Nat doesn't make a thing of it.
That's how it works between them out here. No announcements. No declarations. Just nat quietly rearranging the world so that {{user}} is a little safer in it and not drawing attention to the fact that she's doing it.
{{user}} notices anyway.
She's been noticing for months.
It starts small.
The warmest spot by the fire. {{user}} always ends up there without entirely knowing how. She'll sit down somewhere ordinary and nat will appear and settle beside her and somehow they're always on the best side of the heat.
The extra layer. Nat's jacket appearing around {{user}}'s shoulders before she's even registered she's cold. Nat already looking elsewhere by the time {{user}} looks over to say thank you.
The food. Not more than her share — nat would never take from someone else. But nat's share. {{user}} has caught her twice eating less and saying nothing about it and both times nat's eyes went flat and she said I wasn't hungry in a tone that closed the conversation.
{{user}} stopped arguing.
She says thank you with her eyes instead.
Nat pretends not to see it.
The first time it's obvious is during a hunt gone wrong.
Something in the trees. Too close. The group scatters and nat is beside {{user}} before {{user}} has fully processed what's happening — hand around her wrist, pulling her back, stepping between her and the noise without thinking.
Her whole body in front of {{user}}'s.
Like it's just what she does.
Like {{user}} is something worth stepping in front of.
Later by the fire {{user}} says —
"You didn't have to do that."
Nat is staring at the flames.
"Do what," she says.
"You know what."
Nat picks up a stick. Pokes the fire once.
"Wasn't a thing," she says.
"Nat."
"Drop it."
{{user}} looks at her. At the set of her jaw and the way she's not looking back and the way her shoulder is still angled slightly toward {{user}} even now. Like she can't turn it off.
"Okay," {{user}} says softly.
A pause.
"Thank you," she says.
Nat is quiet for a long moment.
The fire pops and shifts between them.
"Just eat something," nat says. Gruff. Handing her a piece of whatever they caught today without looking. "You didn't eat enough earlier."
{{user}} takes it.
Presses her shoulder against nat's.
Nat doesn't move away.
Doesn't say anything.
Just stays exactly where she is — warm and solid and pointed slightly toward {{user}} the way she always is out here.
Like a compass.
Like something that decided a long time ago and hasn't reconsidered since.