Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You party in the glitter-lit lightning of my hell-yeah rascal heart.
You call my name and it sounds like something is opening up.
You touch me and it is the end of loneliness."

It’s been a fucking awful week. 

One thing after another, life knocking her over with blow after blow. Not that that's anything new, but still. A fucking awful week. 

Now Nat is slumming it on the balcony at some junior’s shitty party on a Friday night. She doesn’t want to be here, but she doesn’t want to be at the trailer either, so this is the best option until some wayward couple makes her give up her smoking spot. It’s a little too cold to be outside, especially when Nat has never owned a good winter coat, but Nat figures some sacrifices have to be made in order to smoke in peace. 

Nat doesn't want to think about her week, or her life, or the endless pile of worries that she’s ignoring until they topple over and bury her. She just wants to let the sweet burn of nicotine scorch her lungs and quiet her mind. 

But of course the moment Nat isn't distracting herself, she’s thinking about things she shouldn't think about. 

Things like Lottie fucking Matthews. 

Lottie has always been a mystery. To Wiskayok and to Nat, specifically. 

Often Lottie is the popular, kind, soccer player, waving to her friends in the hallways and surrounded by a flock of followers at lunch. Normal, if a bit eccentric, and so beautiful that people easily ignore her weirder comments, her affinity for always knowing when it will rain. 

But other days she’s solemn, closed off, her gaze a million miles away. Faded, like a ghost of herself. And Nat isn't sure why no one notices, why her faked smiles are so easily believed. 

Especially on the, thankfully rare, dark days, where Lottie folds in on herself, holds herself like one harsh word could shatter her. Nat knows that look because she’s been there too, has felt that way more days than she can count, though while Nat retreats into anger, uses her fury like a shield, Lottie only seems more desperate to pretend that she’s fine, to make sure everyone else is happy while denying herself the same grace. Those days make Nat ache, make her shove her hands deeper into her pockets to resist reaching out. 

And there’s Nat’s favorite Lottie (if she thought a lot about Lottie, which she doesn't, but like, if she did), the Lottie on the Yellowjackets.
Lottie seems freer on the field, looser and more uninhibited in the presence of only her teammates. She curses more, makes darker jokes and catches Nat’s eye with that sly smirk when she does, announces nerdy facts at random, rolls her eyes and expresses emotions that she otherwise seems to keep contained. Lottie doesn't drink unless it's a Yellowjackets-only party, her plastic cup otherwise filled with water or the host’s half assed attempt at mixers, only smokes weed with Van and Nat, slips cigarettes out of her pocket like she's used to keeping them hidden.
Yellowjackets Lottie is the closest to the truth, Nat thinks, or maybe they're all different sides of the same person, like the way water changes shape but never composition. 

They are opposites, Nat and Lottie.
Lottie spends so much time acting normal, acting like everyone wants her to act, while Nat puts all her effort into acting like she doesn't care, like she has never given a fuck about anything. Nat refuses to please anyone while Lottie wants to please everyone. Nat is all anger where Lottie is sorrow, sharp edges where Lottie has filed herself down to avoid hurting anyone. 

Sometimes Nat thinks if she looks any closer, she’ll see Lottie and her aren't different at all. That they're opposite sides of the same coin. But Nat has put a lot of time and effort into keeping herself distant from all her teammates, Lottie included, so she’ll never get that close. 

So Lottie is a mystery. 

Always has been, but although Nat has always noticed her, it’s only recently that Lottie has become a main character in her life, shifting from an untouchable ideal to someone real and tangible. Because lately- 

Lately, Lottie has been gravitating toward Nat, finding her in the locker room after practice, wandering up to her at parties, or stopping by her locker between classes. They’ve taken to meeting under the bleachers to smoke on Wednesdays, during 5th period when Nat skips pre-calc and Lottie returns from her weekly doctor’s appointment. 

Nat never seeks her out, never initiates their time together, because she knows she's an outlier, a stain of black on anyone’s life, but she can’t bring herself to avoid Lottie either. Instead she holds her breath, pretending she isn't glancing at the door of every party, lingering in the empty locker room, waiting to see if Lottie will find her. 

It’s just that Lottie seems content to be in Nat’s presence, comfortable with sitting in silence when Nat is too angry or too high or too drunk to converse, ready to banter and tease when Nat is up for it. Maybe because Nat returns the favor, understanding on sight when Lottie is not speaking for the day or remaining unfazed when Lottie’s eyes get unfocused and paranoid. 

Nat knows she shouldn't let it happen, she can't let herself get attached, but it’s just nice, to have someone who doesn’t expect anything from her, to have someone that doesn’t need Nat to act like everything is okay. 

But Nat doesn't understand why Lottie is hanging out with her, doesn't understand why Lottie has been sending her memes on instagram or texting her random photos of trees accompanied by little ramblings texts about nature that make Nat roll her eyes fondly.  

And Nat doesn't want to ask, because she’s afraid if she brings attention to it, Lottie will stop. Like watching a wild animal out of the corner of your eye, knowing if you face it fully it will run. Except Nat is starting to think she’s the wild animal and Lottie is slowly edging her way closer, hands raised in exaggerated innocence. And she doesn't know what will happen when Lottie catches her. 

It’s all very confusing, which is why Nat isn’t supposed to be thinking about her.  

In fact, Nat must have been thinking a little too hard. Speak of the devil and all that. 

She knocks the cigarette on the edge of the balcony, watching the ashes flutter down to the ground below, then speaks:

“You gonna hide in the shadows all night?” 

Lottie steps into the light with a sheepish expression, hands tucked behind her back like she expects Nat to scold her for being there. 

“Hi Nat.” 

“Hey Matthews.” 

Nat uses her last name just to see Lottie’s face scrunch up in a pout. 

“Don't call me that.” 

“No?” Nat finishes her cigarette and taps another two out of the carton, wordlessly passing one to Lottie as well. She knows Lottie doesn't like Nat’s brand, prefers the fancy, European ones that she keeps in a little silver monogrammed case like goddamn royalty, but lately Lottie has been slumming it, accepting Nat’s humble cigarettes from their crumbled box. “Shouldn't you be saying I can call you whatever I want, as long as I call you?” 

“Something tells me you still wouldn't call,” Lottie replies dryly, her words sliding out around the cigarette in her teeth, leaning forward with it between her lips for Nat to light. 

