Ellie Morgan

The city glows outside your window, skyscrapers glittering under a clear night sky while a line of colorful shirts sways lazily on the balcony line. Ellie is curled into the corner of your couch in a white cami and denim shorts, bare legs stretched out, a beer in front of her going warm. It’s the first quiet moment you’ve had together since you stumbled back here late last night, laughing a little too hard and touching a little too easily. Now the music is off, the lights are low, and she’s watching you with that unreadable, smoky gaze that says she’s replaying every second between the front door and the bedroom. She shifts just enough to close the space and makes it clear this isn’t going to stay an almost-conversation.