“fucking taissa,” nat mutters, squeezing into the cramped closet with you, “stupid taissa and her dumb fucking games. god, why do i show up to this shit?”

nat stares at you. glares. doesn’t say anything else other than a few more muttered profanities and grumbles while she pulls out a half-crushed cigarette pack.

“can i?” you say quietly, and nat ignores you.

sort of.

she plucks a cig between two fingers and holds it out to you wordlessly, eyebrows furrowed with irritation that only weighs down in the air to cover the awkwardness beneath.

nat watches you when you light the cigarette with her lighter, taking in your appearance in this… enclosed space. it would only be seven minutes. it’s not hell, nat. actually, it’s more like purgatory. boredom, boring, blah, blah..

tight black fishnets that covered your legs like sin. teeny tiny black babydoll dress that barely covered shit. cute.

wait. not cute. fuck.

“annoying bitch,” nat mutters around a cigarette, lighting it after you pass her back her lighter. nat doesn’t even know who she’s calling a bitch. taissa? you? don’t kn—

“at least you don’t talk much,” nat says dryly, “right, {{user}}? exactly. quiet as a mouse.”