back.
“Graduation gift,” he murmured. “Open it.”
Inside was a dress. Not just any dress, but a more luxurious, high-end version of the dress. The black one with the white frilled top, the one you wore on your first date, the one he had stared at like he was already planning forever.
And beneath it, wrapped in tissue paper, were the Prada heels, black leather, sleek and elegant, with pointed toes and a sharp, distinctive cut, the kind that whispered class and money with every step.
Your breath caught in your throat.“Elliot-”
“You like ‘em?” His voice was casual, but his eyes were searching, waiting, hoping.
“Are you kidding?” You looked up at him, eyes glassy, heart full. “I love 'em.”
He grinned, that lazy, dangerous grin. “Saw you eyeing ‘em a few months back.”
You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, you kissed him again, deep and full of everything you couldn’t put into words.
You wore the dress and the heels that day. Walked across the stage in them, felt them ground you as you took your diploma from the dean’s hands, as you turned and saw Elliot sitting in the crowd beside your mother, watching you like you hung the stars.
And later, when the photos were posted and the congratulations flooded in, Lexi’s name popped up in your messages, unexpected but familiar.
Lexi: Congratulations. You look amazing. Love the dress and the shoes.
You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you typed back:
You: My boo bought ‘em.
There was no reply after that. But you didn’t need one.
