Archive of Our Own

The air in the locker room was thick with sweat and deodorant spray.

Voices echoed, laughter bubbled up in little bursts. Jackie was recounting something that had happened during practice last week—probably exaggerating the hell out of it—and everyone else was kind of half-listening, half-zoning out in their own rituals. Tying shoes. Staring into middle distance.

Natalie was leaning against the far wall, leg propped up on the bench, lacing her cleats with the slow, methodical rhythm of someone killing time to avoid talking. She wasn’t trying to be dramatic or distant. It was just… easier this way. Easier not to pretend she was part of whatever inside joke was making Shauna with laughter.

Then, out of nowhere, she caught her name. Soft. Like a question.

“Is Nat coming to your thing, though?”
Lottie’s voice. Quiet, curious. But weirdly specific.

Nat's fingers stilled on the laces.

Jackie shrugged. “I dunno. She never really comes to my parties.”

“Well… you should ask her.”

Nat blinked. Her brows pulled together instinctively.

What?

She leaned just slightly to the side, like she was adjusting her t-shirt, but really she was trying to catch more of the conversation without looking obvious.

Jackie, still grinning, called across the room. “Hey, Nat!”

Nat looked up slowly, her face unreadable. “Yeah?”

Jackie tilted her head. “Party at mine tonight. Just us girls. You in?”

There was a moment—just a second—where Nat could’ve said no. Played it off. Shrugged like she didn’t care. But her eyes, quick and sharp, flicked to Lottie before she answered. Lottie wasn’t even looking at her. She was busy stuffing her socks into her duffel bag, all casual. Like she hadn’t said anything at all.

Still.

Nat cleared her throat. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

Jackie gave her a satisfied nod and turned back to whatever she was doing.

Nat went back to lacing her shoes, but now her fingers were moving faster, a little less steady.

'Why the hell did she care if I was coming?'

It stuck in her brain like a burr. Not in a what-a-weirdo way, not quite. Just… confusing. Lottie had never exactly gone out of her way to talk to her before. They were cool, sure. Friendly, when it came up. But it wasn’t like they were close.

So why did it matter to her?

Natalie glanced up again, just briefly. And caught the smallest thing—Lottie, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, lips pursed, like she was thinking about something. Her eyes flicked across the room, but didn’t stop on Nat. Still. Natalie felt something shift.

Nothing big. Just a flicker. But enough.

'Guess I’m going to a party.'

Not for the drinks. Not for Jackie. Not even for the music.

She needed to figure out what the hell Lottie Matthews was playing at.

-

The house was already warm with bodies and music when Nat and Van stepped through the door.

It wasn’t packed—not that kind of party—but it had just enough noise to fill the space. Disco music floated from the living room stereo, and someone had dumped half a bag of pretzels into a bowl on the counter. A case of cheap beer sat open on the floor. Classic Jackie setup.

“See? Chill,” Van said, nudging Nat with her elbow. “No one's gonna try to braid your hair or make you mad."

“I’m not worried about that,” Nat said, tugging off her jacket. “I’m worried about dying of boredom.”

“Then drink faster.”

Van peeled off toward the kitchen with a smirk. Nat lingered a moment near the entryway, eyes scanning the room automatically. She recognized all the faces—Shauna was on the couch with a solo cup in one hand, Misty awkwardly lurking near the back window like she was waiting for someone to talk to her.

And then—

Lottie.

She was standing near the hallway that led to the bathroom, talking to Laura Lee. Something about the way she was standing—shoulders back, spine straight, calm—made her look like she’d stepped out of a different room than everyone else. Like the party was happening around her, not to her.

Nat watched her for a second too long.

Then, as if by cue, Lottie turned her head. Their eyes met.

She smiled. Small. Polite.

And then she crossed the room, moving like she didn’t even have to try.

“Hey,” she said, when she reached her. That same smooth, pleasant tone. Like they were just teammates who sometimes shared a cigarette outside. Which was absolutely true.

Nat raised a brow. “Hey.”

There was a beat of silence, not quite awkward.

“You made it,” Lottie added.

“Guess I was curious,” Nat said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You having fun?”

It was a throwaway question. But she watched closely for the answer.

Lottie tilted her head. “Sure. It’s nice seeing everyone like this.”

It was a perfect response. Non-committal. Clean. Zero emotional weight.

And yet.

Nat watched her a moment longer. “Cool.”

That was it. Lottie smiled again, just the edge of her mouth curling, and then she turned, gliding back into the flow of the party without another word.

Nat exhaled through her nose and rubbed at the back of her neck.

'Still nothing.'

But it gnawed at her—this weird inconsistency. The way Lottie had asked about her earlier. The way she never let anything show, not really. But Nat had always had a weird radar for people like that. Girls who were all calm surfaces and steel undersides.