It is, for Nat, unbearably intimate, but she’s never been one to back down from a challenge, so she holds eye contact with Lottie as she brings the lighter up, flame flickering. And it's worth it, because it makes Lottie smile that small, secret smile as she leans back, taking the cigarette out of her mouth so she can exhale the smoke to the side. She is so beautiful, it almost makes Nat forget they’re technically holding a conversation, even if the words feel like just an excuse to keep their eyes on each other, to shuffle closer to speak. 

“Think you've got enough people calling you.” 

“Yeah? Maybe I should go smoke with them.” 

“Hey, you followed me out here,” Nat points out. “I was fine here without pretty girls stealing my cigarettes.” Oh, that's an accident, a little too far over the line between banter and flirting, but it’s hard to regret it when it makes Lottie blush so prettily, looking like the kind of art you’d see in a fucking museum, all pink cheeks and long fingers and smoke.  

“Hmm.. and how many other pretty girls do you have stealing your cigarettes?” Lottie’s gaze flickers up and down Nat’s figure, evaluating, maybe, or sizing her up, or maybe just looking for the sake of looking, drinking in her presence. 

Nat grins at the slant of jealousy in her tone, one Lottie’s not quite able to hide. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?” 

Lottie narrows her eyes a bit, playing her part, but Nat can see she’s distracted, something else on her mind. Lottie brings the cigarette to her mouth and inhales slowly, turning to look out at the darkness as she exhales the smoke, ignoring Nat’s watchful eye. 

Nat finishes the cigarette, stubbing it out on the wooden bannister she’s leaning against, and levels Lottie with a look. 

“Just spit it out already.” 

“Hmm?” Lottie feigns innocence, but Nat’s not some wide-eyed sophomore who falls for her little cowed, pretty girl act. Lottie may be a mystery, but Nat knows her, can read her better than most, at least.  

Nat rolls her eyes. 

“Whatever you’ve been working yourself up to say since you came out here.” 

“Maybe I just wanted a quiet place to smoke.” 

“If you wanted to be somewhere quiet, you wouldn't be at Daniel Meyer’s house on a Friday night.” And Nat knows she’s right, but as she says it, she realizes something else. There’s no reason for Lottie to be at this party; no one else here is part of Lottie’s flocks of friends at school or related to one of her many extracurriculars. In fact, Nat is probably the only person Lottie knows here. And if that's the case, then Lottie here for- Lottie came here to see-

She can’t finish the thought, just like she refuses to acknowledge that Lottie found her out here somehow, refuses to think of Lottie parting through the crowd, looking for Nat, seeking her out, understanding her well enough to know where she would be.

Lottie huffs, drawing Nat back to the present.

“Fine.” She takes a careful step closer to Nat, her gaze searching. “Are you high?”

Nat shifts against the banister, eyeing the other girl. “Not yet.” 

“Drunk?”

“As if I'd trust anything served by those guys inside.” Nat  can’t tell if she should be offended by this line of questioning or not. She crosses her ankles, elbows propped on the banister. “Why?” 

Lottie hums, staring up at the sky. Usually Nat might wait it out, let Lottie work up to it, but it’s been a long week- Nat’s patience is running thin. 

“Matthews.” 

“I just want to make sure you’re like.. hmm.” Lottie taps one finger against her lips, searching for the word. “Coherent?”

“Coherent for what?” Nat asks, wary, but maybe not as wary as she should be, because she trusts Lottie too much. 

Lottie inhales from her cigarette for a long, drawn out moment, until her lungs must be burning, then exhales out the smoke in a cloud around her. Even through the fog, her eyes stay on Nat, that deep, penetrating gaze, like she can see right into Nat’s soul. Lottie opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it again. 

“Lottie. What is it?”

“Do you- I-” Lottie starts and stops, biting her lip as she hesitates. She takes a fortifying breath, then:

“Can I hug you?” 

Nat could've guessed all night and still would not have predicted this phrase to fall from Lottie’s perfect lips. She doesn't even have a sharp quip to respond with. 

“... What?”

Lottie smiles at her shyly, looking up through her eyelashes, bashful in a way that must be an act because Nat’s never seen Lottie be uncertain about what she wants.

“Can I give you a hug?” Lottie repeats, voice soft and low, so different from that practiced, cheerful tone she uses around strangers, around the others even.

Nat waits for more, for some explanation, but nothing comes. 

“Why?” She can’t help the defensive, accusatory slant to her voice, automatically falling back to anger. “You think I need a hug? Is this a pity thing, Matthews?” 

Lottie is unfazed by the heat in Nat’s voice. Her gaze flickers to the side like the answer might be there, then returns to Nat. The look in her eyes slides into something more genuine, a little nervous, a bit less coy. The real Lottie. Nat unconsciously leans forward, automatically drawn to her.

“I know you don’t need one, of course. I just want to hug you. But I don't want to do something you don't want.” 

But why do you want to hug me? Nat wants to blurt out, the idea so incongruent with reality. 

Yeah, Lottie is naturally tactile, hoisting Shauna over her shoulders after a goal, petting Jackie’s head in her lap at a bonfire, letting Van lean on her as they converse in the hallway. Lottie has no problem holding Laura Lee’s hand, or wrapping an arm around Tai, or a hundred other tiny physical gestures that she doesn’t think twice about, but Nat would have to think about for days before attempting. Lottie gives physical affection freely and without sparing. Lottie could hug anyone. 

But Nat- Nat avoids physical touch because it’s better for everyone that way, safer for her, so she doesn’t get used to something she will only ultimately lose, and safer for others, too, because no one who has ever cared about Nat has made it out of her life unscathed. She’s so careful to keep everyone at arm's length, even Shauna, even Van, because she is so afraid of what may happen otherwise. 

And Lottie must know that, because she’s always respected Nat’s wishes, always made sure to avoid brushing against her in the locker room or letting their fingers touch when she passes the cigarette. And because she’s asking now, instead of just hugging Nat in the easy, uncomplicated way it would be with anyone else. 

“Uh,” Nat swallows, licks her lips. What does it say about her, that a hug makes her so uncertain, that she can't remember the last time someone freely chose to give her such affection with no ulterior motive? What does it mean, that Lottie’s act of basic human decency, asking for consent, makes her knees weak, makes her heart twist painfully in her chest?

She should say no. 

She really should say no. Nat knows all the reasons she should say no, all the logic behind her years of self-imposed isolation, but god . It’s been a long week in a long year in a long life, and Nat is tired. She’s tired of holding back, of starving for contact, of hoarding any signs of affection. Nat’s so fucking tired, and she is so afraid of showing weakness, but this is Lottie Matthews, Lottie who has never asked her for anything but for her to be herself, and so Nat lets down her walls, however slightly, lets herself answer this one question honestly. 

“Sure.”

