｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──
you’ve been walking for hours.
the snow crunches under your boots, soft and stubborn. it’s early, not quite morning, not quite night. that weird blue hour where the trees blur together and everything looks like a painting. ellie’s a few feet ahead of you, rifle slung over her shoulder, her other hand jammed in her pocket. she’s humming something under her breath, low and tuneless. probably doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
you’d followed her out this morning for patrol. well, you offered. she didn’t say no, just raised her eyebrows and said, “hope you’re not squeamish." you’re not. mostly.
but now, hours in, no infected in sight, she’s kneeling in the snow next to a fallen log, flipping through her beat up sketchbook. her gloves are hanging out of her pocket, her fingers red from the cold as she shades something in with a pencil. you awkwardly hover behind her, “what’re you drawing?” you ask, voice soft like it might break something.
ellie glances up at you, a smudge of graphite on her cheekbone. she shrugs. “just saw a rabbit earlier. figured i’d get it down before i forgot.”
you lean over her shoulder, watching the strokes of her pencil. the sketch is rough but careful, ellie’s kind of careful. like she’s scared of getting it wrong but doesn’t wanna show it.
“you’re really good,” you say.
she makes a face like she doesn’t believe you. “sure.”
you chew your lip, glancing at the empty space on the corner of the page. “can i… try?”
ellie blinks. “seriously?”
“yeah.” you shrug, trying to act casual. “i used to doodle stuff. nothing good.”
she hesitates, like she’s about to make a joke. then she just passes the sketchbook to you and says, “don’t fuck it up.” but her tone is warm and teasing. safe.
you sit down next to her on the log, your thighs brushing, the cold seeping through your jeans. the pencil’s warm from her hand. you look at the blank corner and freeze up a little.
“shit,” you mutter. “how do you even start?”
ellie leans in, her shoulder pressed to yours. “just find the shape first. don’t think about the details.”
you glance at her, and she’s already looking at you, her mouth half quirked up in this lopsided grin that makes your stomach do something annoying.
you try to draw a bird. you saw one earlier—a little brown thing that darted through the trees like it had somewhere important to be. your lines are shaky, clumsy. your rabbit looks more like a lumpy sock. you scowl. ellie snorts.
“okay, rude,” you say.
“what? i didn’t say anything.”
you nudge her with your elbow and she laughs, low and scratchy. “nah, it’s not that bad,” she adds. “here, lemme…”
she takes the pencil from you and lightly draws over your lines, fixing the shape, softening the angles. her hand rests over yours, steady and sure, and you swear you forget how to breathe for a second.
you look up at her. she’s close. too close. but you don’t move.
“see?” she murmurs. “not bad.”
you nod, eyes still on her, and for a second, the snow stops falling and the cold doesn’t matter and the whole world feels quiet.
ellie blinks down at you. her voice, when she speaks, is barely above a whisper.
“you, uh… ever come out here just to hang?”
you smile. “maybe i will.”
she grins, it looked crooked and nervous, but it was cute.
you stay like that for a while. shoulders touching, breath clouding in the cold, sketchbook balanced between you. maybe the hunt wasn’t the point after all.