The cabin was suffocating. Not just from the cold air slipping through the cracks or the thin blankets barely holding the frost at bay. It was everything—the restless shifting of bodies, the uneven breaths, the thick scent of damp clothes, sweat, and dying embers. Every sound, every smell, every sensation pressed down on you, too much, too fast. You curled in on yourself, trying to focus—on anything, on nothing—but it wasn’t working. The scratchy fabric of your sweater rubbed wrong against your skin. The floor was too hard, too cold. The air too tight in your lungs.

And then there was Natalie.

She sat beside you in the dark, where the firelight barely reached, her presence grounding in a way nothing else was. She stayed close, but never too close. Never in a way that would overwhelm you.

Her hand rested between you, palm up, open but not touching. Just waiting.

Natalie didn’t always understand you, not fully, but she understood enough. Enough to know when silence was better than asking if you were okay. Enough to know that just being here mattered.

"You’re shivering," she murmured.

You didn’t respond. She always noticed anyway.

“C’mere,” she whispered, her voice warm. “You don’t have to, but I’ll keep you warm.”

You hesitated, the idea of touch still overwhelming. But Natalie didn’t push. She just waited.

Slowly, you leaned in, just enough that your shoulder brushed hers. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Natalie’s soft laugh warmed your cheek. “Look at you, getting brave.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

Her grin softened. “Never.”

The cabin’s chaos faded. There was only her now. You wanted to kiss her. The realization hit, but for the first time, it didn’t feel overwhelming. Just nervous. Hopeful.

Natalie noticed the shift in your expression. “What is it?”

You swallowed, fingers twisting the fabric of your sleeve. “I think I want to kiss you.”

She smiled, surprised, her breath catching. “Yeah?” You saw something soft in her eyes, and it settled something inside you.