“Really?” Lottie doesn’t sound surprised, not really, but more like she’s seeking reassurance. Like she needs Nat to be sure. Lottie studies her, scanning Nat’s posture as if she’ll be able to determine if Nat really means it. “Are you sure? You don't have to. Honestly.”

“Yeah, uh. Yeah. You can hug me. Or whatever.” Nat knows she’s blushing, she can feel the burn on her cheeks, so she has to hope it’s dark enough that Lottie can’t tell. “I don’t need a hug.” She has to add that caveat, has to be clear. “But like. If you want, I guess.” 

Nat’s forced nonchalance is not even a little believable, but Lottie doesn’t comment on it- she never does. 

“Alright,” Lottie says, soft as anything, as if it’s that simple, that easy. 

She steps closer and Nat can’t help it, the way her breath hitches in her throat, the way she digs her nails into the soft flesh of her palms to resist flinching backward. Lottie’s not a threat and she knows that, but it’s impossible to suppress her automatic reactions, the instincts that have been drilled into her through years of beatings and that day with the gun. Nat wants to explain that, but her throat is too tight to speak, all her words caught in her mouth. 

Lottie’s eyes search her own, although Nat doesn’t know what she’s looking for. Whatever it is, Lottie must find it, because she nods her head like something has been decided and then closes the distance between them. Nat takes one more stilted inhale-

And then they’re hugging. 

Lottie’s height (or Nat’s lack of) means that Nat’s head slots just at Lottie’s shoulder, her face inches from Lottie’s throat, fitting together like that's where Nat was made to be. Nat’s hands wrap around Lottie’s waist instinctively, careful to keep her grip light, although she can't help but fist her hands in the material of Lottie’s sweater. Lottie has one arm around Nat’s shoulder, palm flat against Nat’s shoulder blades to press her forward, and the other arm wrapped around Nat’s other side to rest her hand in Nat's hair, cradling her head like she’s something precious and worth protecting as Nat sinks into Lottie’s hold. 

They’re pressed together from hip to shoulder, Nat flush against Lottie, Lottie holding her close, no qualms despite the fact that she really should be keeping as much distance as possible between them, if she knew what was good for her. There's no space between them, their bodies pressed together, no way for Nat to interpret this as anything other than a gesture of pure affection, of total care and trust. 

Oh . 

Oh, fuck.

This was a mistake. 

Because Nat doesn't know the last fucking time she was held like this, if ever. 

There's nothing sexual about it, nothing similar to the sweaty, desperate grip of a one-night partner, and it’s not like the rough, celebratory clasp of her teammates, none of the exuberant, chaotic energy of the post-match celebrations, where they all slam together in a huddle of adrenaline and triumph. 

This is a different beast entirely. 

This is dangerous, because this feeling is better than any high, better than the smooth haze of intoxication. Nat feels warm, like she’s been freezing her whole life until this moment, all the ever-present tension in her frame leaking out of her as she sags against Lottie. She’s nearly dizzy with it, the warmth and care and tenderness that Lottie pours into the hug as she embraces her, holding Nat like she's good and pure and worthy. 

Everything else falls away. The shitty week, the shitty life, her worries about the future, her concerns and her fears, even- even the anger, the fury that constantly simmers in her blood, all of it just. Just fades out for a moment.

There’s nothing but Nat and Lottie and every point where their bodies touch. The scent of Lottie surrounds her, wood and lavender and the smoke of Nat’s cigarettes- and it thrills her a bit, to think of Lottie smelling like her. Nat’s got the soft material of Lottie’s sweater still clenched in her fists, and even through the fabric, the heat of Lottie’s skin scorches Nat. 

She feels safe.

For the first time in who the fuck knows how long, Nat feels safe. It makes something crack and break open in her chest, her eyes welling with tears. 

And she panics. 

Nat pushes back from Lottie’s arms immediately, flinging herself backward, and Lottie lets her go, surrendering her hold but not pulling away, letting Nat set how much space is between them. Nat pretends she doesn't hear the little noise of discontent Lottie makes as Nat separates them, because if she acknowledges it, Nat will succumb to her stupid desires and fall back into Lottie’s arms. 

Nat is breathless and Lottie’s eyes are endlessly dark, watching her closely, a hint of insecurity in them again.
Lottie’s fingers flex absently in the air, like her hands haven't quite registered that they're no longer holding Nat against her. 

Nat forces out a choked laugh, shaking her head and turning away to fumble for her lighter, her hands shaking so badly she can't get the flame to catch. 

“‘m fine,” she mutters around the cigarette she hastily shoves into her mouth, preempting the question she knows Lottie is going to ask. “I’m good.”  

Nat can feel Lottie’s eyes on her and she burns , she aches, she wants. But she can’t. Lottie’s eyes are endless, endless pools and Nat is drowning, drowning, drowning.

She is a barely frozen sheet of ice on a lake and one misstep from Lottie will shatter her. 

Lottie leans back against the railing across from Nat, her gaze shuttering back to unreadable. She opens her mouth and Nat braces herself. But Lottie remains unpredictable, because she doesn't say anything at all about the hug. 

“Do you want to get out of here? We can just go drive around or something.”

Nat takes a moment to breathe, to let her frantic heart rate slow, just a little. 

“Depends..” she drawls, like she wasn't just one more second of a hug away from a total breakdown. “Can I smoke in your fancy car?”

Lottie hums, tapping her chin in fake consideration. “For you? I’ll allow it this once.” 

When Nat stands up to follow Lottie, she makes sure to keep her distance so their bodies don't touch.  

She knew the hug was a mistake. 

Nat was fine, was just fine without being held or tenderly touched or any of that shit, and now how the fuck is she supposed to continue on like she was before when now she knows what it feels like to be held by Lottie? When now she knows how it feels to have Lottie’s hand gently carding through her hair, the press of Lottie’s body against her own? 

The safety, the security, the warmth? 

Fucking hell. 

Now Nat knows what she’s missing.

It's like the first time she smoked weed and discovered the way the drug lifted her worries off her shoulders, made the world light and easy to handle for a few hours. How could she resist it after that?

And how can she resist Lottie now? 

Nat spends the weekend in a daze, restless and on edge like her mother when she’s gone too long between drinks. She walks into school on Monday like she’s approaching the guillotine, somehow convinced that everyone will take one look at her and know: Nat Scatorrcio wants a hug . Or perhaps even more damning: Nat Scatorrcio wants a hug from Lottie Matthews . 

