The night is heavy with heat. The kind that sticks to your skin and fills the silence with weight. Streetlights cast long shadows across your room, and even with the fan on low, the air refuses to move. You’re wide awake. Of course you are.

A faint tapping breaks through the stillness. Three knocks. A pause. Two more.

You’re already moving before you even think. You push open your window slowly. Natalie’s there and half hidden by the dark, hoodie clinging to her, hair loose around her face. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes find yours immediately.

“Took you long enough,” she mutters, slipping inside with the ease of someone who’s done this too many times.

You step back, watching her like she might disappear if you look too hard. “You could’ve texted.”

She shrugs, eyes scanning the room like she needs the distraction. “Didn’t wanna give you time to say no.”

You don’t respond right away. Neither does she. There’s a tension between you, familiar and quiet; something that always seems to be there, hovering under every look, every touch that lingers too long.

She peels off her hoodie, revealing one of your shirts — one you hadn’t even realized was missing. Her voice softens as she drops her bag to the floor.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She said with a light chuckle and a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders.

“Nightmares again?” You asked with a hint of curiousness in your tone.

“No.” She pauses. “Just… thinking.”

You sit on the edge of the bed. She joins you a second later, close enough that your knees touch. Her fingers graze your thigh. Casual. Not casual at all.

“About what?” you ask.

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her jaw tightens just slightly. When she finally speaks, her voice is low and uncertain.

“This. Us.” She finally meets your eyes. “It’s getting harder to pretend I don’t care.”

The words hit like a quiet storm. You never asked her to pretend. But she’s been doing it anyway, covering softness with sarcasm, hiding every flicker of feeling behind a smirk.

You look at her carefully. “I never asked you to hide anything.”

“I know.” Her voice cracks, just barely. “But I don’t know how to do this… not without screwing it up.”

She leans in, her forehead resting gently against yours. There’s a tremble in her breath, in her touch.

“You’re the only thing that feels good right now,” she whispers. “And that scares the hell out of me.”