Most of the girls on the team, Nat had filed into categories a long time ago. Loud. Mean. Fake. Pretty-but-boring.

But Lottie…

Lottie had always been hard to pin down.

She didn’t talk much, but when she did, people listened. She was kind, but never overeager. And every now and then, when Nat caught her watching someone—not just her, but anyone—there was something in her eyes. Like she was seeing more than the rest of them. Or as if she was at least trying to understand the person in front of her.

Nat had clocked that early. She didn’t like most people. But she didn’t dislike Lottie.

And that was saying something.

She glanced over at Van, who was already deep in a conversation with Taissa.

Nat grabbed a beer from the table and cracked it open, still watching Lottie from the corner of her eye.

Something’s up, she thought.

And she was gonna figure out what.

-

The party settled into its rhythm. half-chaotic, half-cozy. Music got a little louder, people migrated to different corners of the house, and a few attempts at dancing happened in the living room before fizzling out with laughter.

Natalie stayed mostly on the edge, as usual. She wasn’t trying to isolate herself, but crowds weren’t exactly her thing unless she was too drunk to care. She was two beers in—just enough for the edge of her thoughts to blur a little—when she noticed Lottie again.

This time, Lottie wasn’t talking to anyone. She was standing near the kitchen doorway, picking at the label on her bottle of cider, her gaze sweeping slowly across the room. It passed over Jackie, paused on Tai. Kept going. And then—

Nat.

Their eyes locked again.

Lottie didn’t smile this time. Just blinked, then moved toward her.

Natalie felt it before it happened—the sudden drop in her chest like a rollercoaster.

Lottie stopped beside her.

“Kitchen’s too loud,” she said, casually.

Natalie snorted. “It’s a party. Kinda comes with the territory.”

Lottie shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Some people talk louder when they don’t know what to say.”

Natalie raised a brow. “Is that a philosophy thing, or are you just judging Jackie again?”

That made Lottie laugh—soft and unexpected.

“I’m just standing here,” she said, smiling. “You’re the one assuming things.”

Nat smirked, but her heart was beating just a little faster. Before she could respond, Van called her name from across the room, waving her over.

Nat lingered a second, then gave Lottie a look. “You gonna be here when I get back?”

Lottie looked at her, a little too long. “Probably.”

And just like that, Nat felt the hook tighten in her chest.

They crossed paths again in the living room. Jackie was ranting about someone who kept drinking and leaving glass bottles everywhere, and everyone was pretending to care. Nat was seated on the arm of the couch, arms crossed, and Lottie came to stand beside her—just close enough that their bodies almost touched.

“Still bored?” Lottie asked quietly.

Nat tilted her head, pretending to think. “Mmm. Slightly less.”

“Because of Jackie's tantrum?”

“Because of the alcohol”

Lottie didn’t answer that one. Just glanced at her. And maybe there was the hint of a smile.

At one point, Nat stepped outside for some air. No jacket. Just a cigarette and the cool slap of nighttime pressing against her skin.

She lit up, inhaled deeply.

And then the door creaked behind her.

Lottie again.

This time, Natalie turned, actually surprised. “What, following me now?”

Lottie blinked like the question caught her off guard. “No. Just needed a break.”

Natalie looked at her, exhaling smoke out the corner of her mouth. “Weird coincidence.”

Lottie looked at her for a moment. Quiet. Thoughtful. “umh?”

Natalie stiffened. Just slightly. “Nothing.”

Lottie didn’t push it. Just stepped closer, arms crossed over her chest against the chill. She didn’t ask for a cigarette. Didn’t speak.

Natalie tossed the butt. “You’re impossible to read, you know that?”

Lottie looked up at her, something like amusement flickering behind her eyes. “I’m not trying to be.”

Natalie’s mouth curved into a crooked smile. “Yeah"

And then the door creaked again, and someone called for them. The moment broke like glass.

-

It had been over two hours since the drinking game started.

Now the living room looked like a slow-motion battlefield—empty bottles on the floor, Shauna curled up on the couch with Jackie. Tai and Van had disappeared entirely. Most of the girls were sleeping. The music had shifted to some warped loop of alt-rock that no one had the energy to change. Nat was finally listening to some decent music.

Natalie was on a armchair, sunk halfway into the cushions, beer in hand, warm and comfortably buzzed but still functional.

Lottie… was not.

She was on the floor, practically leaning against Natalie’s legs, sipping lazily from a cup of something she definitely didn’t pour herself. Her cheeks were flushed, hair loose, and she kept talking—not to anyone in particular, just… talking.

