Control

26 - Eye Contact for an Extended Period of Time

a/n - Hi!!! Okay this is a bit of a shorter chapter than normal. We have some exciting things coming up though!! Chapters 27-30 are up on my patreon, and Chapter 27 will be released here in a few days. Also, a little note, I saw some people arguing in an earlier chapter about how Ellie is described as around 5 feet or so, and people were speaking about how it's unrealistic. Guys, Ellie is the same height as me! Definitely not unrealistic lmao. But if you want to imagine her as tall, there's no problem with that, I rarely ever include intense descriptors for her other than what shes wearing, her hair color, and maybe like her hands. Put yourself in her shoes, Ellie is meant to be all of us!! Have fun with the chapter, comment away, and let me know what you think will happen next! :)

My apartment smells like soap and clean cotton.

Not strong. Just faint. Like someone cleaned earlier and then moved on with their day. The overhead light is too yellow, the kind that smooths everything out and makes the walls feel softer than they really are. The space looks exactly how it always does — compact, a little busy, but familiar in a way that makes my shoulders loosen the second the door closes behind us.

It's small, but it works. The front door opens straight into the living area, which is also the dining area, which is also the place where Eddie does his homework and I fold laundry and sometimes we both sit on the floor and eat cereal because it feels more fun that way. The couch fits perfectly against the wall, like it was measured just for this spot, and the coffee table wobbles a little if you bump it, which I always forget until it happens.

The kitchen is tucked right there too, close enough that everything feels connected. It's clean — actually clean — the counter wiped down, the sink empty, a dish towel folded neatly over the oven handle like it's posing. The fridge hums quietly, covered in magnets and notes and one very crooked drawing that Eddie insists is a dragon, even though it mostly looks like a smiling cloud.

Alexander steps inside behind me, tall enough that he has to be mindful of where his shoulders go. He pauses for a second, not surprised by the mess or the size, just taking it in — the narrow kitchen, the couch pushed close to the wall, the mismatched chairs I never bothered to replace. His eyes move slowly, thoughtfully, like he's orienting himself instead of inspecting anything.

"Oh," I say, suddenly shy even though I've already brought him here on purpose. "Um. It's... not very big."

He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it carefully on the hook by the door, the movement unhurried. The hook creaks and he steadies it with two fingers before letting go. "I like it," he says. "It's very you."

My heart does a little hop. I wish it wouldn't do that so enthusiastically.

We're both still dusted in flour.

That's the whole reason we came up here instead of lingering downstairs — pale streaks on his dark sweater, soft smudges along his forearms where my hands grabbed him, white powder clinging to my shorts and thighs like I forgot to shake myself out. Against the clean apartment, it looks obvious and a little funny, like we tracked the bakery up with us.

"Oh no," I say anyway, because saying it feels required. "I made you messy."

He glances down at himself, then back at me, calm and amused. "I think we both did. Besides, I got you way more than you got me."

And standing there together, floury on purpose in my small, tidy apartment, it feels less like a problem and more like an excuse to stay a little longer.

Alexander turns toward the sink like it's simply the next practical thing to do.

He twists the faucet on, the sound of running water filling the apartment in a soft, steady rush. Then he pauses and rolls up his sleeves, slow and unhurried, folding the cuffs back once, then again. His forearms are suddenly bare, the skin there lighter where his watch usually sits, veins faint and visible beneath the surface.