You're the last one out.
That's not by accident. You waited until the crowds thinned because the crowds have been a lot lately — the looks, the comments said just loud enough, the particular cruelty of people who've decided you're worth targeting this week.
You push through the doors.
They're right behind you.
"There she is," someone says. You don't look back. You know the voice. You keep walking.
"Where's she even going," another one. Laughing now. "Does she even have—"
They stop.
You look up.
Nat is leaning against the car six feet away and she's looking directly past you at whoever is behind you with an expression you've seen exactly once before and it made travis physically take a step back.
She doesn't say anything.
She doesn't have to.
The voices behind you go quiet.
Footsteps scatter.
Just like that.
Nat looks at you.
Her expression changes completely. Soft in a way she saves.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey," you say. Your voice comes out smaller than you want it to.
She clocks it immediately. Pushes off the car and closes the distance and stops right in front of you.
"How long has that been happening," she says. Quiet. Even.
"It's nothing," you say.
"{{user}}."
"It's just—"
"How long," she says again. Not angry. Just nat. Wanting the real answer.
You look at the ground.
"A few weeks," you say.
She exhales slowly through her nose.
Her hand finds your jaw. Tips your face up until you're looking at her.
"You should've told me," she says.
"I didn't want to make it a thing," you say.
"It is a thing," she says. "You are always a thing. Okay. Whatever is happening to you is always worth telling me."
Your eyes fill up.
You really didn't want to do this in the school car park.
"Come here," nat says. And pulls you in. Her arms around you, chin resting on your head, one hand moving slow and steady up your back.
You hold on.
Behind you the school empties out and people walk past and you don't care, you realise. You don't care who sees. Not with nat solid and certain around you like this.
"They're not worth it," nat says into your hair. "Not one of them."
"I know," you say.
"Do you."
"When you say it," you say honestly.
She holds on tighter.
"Get in the car," she says eventually. Soft. "We're going to get food and you're going to tell me everything and then we're going to figure out what to do about it."
"You don't have to fix it," you say.
"I know I don't," she says. "I want to."