Nat slinks to her locker, in absolute denial that she’s glancing around looking for Lottie. After all, why the fuck would Nat be looking for her? It’s not like Nat’s going to go running into Lottie’s arms. And even if she did- obviously she’s not going to, but even if she did- why would Lottie even want to hug her again, when last time Nat freaked the fuck out and pushed Lottie away from her like she was diseased? When she spent the rest of the night unable to meet Lottie’s eyes? 

Call it divine intervention (Laura Lee would) or call it dumb luck, but Nat doesn't see any sign of Lottie until lunch. Nat enters the cafeteria and spots her immediately- Lottie’s got one of those incredibly inappropriately short skirts on, her hair in waves down her back, and she’s with Jackie and a bunch of girls from the cheerleading team. A popular-girl-Lottie day, then. 

Except Lottie keeps glancing around the room like she’s looking for someone and Nat doesn't drag her eyes away fast enough, so soon enough she’s ensnared in Lottie’s gaze. She watches Lottie’s gaze flicker from that polite smile to something hungrier. 

Nat tilts her head toward the group of girls next to Lottie and mimes sticking a finger down her throat, gagging. Her phone vibrates with a text shortly after. 

Lottie : I’d rather be sitting with you 😩

Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it. 

Nat types out the message and hits send before she can stop herself. 

Nat : You sure? Those girls would probably love a hug.

Oh, she's so stupid and obvious. She can see Lottie’s brow furrow as she reads the text from across the room. She watches Lottie chew on her bottom lip as she types out a response. 

Lottie : Was it not clear that I wanted to hug you specifically? 

Lottie : Don't make me come over there 😠

Nat locks her phone abruptly and slams it down on the table. 

She can feel Lottie’s eyes on her for the rest of the period, but she doesn't dare look up again. 

By the time the school day is over and it’s time for soccer practice, Nat is mentally exhausted from arguing with herself all day. It's just so stupid- she wants a hug from Lottie so badly she aches with it, and she absolutely cannot want that. It was just a fucking hug! Why can't she be fucking normal about it? 

Nat’s overly short-tempered with the others all practice, a real feat considering she’s normally already so quick to anger. She doesn't mean to be, she just feels… agitated, off balance. Like something is missing. She keeps losing focus on the ball, her eyes catching on the flex of Lottie’s calves as she runs or Lottie’s long fingers tightening the ribbons in her hair. After Nat’s third or fourth ‘subtle’ glance, Lottie’s gaze finds her own, Lottie raising her eyebrows as if to say you good? . Nat scowls back at her, but instead of being intimidated, Lottie grins at Nat’s expression. And then to add to her absolute audacity, Lottie brings one hand up and blows Nat a kiss?????

Nat promptly trips over the ball at her feet and almost wipes out in the mud. 

Jesus fucking christ. The popular-girl-Lottie persona is gone, replaced with mischievous, trouble-maker Lottie, the one who shoplifts and teases her teammates and makes Nat’s heart thud loudly in her chest. 

Nat makes it through the rest of practice through the grace of Laura Lee’s god alone, her mind buzzing. After, in the locker room, Shauna comes close to brushing her arm as she passes her and Nat flinches away like she's been shocked, slamming her own shoulder into the hard metal of her locker in her effort to avoid being touched. The noise makes everyone turn to look at her, and Nat flips them all off so they’ll go back to their own fucking business. Everyone looks away, even Van and her worried eyebrows, except- 

Except Lottie, whose heavy gaze stays focused on Nat. It should make her feel worse, should make her squirm under the scrutiny, but instead it just makes Nat feel hot, like she’s basking under the shine of Lottie’s attention, a blush crawling up the back of her neck. She is so fucked.  

Nat hurriedly turns back to her own locker, her hands fisting in her bunched up clothes to avoid doing something stupid, like crossing the room and trying to hug Lottie in front of everyone. Instead, she changes as fast as she can, not bothering with a shower, and then scuttles out of the locker room before anyone can question her. 

Once in the relative safety of under the bleachers, Nat lights a cigarette and takes a deep inhale, scolding herself internally. Why is she acting like a total freak over a fucking hug? 

(Oh, but she knows why, doesn't she?)

She smokes the cigarette down to the filter, nearly burning herself, then drops the remains to the ground and suffocates it beneath her boot. By the time she hears Lottie’s footsteps approach, it’s dusk, the sun not quite gone but night hanging over the scene like a blanket. It occurs to Nat that she’d gone to hide in the first place Lottie would come looking for her. But maybe she hadn’t yet accepted that Lottie would come looking for her. Or maybe she'd hoped she would. 

“Hey Nat.” Just like she did the other night. 

“Matthews.” Nat scowls.

Lottie crosses her arms, hip cocked, and looks Nat over. Lottie’s hair is still damp from the showers, curling around her shoulders, and her sweatpants sit low on her waist. She looks excruciatingly cozy, like she dressed with the intent to challenge all of Nat’s already-weak willpower, and god, have her legs always been this long? Nat barely resists pulling out another cigarette, just for something to do with her hands. 

“You wanna talk about what’s got you all worked up?” 

So casual, like she hasn’t been the only thing on Nat’s mind since Friday.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Nat practically hisses, defensive anger automatically winning out. 

“No,” Lottie agrees with a sigh. “No, you don’t.” She hesitates and her stance softens, a look of guilt flooding into her eyes. “Listen- if I overstepped, or crossed a line-”

The only thought more intolerable than how much she wants a hug is Lottie thinking that the hug was a mistake. 

“Don't finish that sentence, Matthews,” Nat snaps. “Stop being so.. so…”

“So…?”

“So understanding! So patient! Can’t you just fucking yell at me or something?” 

“Why would I yell at you?”

“Because! Because I want- I want-”

How can Nat explain the shame that is always tangled up in her want, the humiliation that comes with her desire? 

Lottie has that glint in her eyes again, like she’s got Nat right where she wants her. Like she’s caught Nat at last. 

And maybe Nat wants to be caught. 

“If you want something,” Lottie says slowly, “all you have to do is ask for it.”

Nat could fucking scream. She turns away from Lottie abruptly and starts pacing, working herself up into a frenzy. 

“Matthews. Lottie. Listen. Listen.” 

Lottie crosses her arms and watches Nat pace with a bemused expression on her face. “I’m listening, Nat.” 

Oh, this girl drives her crazy .

“You… you just.. and now.. and how am I supposed to??” When she gets flustered the New Jersey-Italian accent really starts to come out. 

“Starting with a full sentence would probably help,” Lottie offers. Nat scowls even more, her pacing wearing a path into the gravel. 

“FUCK. Okay. Okay.” 

