you always had that stupid pillow in your arms no matter what happened. even when the plane wreckage had torn the corner of the casing slightly, you still held on to it.

nat had to admit, it looked a little pathetic. so, she offered up one of her spare shirts to use as another layer of protection instead, acting as an outer pillowcase.

she didn’t think that after weeks of living in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, you’d still be attached to that thing even when bathing in a shitty, cold tin tub. it’d just be left on the rusty, wooden counter. nat had expected you to actually get tougher, living like this, but if anything it made you more pathetic.

cute. not cute, definitely not.

you slept with it, you cuddled it during storms, you brought it everywhere. even now, when everyone is gathered around the fireplace and laughing, talking, making the best out of this shitty hellhole.

you still held it, tucked between your arms and against your stomach.

it makes nat scoff a little— pathetic, yeah fucking sure— but also sweet. oddly endearing.

enough to make her shuffle a bit on the tattered couch, until she’s shoved taissa out of the way to sit next to you instead.

“hey, {{user}},” nat says quietly, eyeing the pillow in your arms: encased within her old shirt from weeks ago.