Ellie's apartment smells like kung pao chicken regret. I sit cross-legged on her plush couch, surrounded by open containers of Chinese takeout, scrolling through the superhero name list I've been compiling for the last three days. The soft glow from her industrial-chic lamps catches on the brass knuckles I've left on her coffee table, a weird symbol of our even weirder relationship.
"Johnny Teleport Hands," I announce, looking up from my phone with what I hope is a winning smile. "That's definitely the best one so far."
Ellie slowly lowers her face into her hands, the dumplings I brought specifically for her sitting untouched on the coffee table.
"Why the fuck do you keep coming over all the time?" she finally asks, voice muffled through her fingers.
I set my phone down and lean forward, stealing one of her dumplings since she's clearly not appreciating my thoughtfulness. "Because I want to fuck you, Ellie."
She drops her hands to glare at me, those piercing blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "We only fucked twice."
"Ellie," I say, gesturing between us with chopsticks, "I'm pretty sure we're best friends."
"I don't even like you," she mutters, but there's less bite to it than usual.
"And yet," I counter, unable to keep the smugness from my voice, "you open the door every time I knock."
I motion to the dumplings sitting untouched in front of her. "Come on, I got those for you. They're your favorite."
She sighs deeply, the sound of someone questioning every life choice that led her to this moment. After a beat of defiant staring, she finally reaches for a dumpling, dipping it in soy sauce with surprising delicacy for someone who could tear a car in half with her bare hands.
"Your name ideas are shit," she says around a mouthful of dumpling. "All of them."
"Teleporto," I suggest, sitting up straighter with renewed enthusiasm.
"No," Ellie says flatly, reaching for another dumpling.
"Telopecia?" I counter, wiggling my eyebrows.
She pauses mid-bite, squinting at me. "Does teleporting make you lose hair or something?"
"No, not at all."
"Then hell no." She shakes her head and swallows. "That just sounds like a medical condition."
"Come on!" I throw my hands up in exasperation. "Work with me here!"
Ellie sets down her chopsticks with deliberate precision, fixing me with that icy blue stare that makes my stomach do somersaults. "All these names literally suck, Shane! Every single one of them."
I groan and flop back against her couch cushions.
"Are you really going to do this hero thing?" Ellie asks after a moment of silence. "Like, for real? You didn't get bored of it during training?"
She sounds worried. Actually worried. Not annoyed, not condescending, but genuinely concerned.
"Yeah," I say, sitting up again to meet her eyes. "Spider-Woman even told me where I could get a suit today."
Ellie's expression darkens instantly, the vulnerability vanishing behind a mask of contempt. "That stupid bitch," she spits, the symbiote visibly rippling beneath her skin in response to her sudden anger.
"Hey," I start, but she's already standing, pacing her hardwood floor like a caged predator.
"Of course she'd encourage this," Ellie continues, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "She probably thinks it's hilarious, sending you out to die."
I set my phone down, watching her carefully. "She's trying to help me, Ellie."
Ellie whirls around, her eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity that makes me instinctively lean back against the couch.
"You're a fucking idiot who's just going to die," she snaps, her voice cutting through the apartment like a knife. "And that's exactly what she wants."
I straighten my spine, suddenly feeling defensive. "If you really think I'm just going to die, then why spend an entire month helping me train? Why waste all that time?"
Ellie stops pacing, her shoulders dropping slightly. Something vulnerable flashes across her face before she masks it with irritation.
"I thought if I helped you get it out of your system, you'd finally calm down," she admits, crossing her arms over her chest. "I figured you'd realize how dangerous it is and give up this stupid hero fantasy."
"Well, I'm sorry that didn't happen," I say, not feeling sorry at all. "But I'm getting better. You've seen it yourself."
She sighs deeply.
"If you don't die, you're going to get raped," she says bluntly, her eyes locking with mine. "There are people out there with powers that make your little teleporting trick look like a party favor. People who can control minds, manipulate emotions, or just overpower you completely."
"I'm not going to get raped," I insist, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm going to be careful. I'm not planning to get in over my head or confront anyone way above my level."
Ellie lets out a harsh laugh, shaking her head. "Listen to yourself. You're already sounding too cocky for your own good."
"I saved someone today," I counter, sitting up straighter. "That guy with the purse would've been robbed if I hadn't stepped in."
"It was one fucking regular mugger, Shane!" Ellie throws her hands up in exasperation. "One normal human woman with no powers, no weapons, nothing but the element of surprise. And you're acting like you took down Doctor Doom!"
I open my mouth to argue but find myself hesitating. She's not entirely wrong. The mugger had been an ordinary person, not some super-powered villain. But still, I had helped someone. That has to count for something.
"Everyone starts somewhere," I say finally, my voice quieter but still determined.
Ellie stares at me for a long moment, her expression shifting from frustration to something else entirely. She steps closer, towering over me, her shadow falling across my face.
"You know what?" she says, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Maybe I should just lock all the doors right now." Her eyes narrow, something predatory glinting in those icy blue depths. "What if I just decided to keep you here? Never let you leave this apartment again?"
A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with fear. My mouth goes dry as I look up at her.
"Well," I manage, my voice coming out embarrassingly husky, "if you're planning to keep me prisoner, I hope you realize I'd require a lot of attention. I'm pretty high maintenance as captives go."
Her lips twitch, fighting a smile as she leans down, hands coming to rest on either side of me on the couch, effectively caging me in.
"Is that right?" she murmurs, her face now inches from mine. "And what kind of attention would that be, exactly?"
I reach out and grab her hips, pulling her closer to me. "How about this? You date me, and I'll tell you all about the attention I need."
Ellie shakes her head, but I catch the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of her lips.
I duck under her arms with a dramatic huff, slipping away from her cage-like stance. "This tsundere act is getting tiresome, Brock," I say, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the wall. "We both know you like me."
Ellie rolls her eyes, but the symbiote's movement grows more agitated, black tendrils briefly visible beneath the surface of her skin.
"Symbiote," I call out, addressing the alien entity directly, "please tell her it's time she fucking devours me already."
Ellie goes completely still, her eyes unfocusing slightly as she listens to something I can't hear. The symbiote's response must be quite animated because her expression cycles through shock, embarrassment, and finally, irritation.
"Shut the fuck up," she hisses, clearly not talking to me. "Don't listen to him. He's just trying to goad you."
I step closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. "That's not true," I say softly, reaching for her hand. "I meant what I said, Ellie."
Her blue eyes narrow. She pulls her hand away from mine, taking a deliberate step back.
"I'm not going to help you," she says, her voice suddenly hard as steel. "Once you go out there in that costume, you're on your own. I won't be protecting you."
"I didn't expect you to," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the hollow feeling spreading through my chest. "So it's fine."
She shakes her head, a muscle working in her jaw as she stares at me with a mixture of frustration and something that might almost be concern.
"Whatever then, Shane," she mutters, turning away from me.
I decide to let the conversation die, my eyes drifting back to the untouched food on her coffee table. All this tension is making my stomach growl, and I'm not about to let good Chinese food go to waste over another one of our circular arguments.
"Come on," I say, gesturing toward the spread of containers, "the food's getting cold."