Nat stops abruptly in front of Lottie, throws up her hands, and faces her head on. She can do this.

“Okay, you know… when we hung out the other day.” 

“At the party? Yeah, I remember,” Lottie says easily. Like maybe she’s been thinking about it too. 

“Right. So, you can like..” Nat throws one hand vaguely in the air, gesturing, “like. Whenever. You know?” 

“No…?” Now Lottie is pressing her lips together like she’s trying not to smile, one hand coming up to twirl a wayward lock of hair around her finger, her obvious tell for when she’s lying. “Can you be more specific?” 

Natalie huffs. “You know what I mean!” 

“Hm… I don’t think I do.” 

Natalie squirms, glaring down at the gravel and dirt beneath them and scuffing at it with the toe of her boot. “Fucker..” she mutters under her breath, then looks back up at Lottie and her smug, expectant eyebrows. 

“When we… hugged.” Nat grits out.

“Oh, when we hugged?? What about it?” Lottie would probably be more obnoxious if she wasn’t so radiant when she smiles, beaming at Natalie like she’s proud Nat even brought it up. Nat focuses on that joy and lets out all her words in one breath. 

“You don’t have to ask, alright? Like… if you want to hug me, you can just hug me. Whatever. I mean, maybe not in front of everyone all the time, cause the last thing I need is all those losers thinkin’ they can try to hug me, but like.” Nat gestures a bit more, then lets her arms fall to her sides. “You get it.”

She’s a coward, truly, because Nat knows she should just say I want to hug you or will you hug me please?, should just be honest about what she wants, but she can’t. It’s easier to pretend she’s doing this for Lottie’s sake, like she’s doing Lottie some big favor, when the opposite is true. Nat is desperate for the security of Lottie’s arms, even though she knows she should be pushing Lottie away, keeping her distance, because Nat is a scourge on anyone’s life, a blight, a plague, and yet… and yet now that she knows what it feels like to be held by Lottie, she doesn’t want to lose it. So she's just going to have to hope Lottie gets the message. 

“Okay.”

Nat pauses. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Good to know,” Lottie says with a shrug, adjusting her backpack strap on her shoulder. 

Nat blinks, her eyebrows drawing together. 

“Oh. You don’t…?”

Lottie raises one eyebrow, unfairly attractive. “What?”

“... Nothing.” Nat shakes her head, unwilling to articulate her dissatisfaction with this. “I’m gonna go.” She attempts to shuffle away, but Lottie moves closer instead, freezing Nat in her tracks. 

“Oh, did you want to hug now ?” Lottie presses one hand to her chest in fake surprise, pretending she hasn't known exactly what Nat’s wanted from the beginning of the conversation, a smile edging at her lips despite her clear attempt to hide it. 

“Well not anymore, you bitch,” Nat huffs, turning her head away so Lottie can’t see the flush of her cheeks and also because looking at Lottie’s smirk directly is like looking at the fucking sun. “Forget it.” 

“Natalieee,” Lottie sing-songs sweetly, dropping her backpack to the ground to open her arms and come closer, still careful to approach slowly, giving Nat plenty of time to step away if she wanted to. “C’mere.” 

“Hmph.” Nat isn't even sure why she bothers pretending to be grumpy, because the moment Lottie gets closer, she drops her crossed arms, unable to pretend she’s not desperate and eager for Lottie’s hold. 

“Whatever,” she mutters, but the second half of the word is lost as Lottie sweeps Nat into her arms. 

Fuck.

The catharsis is so sweet. Sure, it’s the chemicals in her brain, the oxytocin and hormones that are released during physical touch, or whatever, but it’s also the way Lottie holds her, the grounding, tender touch, the way she tightens her arms like she never wants to let Nat go. 

This close, Nat can hear the breathy little sigh Lottie lets out, like she’s been waiting for this, like she’s been holding her breath, like she’s relieved to be hugging Nat, like she didn't think she’d ever get to hug Nat again. And fuck , the sound makes sparks shoot all through Nat, gives her the courage to shift her head slightly and press her lips, fleetingly, to Lottie’s bare throat and hear Lottie gasp, her grip on Nat tightening.

It’s a perfect moment, so naturally that’s when Nat bursts into tears. 

“Fuck,” Nat chokes out, unwilling to remove her face from where it’s pressed against Lottie’s neck, unable to disguise the tears that are soaking the neckline of Lottie’s sweatshirt. “Sorry, fuck, I just-”

“It’s alright,” Lottie murmurs, so soft, so gentle. This Lottie is not so bad either, the affectionate and caring Lottie who loves so fucking fiercely. “It’s alright, Nat. You’re alright.” 

Lottie has one hand in her hair and the other rubbing little circles on Nat’s back, the warmth of her skin soaking through the fabric of Nat’s shirt. It’s overwhelming and it’s too much and it’s not enough. 

Nat doesn’t even know why she’s crying- it’s just that everything in life is so, so heavy, and all this time she’s felt like she couldn't breathe, and now she’s in Lottie's arms and it's exactly what she needed, her grounding touch, her endless warmth. 

After a minute or two of sobbing, Nat makes a halfhearted attempt to pull back, muttering another apology, but Lottie makes a noise of disagreement and doesn't let go, shuffling somehow closer still, tightening her embrace, and Nat falls into it too easily, clutching at Lottie like a lifesaver in the tumultuous ocean of fucked-up that is her life. 

They’re swaying slightly, Lottie rocking them both like a stilted waltz, a dance for just the two of them, and Nat’s sobs are petering out, slowing to the hiccup-and-shudder that follows heavy crying. Nat’s ashamed, obviously, of her stupid vulnerability, but it's harder to feel bad about it when Lottie is so transparently happy to be hugging Nat, as if Lottie is the lucky one here.  

“You don't know what you've unleashed. I’m gonna hug you so much,” Lottie murmurs happily, her fingers drawing errant shapes on Nat’s back. “It’s like, my favorite thing.” 

“Hugging me is your favorite thing?” Nat means to say it in a “wow, you loser” sort of tone, but it just comes out incredulous.

“Okay, my favorite thing ever is when Jackie and Tai get paired up for drills and we have to watch Van and Shauna try to mediate. But hugging you is in the top five, at least.” 

Nat snorts, finally gathering the strength to pull back from the hug a bit so she can wipe at her eyes. Lottie lets her hands drop to Nat’s waist, tucking her fingers through the belt loops of Nat’s pants so their bodies are still connected. 

“I think you need more hobbies.” 

Lottie shrugs. “They banned me from the chess club when I kept predicting everyone’s next moves.” 