“…and the thing about moonlight is,” Lottie was saying, swaying slightly as she looked toward the ceiling, “it’s just sunlight in disguise. Like, people think it’s so soft and poetic or whatever, but it’s just stolen light. Borrowed. Isn’t that kinda sad?”

Nat blinked down at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Lottie giggled. “I don’t know.”

She shifted a little closer, letting her head rest against Natalie’s knee like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hand, limp and warm, settled near Nat’s ankle. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat.

Nat froze a little, but didn’t move.

Lottie looked up at her, eyes glossy, unfocused but full of some dreamy energy.

“You always look like you’re thinking about running,” she murmured, voice lower now. “Even when you’re standing still.”

Nat squinted. “Are you calling me twitchy?”

Lottie grinned, that lazy, open expression she rarely ever wore. “No. I think it’s pretty. That thing in your eyes. Like… like you’re somewhere else and no one knows where.”

Nat stared at her for a second. “Okay, you’re drunk.”

“I am drunk,” Lottie agreed cheerfully. “But it doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

She pulled her cup to her lips again, then forgot about it halfway through the motion and let it drop into her lap. Nat reached down and rescued it before it spilled.

Lottie just hummed, shifting again so she was sitting upright now, closer. She leaned in, gaze still a little glassy, like she was focusing hard on something only she could see.

“You ever feel like you’re not supposed to be like everyone else?” she asked, sudden and soft.

Nat tilted her head. “Pretty much all the time.”

Lottie nodded like that meant something important. Then she leaned her head against Nat’s knee.

Nat stiffened again, looking down at the top of her head.

“…You okay?”

Lottie nodded slowly. “Mhm. Just… glad you’re here.”

There was something in her tone. Something that made Nat’s chest clench unexpectedly.

But before she could respond, Lottie was off again.

“I used to think… you hated me,” she said, still curled against her, like it was a sleepover confession. “Because you’d always look at me like... Like… if you looked too hard I’d break.”

Nat let out a breath, trying not to laugh. “You are so drunk.”

“I’m serious,” Lottie mumbled. “You’d never say anything mean. But you’d never say anything nice, either. Like we are strangers”

Nat didn’t answer right away. Her fingers fidgeted on the rim of her bottle.

“…I didn’t know what to think of you,” she admitted.

Lottie tilted her head up, looking at her through thick lashes. “What do you think now?”

Nat opened her mouth.

Closed it again.

“…Still working on it,” she said.

And then Lottie slumped again, like the adrenaline of being profound had worn off.

-

The music had been turned off, and so was the party. Some girls were already sleeping in sleeping bags on the carpet, others had gone home in silence with tired looks and lowered voices. The air outside was cooler than she expected. Natalie sat on the back steps of Jackie’s house, hoodie on, half-finished cig between her fingers.

Footsteps crunched behind her. A second later: “There you are.”

Nat didn’t turn. “Let me guess. You’re here to tell me your soul feels like a flower blooming in retrograde.”

Lottie laughed, tipsy and too loud. “No—"

Lottie paused for a second in her speech, and Nat recognized that pause.

“Lottie, if you throw up near me I swear I will disown you,” Nat said, looking at her worriedly.

Lottie giggled and ignored her completely, walking unsteadily toward her. She flopped down beside her without asking. Her knee pressed lightly against Nat’s. Nat pretended not to notice.

They sat in silence for a second. Then Lottie shifted closer.

“You look beautiful,” she said, looking at her with a drunken, sincere intensity.

Nat rolled her eyes. “Oh, Christ. Shut up.”

“No! No no no.” Lottie held up a finger, as if trying to stop time. “Wait. I have to tell you this now or I’ll never say it again.”

Nat huffed and shifted slightly, but not enough to create any real distance. Something in Lottie’s voice had stopped being funny.

“Like,” Lottie continued, balancing herself by touching the counter, “I see you all the time, you know? Even when you don’t want anyone to see you. You’re good at hiding. You’re like… like a ninja. A punk ninja, with crooked eyeliner.”

Nat laughed softly, shaking her head. “Oh my God, you look terrible.”

“Yeah, but I love you.”

Silence.

Natalie stopped smiling. She stopped. The words hung in the air, like the smoke she’d just blown away.

Lottie kept talking, as if there was no stopping her now. “For years, Nat. For years. Like… before I even knew what the hell I liked in life. Before you started not coming to practice and when you came back you suddenly had a boyfriend and it seemed like you knew everything about life, you had a harder look. You were there, in your dirty Converse and playing loud music. And you laughed badly. God, you laugh badly.”

“Wow,” Nat said softly, looking at her like Lottie was just talking bullshit and she thought it was funny. “thanks for the free insult. But stop it, you're drunk and you're talking nonsense."

