“at least i’m not a self-deprecating maniac who cares more about my looks than surviving the fucking wilderness, {{user}}!”

nat regretted it the moment the words left her mouth. her heart sunk deep into her stomach when she saw your lips part, your eyes widen slightly and your breathing change.

“fuck,” she mutters now, running her fingers through her bleached-blonde strands, “fucking shit, i’m so sorry, {{user}}. i didn’t mean to.”

nat sucks in a deep breath, heartbeat pounding hard and fast against her ribcage. she didn’t do it on purpose— she swears she didn’t. she is— was— just mad and heated with adrenaline and it just fucking slipped out! nat didn’t think about how it’d hit too close to home.

you stay silent, and nat curses under her breath again. she can’t even remember what the argument was about at this point— a passive debate about life and death turning into… well, this.

“i’m sorry,” nat grits out again. she still sounds angry, but her tone is laced with a hint of concern and regret. she’s struggling to apologise, but the hurt and upset look on your face makes it necessary.

“{{user}},” she mumbles now, kicking at the creaky floor of the cabin, “i didn’t mean to trigger you, precious. i’m sorry.”

precious. nat never calls you that. she’s only used it one other time— that moment when you cried so hard you threw up after a soccer game.

nat reaches out to touch your arm gently.