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Misty is humming softly as she sprinkles pellets into Caligula’s dish, the parrot muttering nonsense words back at her from his perch. The morning is quiet. Peaceful. She’s already rearranged her tea cupboard twice and made a new label for her emergency ketamine kit. It’s shaping up to be a productive day.
Then comes the knock.
No, not a knock—a bang . Hard, fast, impatient. Misty doesn’t flinch. She gives Caligula a soothing pat and sets down the bag of feed with precision. She already knows who it is. After all, she’s the one who goaded her out here.
She opens it to find Natalie Scatorccio standing there, disheveled and furious, a crumpled card clenched in one hand like a threat.
“What the fuck is this?” Natalie snaps, shoving the card forward like she’s holding a cursed object.
Misty's smile spreads slow, serene. She barely glances at the card—pink, glittery edges smudged from travel and Natalie’s tight grip. “Oh,” she says sweetly. “You got it. I was worried the mail might eat it. I’ve been having the worst luck with stamps lately.”
Natalie pushes past her without invitation, boots tracking in dirt, leather jacket slapping against her hips. She tosses the card onto the nearest surface like it burns her fingers. “What the fuck , Misty? Seriously? You think this is funny?”
Misty closes the door behind them, calmly locks it. “It’s not a joke,” she says, almost offended. “I thought it was sweet. Just a little something to brighten your day. I even used a purple glitter pen. You like purple, don’t you?”
Natalie runs a hand down her face, pacing a short line between Misty’s couch and coffee table. Caligula squawks once, unimpressed.
“You wrote ‘Your Valentine forever. No returns.’ You do realize you sound like a crazy murderer, right? Are you trying to freak me out?”
Misty tilts her head, stepping closer. “It’s a sentiment , Natalie. A gesture. People exchange them all the time. You’re the one making it weird.” She watches for a moment as Natalie stews before her. “It’s a call back, Nat. That’s what my OG said.”
Natalie stops pacing. Her eyes narrow. “You show up in my life again, after everything, all the shit you put me through, and you think it’s okay to send me cutesy little fucking cards like we’re fucking sixteen again?”
“I never stopped thinking about you,” Misty says simply. “And I’m not sorry for that.”
Natalie looks at her—really looks. There's a flicker of something behind her glare. Not affection. Not warmth. But memory, maybe. Recognition.
“You're insane,” she mutters.
“I’m consistent,” Misty replies. “And honest. You know how rare that is in a partner these days?”
Natalie lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You’re not my fucking partner.”
“Oh, I could have sworn I was instrumental in your success,” Misty says, stepping into her space, not quite touching, just hovering close enough to feel the heat between them. “You don’t have to admit your feelings for me, Natalie. I’m used to you playing hard to get.”
Natalie doesn’t respond. She looks down at the card again, at the scrawled, bubbly handwriting and the sparkly heart drawn beneath the signature.
“God,” she mutters. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Fucking psycho.”
Misty’s smile softens. “I meant every word.”
Natalie stands in silence for a moment longer, breathing shallow. Then she turns and walks back to the door without another word.
Misty doesn’t stop her. Just calls out gently, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
The door slams shut behind her.
Misty is halfway back to her birdseed when the door slams open again, hard enough to rattle the picture frames. Natalie storms in, eyes wild, card in one hand, the other clenched into a fist like she’s ready to throw it or punch something—or someone.
“No,” she snaps, slamming the door shut behind her. “No, you don’t get to smile and feed your weird bird and act like this is normal. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Misty blinks, entirely too serene. “You came back.”
Natalie marches right up to her. “Yeah, I came back because you need to explain yourself, Misty. All those years —do you think I didn’t notice? The way you looked at me? The voice pitching up, the weird little giggles, the fluttery eyelashes every time I so much as looked in your direction? What was that ?”
Misty raises her eyebrows, lips curving. “I was in love with you.”