Lottie nodded slowly, then swayed a little. “Yeah. No. Yeah. I mean… I’m drunk, but I’m also serious. You know how it is. Like when you watch a bad movie sober and then watch it drunk and realize it actually changed your life?”

Nat laughed again, this time with a half-groan. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re my bad movie, Nat,” Lottie said, with her hand over her heart. “My favorite bad movie.”

Nat burst out laughing, covering her face with her hand. “You’re completely crazy.”

“Yes. And I’ve always liked you. And I pretended it wasn’t true because you were… too much, and I was too little."

There was a moment of silence. Just the noise of the night and the steady beating of Nat’s heart, louder than usual.

“Be serious, we never really talked until junior year” Nat said, lowering her voice. “I thought you were… too ethereal for me. Like, you’re the girl who can do the sun salutation. I’m the girl who cheats on the bio test.”

“I’ve always looked at you,” Lottie said, more serious now. “You never really looked at anyone, Nat. But I do.”

Nat looked at the bottle in her hands. Then at Lottie. Nat stared at her for a second, then rolled her eyes and gave her a light shove on the shoulder. “Okay, Romeo. That’s enough. Go write me a poem or something.”

But Lottie didn’t laugh this time. Instead, she sat up straighter and gave her a look—half serious, half terrified.

“No, seriously, Nat,” she said, voice wobbling just a little. “I’m not playing.”

There was a pause.

Lottie went on, arms waving now, the way she did when she was a little too far gone and too deep in her feelings. “And you’re so annoying, you know? With your jokes and your stupid faces and the way you act like you don’t care about anything, even though you care so much and no one sees it but I do, and—ugh, you’re just—” she let out a frustrated sound. “You’re infuriating and hot and weird and I—God—I’ve had a crush on you forever.”

Nat blinked again. Then gave a short, stunned laugh. “Jesus, Lottie.”

“What?” Lottie looked at her with wide, glassy eyes. “It’s true.” Then she put a hand on Nat’s knee again.

“Okay, no,” Nat said, holding up a hand. “No no no. You can’t—I mean—you don’t even know, you’re drunk, you’re like halfway down, and you’re touching my leg every ten seconds—”

“Yes, because you’re real,” Lottie murmured, her eyes shining. “And I need something real. And you…you were always the only one who didn’t try to please anyone. Not even yourself.”

Nat stiffened. “Hey. Personal distance, rule number one.”

“Sorry,” Lottie whispered, though she didn’t move. “It’s just… you’re kind of hot. Not like boiling, I mean—also, but… warm like a living thing. Like a human stove.”

“Please stop,” Nat muttered, holding back a panicked laugh. “You’ll wake up tomorrow and shoot yourself if you remember all this.”

Lottie looked at her like a helpless puppy. She didn't even seem sad that Nat didn't love her back, but rather that Nat didn't believe her.

“Okay. Come on. Let’s find you a couch before you collapse on the floor and becomes part of the furniture.”

“Nooo,” Lottie protested, her voice drawn out and low. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine. I want to stay with you"

“Yeah, right. You want to throw up on my shoes, Lot.”

Lottie grimaced dramatically, crossing her arms. “That’s not true. I haven’t even had that much to drink.”

“You tried to talk to the toaster earlier.”

“I just wanted to know what time it was.”
She laughed to herself, then stumbled slightly as she tried to follow her toward the living room. Nat held her arm, sighing again, as she pointed to the couch.

“There. Sitting. Now.”

Lottie looked at her with wide, almost hurt eyes. “But I wanted to smoke with you… in the garden. Come on. I didn’t smoke all night. Just a moment. Just a little bit.”

Nat hesitated. She already had the blanket in her hand. But something in Lottie’s eyes struck her: it wasn’t just drunken stubbornness. There was something more—a strange hunger, a desire to hold on to the moment as if it might disappear.

“Okay, but a cigarette. And then go to sleep. You look like shit."

“I swear,” Lottie said, holding up two fingers as if she were promising “A cigarette. Maybe two.”

They went out into the back yard, again. It was damp, a little chilly. Natalie lit the cigarette and passed it to Lottie. They sat down on two rickety lawn chairs.

Lottie smoked for a few moments in silence, then turned to her, her eyes half closed.

“You know, you have beautiful hands?”

Nat snorted. “Oh, there we go again.”

“No, I swear. Like, I look at them like… all the time. You have these… Strong. Like a famous guitarist. And I love your rings"

“Lottie…”

“No, wait. And your neck. You have a neck that makes you want to—like—jump on it.”

Nat stopped, her cigarette halfway to her mouth. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Lottie laughed, but blushed. “Sorry. It’s just… I swear, I look at you and my brain kind of short-circuits.”

