The ceiling fan whirs, stirring the stale air up here. The third floor of this house hasn't much been lived in since I was in high school.

Ellie smiles at me, her eyes radiating something fragile. She's sitting cross-legged on the plaid comforter of my bed as she gazes up and down my walls studying the sun-stained posters. I hand her a bottle of water that I've brought up for her.

"Is that a Bjork poster?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, sure." I scrub a hand over my jaw and smile. "Guess my parents put that up after I moved out."

She must find my claim funny, because she starts laughing and throws herself back on my bed, her damp hair spread out above her in some sort of a chocolate halo.

When she regains her breath, she points over to the top two rows of my bookshelf. "What about those? Trophies?" she asks.

"Yeah, you don't need to look at those."

“Why?” she says, rolling off the bed and walking over to the shelf. “Don’t tell me you were on the chess team.”

Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. "Not quite."

But then she’s close enough to read them and falls into the most intoxicating laughter I’ve ever heard. “Wow, marching band!” she says through her laughs. “I didn’t know they handed out participation trophies for marching band.”

I take her by the wrist and pull her into me, wrapping my left arm around her waist. At this gesture, her laughing subsides. Her hair falls over her eyes, and I brush it out-of-the-way with the pad of my thumb. Her skin is soft, Her cheeks now red with heat as she looks up at me under the heavy lift of her dark eyelashes.

Suddenly wanting her, I press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Not everyone is born with Jack Daniels and cigarette smoke running through their veins," I whisper on her skin. "Your rockstar of a boyfriend started as first saxophone."

I hadn't meant it as a joke. But Ellie laughs so hard at this that she snorts, causing me to fall into a harsh fit of laughter. "Did you just snort?" The words come out choppy and hardly audible due to all my laughter I'm trying to contain, but she shakes her head adamantly, not being able to speak.

In the midst of this, she sets herself down on the bed and clutches at her stomach. Wiping at her sleepy eyes, she looks up at me. "Kenny G," she squeals, pointing at me. "I didn't realize he was actually your idol. It all makes sense now." Stifling another giggle, she shakes her head. "Mason, have you ever had a girl up here before? I mean, besides Bjork?"

At her question, I can't help but grin. Even if I hadn't, could there be a worse time for her to bust my balls? Groaning, I take my glasses off and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Fine. What's the giveaway?"

"Band trophies."

Cocking an eyebrow, I stare down at her. "I'll have you know that Bjork and I had a very special relationship when I was in high school," he says.

Scrunching up her nose, she shakes her head. "Gross."

As our laughter finally subsides, I can tell Ellie is tired. Maybe even a little delirious. So I figure I better let her get some sleep. "Alright," I say, reluctant to end the night. "I literally can't laugh anymore. I think I'm incapable. I'm heading down to the couch. Bathroom is through there," I say, but then I realize. "But apparently I already told you that because you're showered, and—" Suddenly, I notice the corners of her mouth turned down. "What's wrong?"

As if remembering something, she pulls her phone from the nightstand beside my bed and looks at it. "I just don't want to go back to work tomorrow. Back to the real world. And there's still no headliner for the festival."

"Haven't heard anything yet?" I ask.

She shakes her head.

"Well, they'll be sorry they missed my girlfriend's festival. And who knows, it hasn't even been 24 hours yet. You'll hear something." My girlfriend joke must passes over her because she doesn't acknowledge it.

"I just want it to be a success, you know? I don't want people to talk about this like it's one more failure I've accrued in my lifetime."

Her fear grabs at my soul. How on earth could this girl see herself as a failure? She's a fierce barista, lives on her own, experiences all the good things in life, loves music, surrounds herself with good friends. How can any of that be seen as a failure? She writes other people's fortunes for God's sake.

"That's never going to happen," I say. "Even if the Boxley Brothers don't make it, it's still a great lineup."

Nodding, she has a far-off look on her face as she stares at the floor by the foot of the bed. I take this as her wanting privacy. Leaning over, I grab my bag to head for the door. "Sweet dreams, Ellie. I'll see you in the morning"

And like a siren's whisper into the dark, she says something. "Stay."

I blink, not sure if I've heard her correctly. "Sorry?" I say, my throat feeling hot with tension.

Looking at me, she tilts her head. "Will you stay with me?"

Setting my bag back on the floor, I nod. "Of course I will. Are you sure?"

She answers by walking over to me, standing on the tips of her toes, and wrapping her warm arms around the back of my neck. Not sure of what she's asking for, I reach out until my hands find her waist and pull her closer to me knowing that, this time, we won’t to be interrupted by a late-night downpour or her best friend or even a creaky gate.

And in this moment, staring into the depth of her honest eyes, feeling the pull of her universe on me, I feel like I need to tell her this.