Natalie stops cold. Her breath catches, and for a moment, she forgets she’s supposed to be angry. “What?”
“I said I was in love with you,” Misty says, slower this time, like she’s spelling it out for a child. “Back then. And… maybe a little now. Who can say?”
Natalie stares at her, jaw flexing. “You! You can say. Misty, don’t tell me you’re still—” She cuts herself off and scrubs a hand over her face. “Jesus.”
Misty shrugs, utterly unashamed. “Would you like a drink? I have peach schnapps and some questionable brandy. Wait. Am I supposed to offer you that?”
“Misty.” Natalie glares. “No. I want an explanation.”
Misty claps her hands together, delighted. “Perfect! Sit. I’ll tell you the whole love story.”
Natalie stays standing. Arms crossed. Eyes narrowed.
Misty doesn’t mind. She launches into it with all the energy of a middle school girl reciting the plot of her favorite romance novel. “It all started back in high school. The bleachers. Valentine’s Day. You offered me a cigarette, and I took it because I didn’t want to ruin the moment. You laughed at me when I coughed, but not like you were mocking me. You were smiling. Like you were happy I was there. And I gave you apples…”
Natalie scoffs. “Misty, I was stoned . I’d just ditched class and I was hungry enough to eat moss. I gave you a cigarette because you were there , not because it was a moment.”
Misty waves her off, undeterred. “Then you made me a card—two dogs holding hands, remember? One with glasses, one smoking. It was art. I kept it. I still have it.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“And then,” Misty goes on, “you took water from me during soccer practice and smiled . Not a ‘thanks, loser’ smile. A smile smile. Like something was happening .”
“I was thirsty , Misty.”
“You winked at me.”
“I was aiming for Shauna.”
Misty holds up a finger. “Interrupting the narrative. Rude.”
Natalie throws her hands in the air. “I’m correcting it! You made all this shit up in your head.”
“In my heart, ” Misty corrects. “And then in the woods, when we lived in the village—”
“Oh my god,” Natalie groans. “We were half-feral, starving, and being hunted by a fucking forest god. You think I had time for your crush?”
“You kept the gifts.”
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
Misty stares at her for a beat, then says, flatly, “You’re really trying to make a girl feel special, huh?”
Natalie’s mouth opens, but no words come out. She paces. Back and forth. Rubbing her temples. “I dreamed about you, you know,” Misty says, suddenly quieter.
Natalie stops.
“I had this dream where we were at the movies,” Misty continues, soft now, a distant smile tugging at her lips. “You bought me popcorn and a blue slushie. And when the lights went down, we held hands. You let me hold yours when the scary parts came. And then, in the middle of digging around the popcorn, our hands touched and you kissed me.”
Natalie stares at her. Blank. “That’s so cheesy it makes my teeth itch.”
Misty shrugs. “It was sweet.”
“You dreamed me as a fucking rom-com .”
“Well,” Misty says, folding her arms and leaning against the kitchen counter with a satisfied little smirk, “everyone needs their comfort movie.”
Natalie crosses her arms tighter, like she’s bracing against a wind only she can feel. “Alright then,” she says, voice brittle. “If this isn’t all just some fantasy you’ve been jerking off to since high school, then prove it.”
Misty tilts her head, curious. “I wasn’t jerking off —”
“Name three things,” Natalie says. “Three real things you actually like about me. Not dreams. Not your freaky little projections. Something real . Can you even do that?”
Misty doesn’t miss a beat. “Your strength.”
Natalie blinks.
“You were our hunter,” Misty says, stepping forward, voice clear and steady. “You were the one who put food in our mouths when everyone else was too scared to go out past the tree line. You were the one who led us when everyone else was too broken to try. And when we got home? You survived. You kept surviving. That takes strength.”
Natalie tries to scoff, but it catches in her throat.
Misty doesn’t let up. “Your virtue.”