“That’s it. That’s exactly what I mean. You won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”

“But I’ve known for ages. That I like you, I mean. Like when I saw you with that Nirvana shirt falling off your shoulder and I thought, I’m dying. And then you walked right past me without looking at me. Like you always used to do. And I was like, ‘yeah, I’ll die’."

Nat turned to her with a face that was half exasperation, half serious? Was there hope that Lottie was sincere? Nat shifted.
“Lottie, you’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” Lottie said. “But you make me want to be stupid. You’re the only one who can make me stutter. Do you know when I look at you and smile and then look away? It’s horrible. But I like it because it makes me understand that there is someone who can really move me. Make me feel real."

There was a moment of silence.

Then, more quietly:
“And I also like… I mean, just… also that I hate the way I like you. That it makes me think about what it would be like to kiss you. Touch you. Do those… grown-up things. You know? Like… not knowing what the fuck you’re doing in your life but wanting to do it anyway."

Nat stood still. She wasn’t laughing anymore. She didn’t say “shut up.” She didn’t move.

Lottie looked down. “Sorry. That was too much. I’m… ruining this for myself, right?”

Nat took a slow drag on her cigarette. Then she blew out the smoke, looking at her.

“…Yeah. But keep going.”

-

Lottie was still staring down at the filter of her cigarette like it held the secret to the universe. Then, without looking up, she murmured:

“You… when did you know you were, like… different?”

Nat glanced at her sideways. “Different how? Like, ‘I love getting high’ different or ‘I wanna make out with my teammate’ different?”

Lottie pulled a half-smirk. “Both. But the second one, come on.”

“I don’t know,” Nat replied with a shrug, watching the smoke curl from the end of her joint. “Maybe always. Or maybe I just didn’t wanna know until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Lottie nodded slowly, like she was filing every word into some private archive.

“And… have you ever looked at me? I mean—really looked?”

“You sure you wanna know the answer to that?”

“Yes.”

Nat gave a soft snort of laughter. “Maybe. In the locker room sometimes. Or during practice when you do that thing—like, wiping sweat off your forehead with the hem of your jersey.”

“I knew it!” Lottie sat up straighter, pointing a finger at her in triumph. “That look you gave me was way too specific. I swear I thought about it for, like, days.”

“You’re delusional,” Nat said, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. And she was blushing, just slightly.

“I had to ask Tai, you know?” Lottie went on, grinning. “Had to straight up ask her if it was normal to think those kinds of things about you.”

Nat burst out laughing, genuinely amused and slightly pink in the cheeks. “Wait—Tai knows?”

“She didn’t tell Van, hopefully,” Lottie said, lifting a hand like it was an oath. “That would be a whole mess. She’s your best friend and you’re not supposed to know, okay?”

Nat was still grinning. Her eyes narrowed with amusement as she leaned back slightly. “Do you realize I now know everything, right?”

Lottie gave her a ridiculous look. “Yeah.”

Then it got quiet again. Not awkward, just… suspended. Charged.

Lottie’s gaze lingered on her face. Her voice dropped, softer. “And now? Are you looking at me now?”

Nat raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat. “You wish.”

But truthfully, she kind of was. It was getting harder to look away. Lottie, flushed from alcohol and nerves, had taken off her sweater earlier and was now sitting in nothing but a tank top and shorts, not feeling the cold of the night due to how much she had drunk.There was something raw and real about her tonight, like she had let her guard down, and Nat hated how much she was noticing.

Lottie caught her looking and tilted her head with a teasing smile. “Do you like me at all? Not a lot. Just… a little. Like, five out of ten?”

Nat snorted. “Five out of ten’s what I’d rate your tragic love confession.”

She crossed her legs and added, “You might be a seven. On days you don’t talk.”

“Ohhhh, I’ll take it!” Lottie cackled, delighted.

“Don’t think you’re winning here,” Nat said, but she was starting to enjoy teasing her back—more than she wanted to admit.

But then Lottie quieted, her expression shifting again. She tilted her head once more and said, almost too sweetly:

“I think I am winning. Good game, you fucking loser.”

Nat blinked. That one hit differently. The words were low, almost affectionate in the way they wrapped around the insult. Something warm and dangerous flared in her chest, uninvited.

Without thinking, she scoffed, “You keep talking shit? You little bitch.”

Lottie gasped, hand over her mouth in mock-offense. “Oh my God! You’re in love with me.”

“I’m about to throw you in the pool.”

“Do it. Then come save me. It’d be romantic.”

Nat stared at her for a second too long. Her lips parted slightly. There was a tiny voice in her head screaming that this was a terrible, chaotic idea—but another part of her didn’t want it to stop.

