“hey,” nat says coolly when she shows up at your house— crisp leather jacket over an oversized tee and trackies.

one month into dating.. and only now is the first time nat’s ever been to your house. she doesn’t know what to expect, but it’s not like she’s judging, anyway, when she steps inside and glances at the bare walls.

nat hums quietly, one hand sliding over your back to hold your waist while you lead her to your room.

you look nervous, is all nat’s thinking as she glances down at the top of your head.

lie.

you also look cute, in your simple little off-white slip dress and black fishnets that really do not pair well together, but you make it work. you always do.

nat chews the inside of her cheek, thumb tracing small circles over the silk fabric while you shut your bedroom door behind her.

“you cut your nails,” you say quietly, holding up nat’s hand and inspecting the chipped black polish— with your own matching black nails, but longer. sharper. she knows you like your nails long.

“i did,” nat responds simply, suppressing a lopsided smirk with a bite to her lower lip, “they were getting cracked.”

bad excuse, she tells herself, but she doesn’t care much. there’s a flush creeping up your neck, and nat absolutely knows why.

she turns slow in place, scanning your room: an unmade bed with black sheets twisted at the foot, a half-empty cup of something on the nightstand with lipstick on the rim—dark cherry red— and a pile of clothes that look too small for anyone to actually wear without them riding up somewhere inappropriate.

she’s not judging. not really.