Nat doesn't quite hear Lottie’s quip because she’s mentally psyching herself up to cover Lottie’s hands with her own, not to remove them, but so she can intertwine their fingers. It takes her a solid thirty seconds to work up to it, but it’s worth it because Lottie’s answering smile makes Nat feel like her insides are melting. It makes her honest. 

“’m sorry,” Nat mumbles quietly, “for being like this.” 

“Well, I like ‘like this’. I like you,” Lottie says with an air of finality, like there’s no further argument to be made.

And yeah, maybe if Nat was a truly selfless person, she would argue further, remind Lottie of all the reasons getting close to Nat, physically or otherwise, is a mistake, and yes, maybe this is all doomed to end in heartache and a fiery crash, but as long as Lottie is touching her, Nat has the strength to say fuck it and keep this one thing, this one pure and good and right thing in her life. 

So Nat rolls her eyes and replies like they’re just two teenagers flirting under the bleachers without the burdens of life hanging over their heads. “Alright, you’re obsessed with me, I get it.” 

Lottie lets out a peal of laughter as she tugs Nat by their connected hands toward the parking lot. “You wish, Scatorrcio.”

Nat breathes through the terror of the intimacy of holding hands with Lottie. Nat knows she could let go of her hand, that Lottie wouldn’t begrudge her that, and would hide her disappointed look as best she can, but Nat finds she doesn’t want to let go. She doesn’t want to let her fears and her anxieties and her past rule her. Not with Lottie. 

They reach Lottie’s fancy car and both lean against the doors, just looking at each other. Lottie does that.. thing she does, where she looks up at Nat through her eyelashes, which shouldn’t even be possible given that Lottie is four inches taller than her, at least, but somehow she does it and it gets Nat every time, like a total sucker. 

“Let me take you home?” Lottie asks coyly. 

Nat scoffs as if that will disguise her blush. “Don’t bat your eyelashes at me. I’m not as easily convinced as your many hallway admirers.” 

Lottie chances a step closer, exaggerating her pout. “Are you saying you’re not one of my admirers?” 

Jesus fucking christ. 

To avoid answering, Nat stomps around the car, wrenching open the passenger seat and sliding in. When Lottie clambers in on the other side, the look on her face is so openly affectionate, so genuinely enamored by Nat, that Nat has to look away, in case she does something stupid, like reaching over the console to kiss her, or worse, starts crying again.  

“Come on Matthews. If you let me choose the music, I’ll buy you a slushie on the way.” 

“Alright, but if I have to hear anything from a pop-punk related playlist, I’m cutting you off.” 

And fine, okay, yes. 

When they get to the trailer, Nat does let Lottie hug her goodbye. 

Chapter Text

All this hugging has made Lottie bold . 

It’s like some dam has broken, now that Lottie has permission to touch Nat. 

Lottie passes her in the hallway and brushes her fingertips along Nat’s lower back like it’s nothing, like Nat won’t be feeling the ghost of her touch for hours. They eat lunch as a team at least once a week, and Lottie really acts like it's pure chance, happenstance, that she’s seated next to Nat, shifting so their knees press together. The team runs warm up laps around the field and Lottie moves throughout the group with ease, just so her arm can graze Nat’s as the pack churns. On the field after practice, Lottie spread out in the grass like a snow angel, Nat lounging against a goalpost above her, and Lottie reaches up to curl her fingers around Nat’s ankle, pressing her palm against the delicate tendons. 

Nat’s starting to realize Lottie is so tactile because she’s desperate for touch, she’s starved for it.
Nat’s starting to comprehend how much Lottie was holding back, how much she was resisting. 

And she doesn’t understand at all. Why Nat? When Lottie could have anyone, when most days Lottie could be as popular as Jackie, when the team gravitates towards Lottie’s warmth and their classmates see her as another pretty, albeit sometimes strange, girl. Why Nat?

And to what end? What does Lottie want from her, when there’s nothing Nat could give her? Nat, who is nothing, who has nothing, who only ruins things and people. 

She just doesn’t get it. 

There’s a look in Lottie’s eyes that can only be described as longing. And it scares the shit out of her. 

Lottie’s really good at hiding it, Nat will give her that. 

Nat probably wouldn’t be able to tell at all, if she wasn’t paying such close attention to Lottie herself. 

“Nat,” Lottie says softly, in that way she has where it makes it sound like she’s incredibly happy just to see Nat, which is stupid as hell and can’t be true. But that’s how she makes it sound, anyway. 

“Hey Lot,” she says, SUPER casually, and then kind of throws her arm around Lottie’s shoulders in an awkward one-armed half hug. Thank god Lottie is quick on the uptake, because she rotates and successfully pivots Nat’s sad attempt into a full hug, a brief one, just long enough for everything to go silent as Nat feels herself surrounded by warmth for a moment, taking a greedy inhale of Lottie’s perfume. Then Lottie pulls back and goes back to rooting around in her locker, like everything is totally normal, except she’s got an ear-splitting grin on her face that is not being well-hidden by the locker door. 

“Be cool, Matthews.”

“I’m cool, I’m cool.” Lottie disputes her own statement by following it with a giddy sort of giggle that makes Nat’s face heat up. 

Luckily, Nat is saved from saying something incredibly stupid like you’re so cute by the arrival of Van, who takes one look at Nat’s face and spins to raise her eyebrows at Lottie. 

“Lottie, we’ve talked about this,” Van lectures, faux-disappointed. “You can’t flirt with Nat before 12pm. It makes her all jittery and I’ve got to sit next to her fidgety ass for three periods in a row. I mean look at her, she’s all red and smiley!” 

“Sorry Van,” Lottie gives her an extremely fake apologetic look, hands tucked behind her back as she rocks on her heels. “I can flirt with you too, if you’d like? Just so you’re both jittery together.” 

“Too early for flirting with anyone,” Tai calls over their heads as she walks by and loops her arm with Van’s, tugging her down the hallway without stopping. Van reaches out and snags Nat by her jacket pocket, so Nat just gives Lottie a helpless sort of wave as she’s dragged along toward their class. Lottie blows her a kiss and then waits expectantly until Nat rolls her eyes and reaches out to mime catching the kiss in the air and putting it in her pocket. Embarrassing as hell, but worth it to see Lottie’s pleased little toothy smirk before Nat gets dragged around the corner and out of view. 

Nat has never had anything to herself. 

And that was fine, and that was bearable, because that’s all she’d ever known, but now… now there’s Lottie.  