“…I can’t tell if you want me to kiss you right now or leave you to drown.”

Lottie shrugged, unbothered. “You can do both. But kiss first. If I have to die, I at least wanna know what your mouth tastes like.”

Nat's chest tightened. Her pulse skipped, her stomach did something weird. The annoying thing was… that didn’t sound so bad.

And even more annoying?

She was really starting to want to kiss her.

-

Nat shoved the lighter back into her pocket and stretched with a tired sigh.

“Okay. End of show. We seriously need to sleep.”

Lottie looked at her like she'd just announced she was going to rip her heart out with her bare hands.
“No.”

“Lottie.”

“No, I swear. I can’t go to sleep. If I go to sleep, then tomorrow I’ll wake up and hide behind a cactus so I don’t have to look at you.”

“There aren’t any cactuses big enough in New Jersey, genius.”

“I’ll find one. I’ll import it. I’ll wear it like a hat.”

Nat let out a quiet laugh despite herself, but her eyes flicked away. Lottie was looking at her with those wide, glossy, drunken eyes—too honest in the way only drunk people could be. And Nat couldn’t deny it: she looked stupidly adorable. Messy hair, sleepy voice, tank top, saying all this wild emotional stuff without even blinking.

“If I sleep,” Lottie continued, softer now, “I won’t have the guts to talk to you tomorrow. To look at you. And I wanna still be with you. Even just… like this. Right now.”

Nat bit the inside of her cheek. This was too much. Too sweet. Too uncomfortable. Too everything.
She didn’t want to admit how much her chest was tightening.

“Fine,” she said at last, dragging her hands through her hair. “I’ll give you a compromise.”

“Compromise?”

“I’ll sleep near you. Okay? That way I won’t disappear in the morning. You wake up and I’m, like… two steps away.”

Lottie’s lips curled into a lazy, pleased smile. “Like a loyal dog?”

“Like a dog that’ll bite if you try anything.”

“Hot.”

Inside, the house was dim, lit only by the faint warm glow of a couple string lights hanging in the living room. Nat laid out a crumpled sleeping bag on the floor beneath the empty couch. Lottie flopped down on the cushions with a happy little sigh, already half-sinking into the pillow like she was floating.

Nat settled onto the floor beside her, head resting on her folded arm, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. Everything felt still, but her brain wouldn't shut up.

She kept replaying everything—Lottie’s confessions, her jokes, the look in her eyes. The feelings that were starting to rise, feelings she shouldn’t be having. Feelings she’d spent a time keeping locked up. It was true that she looked at Lottie, more often than she’d admitted, and it was true that she erased every possibility before that heat in her chest even arose.

“Nat.”

“…What.”

“I like when you say my name all mad at practice. Like, ‘Lottie, fuck off!' when I don't stop Shauna and she manages to score a goal. Makes me wanna piss you off every day.”

Nat rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were on fire.

That girl was unreal.

“Go to sleep.”

“Are you sleeping too?”

“Yes.”

“Near me?”

“I’m right here.”

Silence again. Two minutes. Just the hum of the fridge and Lottie’s breathing above her.

“…Nat.”

“What.”

“Do you think I’d be a good kisser?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Like… if I kissed you slow. With one hand on your cheek. And the other in your hair. Would you stop me?”

Nat turned onto her side, facing the back of the couch. Away from her.

“Goodnight, Lottie.”

“But just answer—”

“Night.”

Another pause. Then, in a slurred, dream-heavy whisper, like it was falling out of her mouth:

“I would’ve written you letters, you know? If we were in prison. Like, I’d have passed you notes through the bars.”

Nat felt heat rush up her neck, spreading across her face and down her spine. She pulled the edge of the sleeping bag up over her nose, burying half her face.
She whispered only to herself:

"Fuck. I’m in a rom-com directed by someone with unresolved trauma.”

A faint giggle from above. Then another whisper, barely audible:

“…Goodnight, loser.”

Nat smiled. No one could see it—but she did. Just a little. Just enough.

“‘Night, psycho.”

And then, lying there in the dark, still slightly buzzed and very much conflicted, Nat thought that maybe—just maybe—if Lottie really liked her…

Maybe she’d allow herself to have a thought or two about her too.

-

Morning light filtered through the living room curtains. That unforgiving kind of light—the one that highlights every smudge of last night’s makeup, every tangled strand of hair, the stale taste of sleep on your tongue.

Nat opened her eyes slowly, still buried in the sleeping bag.
Her first thought was a blur.
Her second was: 'Oh God. What the fuck happened last night.'

She turned her head just a bit, scanning the room—other girls still passed out, some sleeping bags already empty. Then the edge of the couch.
And above her, Lottie’s shape, still lying down. Still. Quiet.