“Okay, now I know you’re—”
“You always tried to do the right thing,” Misty says, her tone firm, not letting Natalie interrupt this time. “Even when it was impossible. Even when it meant hurting yourself. You stood up for the people who needed it. You cared about what was fair. You sacrificed. ”
Natalie looks at her like she’s seeing something through fog—something she doesn’t quite recognize.
“And your heart,” Misty finishes, her voice softening. “It’s so... damaged. Cracked. Practically dust in some places. But it’s full . You had so much love there, Natalie. For Travis. For Javi. Even for me , sometimes, even if you don’t admit it. You walk around like you’re empty, but I know better. You feel more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Natalie stares at her.
Still.
Silent.
Like someone just hit her with something she didn’t see coming.
And Misty’s breath catches. Her heart pounds against her ribs like it’s trying to break free and leap across the kitchen. Could this be it? The moment she’s been waiting for since the bleachers and the cigarettes and the bones and the blood? Could Natalie finally be looking at her for real?
Misty’s lips part. Hope flickers like a flame behind her eyes.
Natalie opens her mouth—
Natalie shakes her head like she’s trying to snap herself out of something. Her hands flex uselessly at her sides, and she laughs—a sharp, humorless sound.
“I can’t be falling for this,” she mutters under her breath, eyes flicking to the floor like it might open up and swallow her whole. “It’s Misty. ”
“Gee, thanks,” Misty says, deadpan, rolling her eyes but standing her ground. “Real confidence booster. If I didn’t know you better, I might be offended.”
Natalie looks up, caught between apology and panic, but Misty doesn’t let her speak. She leans in—just slightly, just enough to shift the air between them—and tilts her head.
“But you came here,” she says, voice quieter now. “All the way out here. Furious. All for little old me. So don’t bullshit me—if you didn’t care, you would’ve tossed it in the trash. You wouldn’t have stormed up my front steps like a woman scorned. So... what does that mean, huh? Are you really telling me there’s nothing you like about me?”
Natalie sighs, long and full of something like dread. She turns, pacing a few feet away like she might escape the pull of it, but she doesn’t leave. Not yet. Instead, she exhales like she’s surrendering something heavy and invisible.
“I like your crazy, I guess. To an extent,” she says, almost under her breath.
Misty blinks. Her breath catches.
“You’re nuts, but I guess that’s what we needed sometimes. I need to reiterate, you are a fucking freak but it’s endearing at times.” She crosses her arms over her chest and slides her gaze from Misty to literally anything else in the room.
Misty’s smile starts to flicker at the corners.
“And your smile,” Natalie adds, quieter now. “You look like a fucking poodle and I prefer it when you’re not looking like a kicked puppy.”
Misty steps in then—slow and deliberate. Her smile spreads wide, teeth just barely showing, amused and sly and a little dangerous in that Misty way. She leans just close enough for Natalie to feel the heat coming off her skin.
“Well,” Misty murmurs, eyes sparkling, “if that’s what you like, you should probably do everything in your power to keep me smiling.” Carefully, she places her hands on either side of Natalie’s body, caging her into the counter; she has to angle her head up slightly which she’s pretty sure kills a little of the seduction.
Natalie laughs. Not her usual scoff or tired exhale of disbelief, but a real laugh—clear, rough-edged, and surprisingly warm. It catches Misty off guard, strikes her in the chest like sunlight through cloud cover.
“Oh my God,” Natalie says, grinning now. “Are you actually trying to seduce me right now?”
Misty blinks, pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a touch of dramatics. “Yes,” she says plainly, like she’s just confirmed the time of day. “Thought I was making that one pretty clear.”
Natalie stares at her, still half-laughing, but that honest grin lingers on her face longer than Misty expects.
“You’re insane,” Natalie mutters, shaking her head. “Okay, fine. If I let you kiss me, you have to leave me alone after. Deal?”