Now that she has Lottie’s touch, she doesn't want to lose it. She’s starting to crave their end-of-school-day hug, starting to wait eagerly for the chance to feel the brush of Lottie’s fingertips in the hallway. She melts with relief every time they hug, because she feels like every time is the last, like it might never happen again. 

And it makes her greedy, makes her feel things she shouldn’t feel. Things she never normally feels. Things like- 

Like jealousy.

Kevyn shoots her a look when she sits down at their usual table. “Oh, she finally decides to grace us with her presence.” 

Nat scowls his way. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” Kevyn shrugs in a not at all casual way, “just you’ve been so busy with your girlfriend, lately…” 

Nat forgets to pretend she doesn’t know who he’s referring to. “She’s not my girlfriend, asshole.” 

“Clearly, cause the Jesus freak is all over her.” 

“What-” Nat spins around to see Lottie sitting with Laura Lee and her friends today and goddamn- Laura Lee is practically on top of Lottie, she’s sitting so close, their sides pressed together as they talk. It makes something hot flare in Nat’s mind, the slimy slither of jealousy curling down her spine. 

When she turns back around, the boys chorus “oooh” and jostle each other like Nat has revealed something. 

“She’s jealous!” Rich chimes. 

“I am not,” Nat snarls back, looking back down at her meager lunch to hide the red flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. “She can do whatever she wants.” 

“Sureee,” Kevyn jeers and they’re just fucking around, but Nat suddenly can’t take it, can’t deal with this right now. 

“Fuck you guys,” Nat spits, and stands up to stalk out of the cafeteria, ignoring their calls of surprise behind her. 

The thing is that it shouldn’t matter . Lottie and Laura Lee have always been close, have always had some sort of weird friendship despite their differences. Nat has never given a fuck before now. It’s just-

It just feels different, now, okay?

Like there’s been… something building between Nat and Lottie, these last few weeks, something smoldering and hot. And all of the sudden, Nat feels unsteady, like maybe she’s been imaging it. Like maybe Lottie doesn’t feel it too. 

Which is stupid, because Lottie hasn’t done anything different, but now Nat can’t stop thinking about it. About every time Lottie gives a casual hug to a teammate, or bunches into Shauna’s backseat with the others, pressed together, or walks hand-in-hand with Laura Lee after class. 

She can’t stop thinking about it. She spends all day thinking about it. So when Lottie ambles over in the locker room after practice, Nat feels all her emotions rise up. 

“Hey,” Lottie says, easy as anything, because she doesn’t know Nat’s spent the last four hours in her head. 

Don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say anything-

“Shouldn’t you be with Laura Lee?” Nat half snarls before she can stop herself, and fuck. 

Lottie’s eyebrows shoot up at her tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing.” Nat shoves her clothes into her bag as fast as she can and backpedals. “Forget it. I’ll see you later. Or won’t. Whatever.” 

“Nat, wait-” 

She’s so stupid . She didn’t need to say shit, and now she’s shuffling out of the locker room before Lottie can say anything else, before Nat can say anything else that might expose that she’s jealous. 

Her, Nat Scatorccio. Jealous. 

And for what? Just because she got a few hugs, now she doesn’t want Lottie hugging anyone else? It’s absurd. Completely absurd.

And yet, Nat can’t help it. Some sick, selfish part of her wants Lottie all to herself. 

And there’s a party tonight, a party Nat has no interest in going to, except- 

Well, except what if Lottie is there and some girl starts chatting her up?

That’s why she ends up crowded in with a bunch of other seniors at someone’s house that night, shitty cocktail in hand. 

She’s just building up a comfortable buzz when her eye catches on something in the corner of her vision. Nat turns automatically and-

What the fuck ?

Just across the room: Lottie and some blonde girl from the volleyball team, looking cozy as hell on one corner of the couch, the blonde leaning forward way more than necessary to hear Lottie over the din of the party. 

Nat barely feels the trickle of alcohol down her hands as she clutches her plastic cup so hard it cracks, liquor dribbling to the floor. 

She can’t drag her eyes away. 

Lottie’s in her untouchable rich girl mood right now, Nat can tell. Mostly because Lottie is dressed in a tight pink skirt and an even tighter black shirt that somehow screams money and her hands are dripping with thin gold rings. 

Lottie is nodding along with whatever the other girl is saying, although even from here, Nat can tell she’s not really listening, her eyes distant. Which should be a comfort, because Lottie is obviously not interested in this girl, is clearly just being polite, but where exactly does this other girl get off, sitting so close to Lottie like that? Smiling at Lottie like she fucking knows her at all, obviously angling herself to try to catch Lottie’s eye? What the fuck? How fucking dare she? 

Nat is frozen in place, stupefied by the audacity of the volleyball player. The one consoling factor Nat has is that they’re not touching- until the other girl leans even closer, her knees bumping into Lottie’s, and she puts her fucking hand on Lottie’s arm?? Nat feels the fury in her blood heat up by a thousand percent as she watches the blonde drag her fingertips along Lottie’s wrist. 

And then.. and fucking then? 

Lottie’s gaze flickers away from the other girl and goes directly across the room. Her eyes meet Nat’s glare.  

And Lottie raises one eyebrow, the question in her expression clear as day. Not a challenge, not exactly. Just a simple question.

And? What are you going to do about it? 

Nat clenches her jaw so hard she can hear her teeth grind. 

“Hold this.” Nat shoves her broken cup into the hands of whoever the fuck she was pretending to talk to and stalks across the room, everyone getting the fuck out of the way of the familiar sight of Nat Scatorrcio on the warpath. When she gets close, both Lottie and the other girl look up, the other girl’s expression confused as she pulls her hand back, and Lottie- Lottie is smirking, her teeth bared, her little fang poking out, mocking Nat. 

Fuck it.  

Sometimes Nat is too far deep in her own head, stuck in a constant feedback loop of second guessing. 

But now Nat’s not thinking at all. She’s acting purely on instinct. 

Which is why Nat reaches the couch and, without pausing, slings one arm around Lottie’s shoulders for balance and drops into Lottie’s lap.

“Hey, Lot.” 

Lottie does not hesitate. Her hands go to Nat’s hips, steadying her, tugging Nat back so she’s more securely seated, back flush against Lottie’s front. Nat’s knees knock the intruder’s out of the way and maybe the other girl says something, maybe she doesn’t, Nat wouldn’t know because her attention is 100% focused on Lottie. 

“Hey,” Lottie hums, satisfied, as Nat tips her head back onto Lottie's shoulder so she can make eye contact. 

“You doing alright?” Nat’s voice comes out raspier than she means to, because internally every inch of her is screaming at the amount of physical contact that is occurring right now. 