She was watching her.

Last night, Lottie had seemed like the drunkest person on the planet. She shouldn’t have looked good.
And yet…
She absolutely did.

Even in the disheveled morning light, Nat couldn’t ignore it. The messy strands of hair that still somehow looked styled, the softness in her face, the worn tank top slipping off one shoulder.
Nat, who’d drank far, far less, didn’t feel half as composed. Or, honestly, half as beautiful.

There was a moment of total stillness. Breathless.

Then Lottie shifted, just a little. A deeper breath. A dry cough. Slowly, with a grace that felt almost unnatural for someone who’d been doing drunk poetry four hours earlier, she sat up.

Nat watched her from below, still half-covered, her eyes barely open.

Lottie’s face had reset—put back together like porcelain. Calm expression. Straight spine. Hair hastily tamed. And her gaze… fixed straight ahead. Anywhere but at Nat.

The silence reeked of embarrassment.

Nat sat up slowly, stretching her arms above her head. Then, with a crooked smile and a voice low but sharp—knowing Lottie knew she was awake and was avoiding her on purpose—she said:

“I told you.”

Lottie didn’t answer right away. She swallowed, eyes flicking to the window, then stood and smoothed out her pants.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. Calm. Too calm. Too practiced.

“Oh no?” Natalie asked, still sitting on the floor, looking up at her. “You forget the part where you said you wanted my hands on you?”

Lottie winced, just a little. Not like she was offended—more like she'd been hit exactly where she expected the punch to land. Nat bit her lip.

“I just have… vague memories. Very vague.”

“Vague like ‘drunken confession’ vague, or vague like ‘I was saying bullshit’ vague?”

“Vague like ‘don’t ever bring it up again,’ Nat.”

Nat stood, yawning, running a hand through her hair. Her heart was picking up. Not in a romantic way. More like adrenaline. Or maybe both.

“Relax. I’m not about to quote back every tragic word you said. Just the one about how if you died, you wanted to know what my mouth tasted like.”

“Natalie—”

“Only that one.”

Lottie finally turned toward her. Her face was impossible to read—except for her eyes. Wide, searching, darting like they couldn’t settle on a spot without catching fire.
She looked like she wanted to disappear.

Like she meant every word she’d said, and now hated herself for it.

“It's not like…” she said, quieter now, voice cracking a bit. “It’s just that now I feel like I did the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. In front of everyone.”

Nat’s teasing smile faltered a little, but didn’t fully disappear.

“There wasn’t an ‘everyone’. There was just me.”

Lottie shrugged. “Exactly.”

That stung, weirdly.

Nat wasn’t sure if it was because Lottie regretted saying it, or because she was trying to take it all back like it had been some dumb, meaningless game.

Then Nat stepped a little closer—but not too close. Her voice light, but not completely joking.

“And by the way… terrible kisser.”

Lottie raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t even kiss you.”

Nat looked at her. One beat. Two.

“Exactly.”

She didn’t know if Lottie actually remembered asking her how she'd kiss her. But Nat remembered.
And the truth? She didn’t believe Lottie would kiss badly. Not even close.

“Coffee?” Nat said, already turning toward the kitchen.

Lottie nodded. “Please. Like… a gallon.”

As Nat walked away, she heard Lottie exhale behind her—a long, heavy breath, like the weight of the night had just come crashing back down on her. She closed her eyes.
Nat heard it.

'Fuck' Natalie thought, smiling.

-

The kitchen was already full of life by the time Natalie stepped in. A couple of girls were rifling through cabinets, someone was heating up leftover pizza in the microwave.

Nat didn’t say much. She poured two mugs of coffee — the good kind — and slid one across the counter.

Lottie was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed like she wasn’t sure whether to step in or vanish entirely. She blinked, startled, and then took it without a word.

“Careful,” Nat said quietly. “It’s hot.”

"Look at Nat, she is being kind, rare sight" Jackie commented, Nat ignored her completely, not having the strength to get annoyed by the girl.

Lottie gave a small, breathy laugh and looked down at the mug. Her fingers curled around it too tightly.

Nat watched her. Noted the faint color rising to Lottie’s cheeks, and how fast she looked away. Huh, she thought.

But Nat didn’t push. Not here. Not now. There were too many people in the room. Too many eyes.

The morning moved fast after that. Girls changed out of borrowed pajamas, packed up toothbrushes, rolled up sleeping bags.

Nat pulled on her hoodie and sat on the armrest of the couch, watching Lottie stuff things into her bag. She was methodical about it, like staying busy could erase everything from the night before.

Nat tilted her head.

“So…” she said casually, just loud enough for Lottie to hear. “Still planning to import that cactus?”

