Fics like bokeh

Ellie braids challah dough, her fingers flour-covered, the kitchen smelling like yeast and butter as he looks at her. “I don’t think most kids want their friend’s father tagging along on nights out.” Ellie rolls her eye. “Kids. We’re in our twenties, Nico. And they actually don’t kn—” she pauses, catching herself, her chest tight as she glances at him. “I mean, they don’t exactly know who you are, so...” He looks at her, Ellie holds his eyes for a beat before looking down, twisting the dough into a knot, tucking the ends, laying it out on the pan. “Have you told anyone about me?” His ring catches the fluorescent lights in the kitchen, metallic, silver, a plain band. She looks away and back to the rhythm of the dough. Fold, twist, tighten, tuck. “No,” he says. “Not yet.” Or, Ellie is twenty-five when she finds her father. He's married. It doesn't make much of a difference.

Fics like bokeh

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