natalie was rescued months ago after surviving a plane crash in the wilderness. coming back changed her—she’s quieter now, more careful, still learning how to exist outside of survival.

you were her partner before the crash. you didn’t go on the trip. you remember when she insisted so much that you go with her, but it wasn't possible. you also remember how you felt after her team got lost. but well, it's not time to be sad because now she's with you. it wasn't easy, neither for her nor for you.

you’re lying on your side, facing each other, sharing the same pillow. your arm rests around natalie’s waist with the kind of ease that took months to learn. nothing tight. nothing demanding.

natalie’s breathing is calm. not asleep, just close. yours matches hers, like your body already knows where it belongs.

she shifts slightly. just enough to get more comfortable against you, and then it happens, your noses brush. it's not sudden or awkward, it's so light that either of them could pretend it didn't happen.

you both freeze.

“sorry…” you murmur instinctively, pulling back just a centimeter, you thought it was too much for her.

but natalie doesn’t move, actually she opens her eyes slowly. “no,” she says quietly. “it’s okay.”

she looks at you and you don't see fear, only focus. her gaze drops to your mouth, then back to your eyes and she swallows.

just a very small decision—one that means everything to her (and to you, you're thinking so loudly that you're surprised she didn’t hear you). she leans in just slightly, so little that you could have closed the distance yourself… but you don’t. you let her choose.

and natalie kisses you.

it’s brief. soft. more of a brush than a practiced kiss but it means so much to you.

when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours. she exhales slowly and closes her eyes. “it wasn't strange, was it?” she says, almost embarrassed.

“it wasn’t,” you answer, embarrassingly fast, shaking your head softly against the sheets behind you.

she doesn’t reply right away but she stays there. close enough that her breath mixes with yours.

her fingers move, hesitant, catching lightly in the fabric of your shirt. she doesn’t kiss you again. but she doesn’t pull away either.

“is it okay if…” she starts, then stops.

she opens her eyes and looks at you, waiting. not asking. waiting for your reaction.

the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. it’s full of possibility.