Lottie froze, mid-zip. “Oh my God.”

“I think the quote was ‘put it on my head.’” Natalie smiled too much “Iconic, really.”

Lottie didn’t look at her, but her voice came out small and almost playful. “I was drunk.”

“Oh I fucking know” Natalie leaned forward a little. “’But you were also really specific. Like… super vivid. You painted a whole scene. Letters in prison? Come on. That’s commitment.”

That finally earned her a glance. Lottie turned, bag still half-zipped, and met her eyes — only briefly. She looked like she wanted to say something smart, or maybe just something.

Instead, she exhaled slowly. “What do you want me to say, Nat?”

Nat didn’t answer right away. She just shrugged, fiddling with the ring on her index finger.

“I don't know,” she said, softer. “I guess I wanna know if any of it was real. Or if you’re just really good at making shit up when you’re wasted.”

Lottie looked at her again, longer this time. Like she was trying to decide how much of herself she could give away without collapsing. And blushed.

It wasn’t the theatrical kind. It was the betrayed-by-your-own-body kind. She dropped her eyes, suddenly too interested in zipping her bag all the way, and Nat didn’t push. But she noticed. God, did she notice.

-

Ten minutes later, the hallway was full of half-packed bags and sleepy girls yelling over who had stolen whose t-shirt.

“Nat!” Van called out from the front door, jingling her car keys. “If you want a ride, it’s now or never!”

Nat hesitated.

She looked toward the kitchen, then the living room.

“Nah,” she said finally. “I’ve got another ride.”

Van raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Just gave her a look that said seriously? and left with a shrug.

Nat stepped outside into the morning light, pulled her hoodie up, and waited.

It was fifteen minutes later when Lottie finally emerged. She looked momentarily surprised to see Nat still there — standing beside her car, arms crossed, like she’d been waiting all her life and wasn’t even a little sorry about it.

Lottie paused, blinked. Then let her head fall back and groaned at the sky like the universe had personally betrayed her.

“Oh God, Nat."

Nat grinned. “Nice to see you too.”

Lottie gave a suffering little sigh and walked over, unlocking the car “You seriously waited?”

“Didn’t feel like riding with Van,” Nat said casually. “Figured you’d owe me after all the late-night confessions.”

Lottie paused at the driver’s side door, her fingers resting on the handle. Her voice dropped slightly, quieter.

“I wasn’t… making things up.”

Nat’s teasing expression softened, just a little.

“I know.”

Lottie didn’t move. She stared at the car window for a moment, then finally turned to face her.

“I meant all of it,” she said, not looking her in the eye. “Even the dumb parts. The prison letters. The cactus. All of it.”

There was a crack in her voice. A quiet fear behind it. Nat's heart was beating fast, stupidly, against Nat's will. She was liking those words too much.

“I know it probably sounded insane,” she continued, “but I wasn’t joking. And… if we could just pretend I never said anything, I’d really appreciate it. Please don’t laugh at me.”

Nat tilted her head, thoughtful. She stepped a little closer. Probably if it had been someone she didn't care about she would have laughed at them, if it had been a man certainly. But it was Lottie. And Lottie was looking at her with that look as if she had killed someone and Nat had found the body in her car. And Nat would never let Lottie fucking Matthews be ashamed of loving her.

Her.

“I won’t,” she said seriously. “Not in front of anyone.”

Lottie nodded, a small breath of relief.

Natnsmirked. “But if we’re alone? I make no promises.”

That got a tiny laugh. A real one. Lottie shook her head, already regretting everything, and tried to hide her face behind her hand.

“We’re never alone,” she said under her breath.

“Exactly,” Natalie replied, grinning wide as she popped open the passenger door. “So. Where are we going?”

Lottie turned bright red.

She didn’t answer right away. Just slipped behind the wheel, adjusting the seat and fumbling with the keys like her hands had forgotten how to function.

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “I didn’t think I’d actually have to take you anywhere.”

Nat buckled herself in. “Wow. So rude.”

“I—fine. Brunch?” Lottie offered. “Someplace with good music? Or maybe a park? Or—god, I don’t know.”

Nat leaned her elbow on the windowsill, eyes half-lidded, watching her. she doesn't remember ever seeing Lottie so panicked and god, did the perfect girl everyone loved really have such a crush on her? Nat showed up to practice drunk and smelled like cigs all the time, and Lottie matthews loved her? She felt crazy. Every part of her insides was burning, she hoped her face wasn't red too.

“Anywhere's fine. As long as I get to keep watching you panic like this. It’s kinda cute.”

Lottie groaned into the steering wheel.

But she was smiling.

And Nat couldn’t stop smiling either.