But Misty just smirks. A slow, self-assured thing that doesn’t match the anxious energy buzzing beneath her skin. “Come on, Natalie,” she says, voice like velvet fraying at the edges. “You and I both know we’ll never really leave each other alone. We’ve been stuck in each other’s orbit since we were teenagers.”
Natalie scoffs, but it comes out weaker than intended. Her eyes flicker down to Misty’s lips, then back up. “You’re a freak.”
Misty’s heart thunders, each beat thudding louder than the last.
And then, finally, Natalie exhales, low and steady. “Alright,” she says. “Kiss me.”
Misty doesn’t move at first. Her eyes scan Natalie’s face like she’s looking for a trap, a twitch of cruelty, some tell that she’s being set up for humiliation. Her voice is small when she asks, “Are you making fun of me?”
Natalie’s expression softens, almost imperceptibly—but Misty sees it. The faint drop in her shoulders. The way her mouth twitches not in mockery, but with something close to fondness.
“No,” Natalie says, and it reminds Misty of simpler times. Those quiet moments of kindness that Natalie would show her; not like the exaggerated stories she’d spent hours meticulously building up in her head. Just something genuine and given effortlessly.
It’s all the permission Misty needs.
She leans in slowly, her breath shallow, lips parted. Her hands shake as she gently reaches up to touch Natalie’s face, the pad of her thumb grazing her cheek like she’s afraid to smudge the moment.
Natalie doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away.
Their lips meet—carefully at first, tentative and soft. Misty melts into it, every nerve in her body lighting up like a switchboard, as if this moment has been written into her bones for decades. The kiss is awkward in its perfection. Too much emotion crammed into too small a space, too many years of wanting behind it. But it’s real.
Natalie’s hand curls lightly into the front of Misty’s cardigan, grounding them both.
The kiss lingers for a breath. Then another.
When they part, Misty’s eyes flutter open, glassy and wide. Her lips are trembling, but she’s smiling. Her hands fall to her sides like she’s afraid they might fly away. Natalie looks at her like she’s trying to make sense of what just happened. But there’s no cruelty on her face. No scorn.
Just... surprise. Maybe a little wonder.
Maybe more. Misty digs her nails into her palm, willing herself to stay in that very moment. And outside, the wind rustles the trees, and Natalie is looking at her like she’s worth something.
The moment is shattered when Natalie pulls away, clearly panicking. Probably regretting her actions; she starts to adjust her clothes and turns her gaze to the door. She’s bolting. Misty watches, frozen in place, still half tasting her on her lips. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. Her fingers twitch at her sides.
“Natalie,” she starts, pausing to clear her throat. “You felt that. I know you did.”
Natalie doesn’t look at her. She jams her hands into the sleeves of her jacket like the act might shield her from this entire moment. “Misty, don’t.”
“Don’t what ?” Misty’s voice rises, more desperate than she wants it to be. “Don’t say what we both know? Don’t admit that maybe I’m not just making it up?”
Natalie’s hands tremble as she reaches for the door. “Jesus,” she mutters under her breath. “I should never have come here.”
“You told me to kiss you,” Misty blurts.
Natalie yanks the door open, but she doesn’t leave right away. She stands there with one foot across the threshold, back to Misty, her silhouette outlined in the dying porch light. For a long second, the only sound is Caligula’s claws shifting against the bars of his cage, a soft metallic rattle.
Then Natalie turns, her expression raw. “I don’t know how to do this, Misty,” she says, low and tight, like every word costs something. “I’m not sure I ever did. But yeah, I liked kissing you if it’s any consolation. And I never should have done it.”
Misty doesn’t breathe.
Natalie continues, her voice softer now, almost defeated. “And yeah… I wanted to kiss you that day on the bleachers. But that doesn’t mean—” Her hand grips the door tighter. “Whatever you thought was going to happen can’t happen.”
“Why not?” Misty’s voice is quiet. “Tell me why not.”