“I am now that you're here,” Lottie says easily, her smile widening at Nat's automatic eye roll and scoff. 

“Does that line usually work?” 

“Mm, I don't usually need a line.” 

And oh yeah, that’s why Nat came over here in the first place. 

She looks up to see that Lottie’s conversation partner has disappeared, stormed off in a huff while Nat and Lottie were murmuring to each other. Her absence means there’s room on the couch next to Lottie now, means that Nat can get off her fucking lap, but Lottie makes no move to relinquish her grip on Nat’s waist, so Nat lets herself lean further back into Lottie instead, tucking her face against Lottie’s neck. 

“Hey,” Nat repeats, her voice rough, letting her eyes close as she subtly inhales the comforting smell of Lottie. 

Nat feels Lottie’s chuckle rumble through her. 

“Ms. Scatorccio, are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little,” Nat admits, her free hand dropping down to toy with Lottie’s fingers in her lap. She’s on fire, every inch of her burning where Lottie touches, and yet she can't get enough, needs more, always more. She hasn't even had that much to drink, not really, but this much physical contact with Lottie is short-circuiting her brain, making it hard to think beyond the yes perfect more safe exactly warm everything yes spiral her mind keeps repeating. 

“You know everyone can see us?”

Nat starts to move off of Lottie immediately, taking her comment as a complaint, but Lottie tightens her grip on Nat’s hip, making Nat whimper and go still. 

“I don't mind,” Lottie says firmly. “I just want to make sure you don't mind.” 

And maybe the soothe of Lottie’s touch has made her too comfortable, because Nat doesn't stop herself from saying: “Maybe I want them to see.”

She still has her face pressed against Lottie’s throat, so she can’t see Lottie’s reaction to her words, but she can feel the quick inhale, the way Lottie moves to intertwine their connected hands. That kind of victory is extra sweet, to pull uncontrolled reactions from Lottie, who is normally so careful and contained. She can feel the rise and fall of Lottie’s chest against her back as she breathes and there’s something hypnotically soothing about it. Nat has the sudden thought that she could stay like this forever. It’s the kind of bliss people like her never get. 

It’s hard to even remember why she was so jealous, when the difference is obvious, when Lottie looks at her in a way she looks at no one else. When Lottie comes alive when Nat’s close. 

Still, Nat needs to know-

“Who the fuck was that, by the way?” 

“Hmm?”

“That girl you were talking to.” 

“Oh, I have no idea.”

Nat’s jaw drops, pulling her head back again to stare at Lottie incredulously as the pieces fall into place. “Were you flirting with some random girl just to lure me over here??” 

Lottie’s answering smile is unrepentant. “Why would that lure you over here?” She reaches up and starts to twirl a lock of hair around one figure, the picture of innocence. “Do you… not want me to flirt with other people?”

The phrasing of this sentence implies that Nat is a person with whom Lottie is flirting, a thought that makes whatever synapses were still firing in Nat’s poor, pathetic, gay brain snap and go silent. Lottie’s smirk is wolfish as she waits for Nat to reply.

“I can't believe anyone falls for your nice girl routine,” Nat manages, avoiding the question. “You’re a menace.”

“You like it.” 

“I never said that.” 

“So you don't care if I flirt with other people then.”

“I never said that either.” 

Lottie hums, her breath ghosting along Nat’s skin. “I’m getting some mixed messages here.” 

Nat huffs, her hands still holding Lottie’s free hand, toying with her rings. “You know how I feel.” She pauses, licks her lips. “... You do know how I feel, right?” 

Maybe in another universe, one where Nat wasn't weighed down by trauma, here Lottie could respond by tilting her head down to capture Nat’s lips with her own, kissing her softly, full of promise. But Lottie doesn’t, because she knows Nat isn’t ready, not yet. 

“Hmm… maybe,” Lottie says instead, grinning and knocking her head lightly against Nat’s own when Nat won’t look up at her.  

“Matthews...” Nat grumbles…, pretending to be displeased at this response, although she’s smiling too. 

“Yes, baby?” Lottie presses her smile against Nat’s hair, as if that will hide it. And shit, fuck, fucking hell, Lottie is too good at this game and Nat wasn’t ready, wasn't prepared to hear this term of endearment fall from Lottie’s lips, so she’s not able to muffle the high pitched noise she makes in response. 

Because she’s still in Lottie’s fucking lap , Nat can feel Lottie laughing, her body vibrating with it. 

“Fuck you,” Nat mutters, no heat behind her words. “Asshole.” 

“That's not what the other girls say,” Lottie says liltingly, her tone light and teasing. 

Maybe she has had more to drink than she thought, because Nat doesn't hesitate: 

“Well, they’re not in your lap, are they?”

Nat can feel the stretch of Lottie’s smile against the side of her head. 

“You’re cute,” Lottie murmurs, slow and sweet as syrup, and maybe Nat would feel more embarrassed if she couldn't tell that Lottie is just as flustered as she is. Despite her steady tone, Lottie can’t hide the way her pupils are blown wide, the way she shivers every time Nat shifts against her, her possessive grip on Nat’s waist. 

“Am not.” 

“Agree to disagree?”

“Fuck no.” 

There’s a loud noise over the music from the other room, cutting through their conversation and Nat turns her head to glare in the direction of the sound. She doesn't want to be disrupted, doesn't want to be pulled from this perfect little moment of warmth and light and Lottie. 

“Hmm,” Lottie hums, also displeased with the interruption. “Should we go check on them?” 

“Nah, they’re fine.”

As if on cue, the clatter and clash of breaking glass comes from the other room; Lottie winces. Nat sighs a long-suffering sigh and stands up, then offers her hand, which Lottie takes without question, and tugs Lottie up off the couch. Lottie uses the momentum to sway close and wrap Nat into a hug. 

“ Oh .” 

All of Nat’s breath leaves her in one big woosh. It takes her by surprise every time, and she keeps thinking she'll get used to it, that the warmth and affection will stop feeling so damn good, but it hasn’t. 

She gives herself five seconds to cave to her desires, to wrap her arms around Lottie as tight as possible, making it obvious that she is deeply, desperately, dying for this, then wrenches herself backwards. 

“Let’s go see what shit they got into this time,” Nat mutters, still not quite able to look Lottie in the eyes. 

“If we must…” Lottie says with an exaggerated sigh of her own, like her cheeks aren't as flushed as Nat. 

She leads Nat into the other room, one hand possessively at the small of her back, and Nat pretends, pretends like it doesn’t burn so good, pretends like that simple touch doesn’t thrill her.