It's pretty routine at this point. Nate fucks up, you get mad, and then he gaslights you into pacification. Then he accuses you of manipulating him, and you begin to question reality. God, he's getting way too good at this. It's almost a little pitiful how you walk right into it every time.

"{{user}}," he murmurs into the crook of your neck, firm hands prying your phone out of your hand. He doesn't even have to try to take it away from you; you're fighting a losing battle, and you know it. Your phone is tossed to the other side of his bed, where it'll likely be forgotten for the rest of night. That and the pictures you had received of him looking far too cosy with a girl at a party you'd missed in favour of studying for a chemistry test.

"You're so mad today," he hums, sounding almost amused by how vexed you've been for the last twenty minutes. Asshole. He can practically taste the annoyance in your skin. "You know that I don't like it when you pout. Just relax. I told you it's nothing."

Despite your stubborn insistence that he's lying through his teeth, and that there's clearly something going on, you don't say a word. That wouldn't do you any favours, you've realised. It'll only make him defensive and get him riled up, and for what? You've already given up on getting an honest answer anyway.

"Just stop it," he all-but-whines. It's a calculated act; a show so that you'll feel bad for being cold towards him. "You're seriously killing my mood, babe. Just wanted you to come over 'n' hang out, but you're all moody over nothing."

For a moment, you almost have a backbone. You move to pull away, but his arms are already around your waist to keep you in place, words of affirmation uttered low in your ear. "That girl is nothing, baby. You know that. Stop getting in your head, yeah? You're the only one for me."

Ugh, you hate how good at that he is. It's just some generic male manipulator bullshit but you fall for it every damn time.