Natalie falters. Then she steels herself, like she’s afraid staying in this room a second longer will undo her resolve. “Because I’m not the girl you fell in love with. That fight left me a long time ago. And you—”
She swallows. “You’re not exactly an easy person to love. You do fucked up shit.”
The words hit like a slap, but Misty takes it in stride. She knows how Natalie lashes out, knows how sometimes her feelings get too big to keep under control. She’s been on the receiving end of those feelings, been the cause of them, too.
Natalie steps outside. “Remember what you said. We see each other never,” she says, almost gently. And the door shuts behind her with a soft, echoing click.
The silence left behind is heavy. Misty stares at the door, blinking like she’s been yanked out of a dream mid-sentence. And then she turns, stumbling blindly to her bed. She flops face down onto the covers, burying her face into the pillow, her body shaking.
Not from tears, but from laughter.
It bubbles up uncontrollably, muffled into the cotton like a secret. High and breathless and joy-filled. Her heart is still racing, her cheeks warm. She clutches the pillow tighter and kicks her feet behind her like a teenager.
Because Natalie kissed her.
Because Natalie wanted to.
And yeah, maybe she walked away. She always does; it’s fine because Misty is her dog. Ever-loyal and waiting.
She doesn’t have to wait long.
It’s barely been a week before Natalie shows up again—this time standing dead center in Misty’s living room, boots on the carpet, rifle slung confidently in her hands like she’s kicking off an apocalypse.
“Hello, Misty. You crazy bitch.”
Misty blinks up from where she’s tossing her keys into the dish, not flinching in the slightest at the sight. Instead, she smiles like she’s just been handed dessert.
“Natalie,” she coos. “How lovely to see you. Unexpected, but not unwelcome.”
Natalie narrows her eyes. “I thought you agreed to leave me the fuck alone.”
“I have been,” Misty insists, shrugging off her coat and hanging it onto the rack. Natalie rolls her eyes at Misty’s lacking reaction to being held at gunpoint. “I’ve been so good.”
Natalie holds up a weather-worn postcard. In faded neat lettering, it reads Wish You Were Here, printed over an image of rolling mountains. That strange symbol from the wilderness also etched onto it.
Misty squints at it, crossing the room without fear or hesitation. “That’s not even my handwriting,” she scoffs. She rifles through a cluttered side table, knocking aside stacks of paper and a half-empty box of saltines. With a satisfied sound, she plucks out an identical postcard.
“See?” she says, holding it up triumphantly. “I got the same one. Honestly, Natalie, you should know by now I’d never send you something so tacky. You deserve sincerity.”
Natalie stares at the card in her hand. Then at the one in Misty’s. The tension slowly drains from her posture. The rifle dips.
“I swear to God,” Natalie mutters, rubbing a hand down her face. “You drive me fucking insane.”
Misty beams, delighted.
Natalie exhales sharply. “Do you know anything?”
“About the postcard?” Misty tilts her head. “Maybe. I have my sources.”
“Obviously I’m asking about the damn postcard.” Natalie steps closer, and for a second there’s that flicker of old sharpness in her eyes. “Don’t fuck with me, Misty.”
“Ah.” Misty’s smile sharpens. “That.”
Natalie waits.
Misty taps her lip. “I might know something. I might even be willing to share.”
Natalie arches a brow. “What’s the price?”
“Oh, nothing major,” Misty says innocently, already reaching for her coat. “Just a drink or two. A little... catching up. Maybe dinner.”
Natalie shakes her head, but her expression has softened. She doesn’t say no. She just props the rifle against Misty’s couch. “Let’s go, you freak.”
As they walk out, Misty bumps her shoulder playfully into Natalie’s. “Told you,” she sings. “We’re stuck in each other’s orbits.”
Natalie huffs a laugh. “Something tells me you've got something to do with that, Misty.”
She opens the door and holds it for her.
Misty steps through with a bounce in her step, eyes glinting. And the moment the door clicks shut behind them, she lets the smallest, most self-satisfied smirk curl across her lips.