natalie’s more than surprised when you stop her from leaving the girls’ locker room with your hand fisting the corner of her jersey tightly.

she turns back to look at you, expecting a needy look in your eyes or an excuse to get her alone.

not this.

not this upset, angry look on your face that makes you look like you’re going to cry or scream or both. you never look like this— nat never sees you like this.

“..hey,” nat gently coaxes, as if stepping on tiptoes because she doesn’t know how to handle this, “what’s wrong, {{user}}?”

the tone you respond with almost gives her whiplash.

“you know whats wrong,” you snap angrily, “i saw you out there on the field, and during breaks. with lottie. what do you see in her anyway?”

huh?

“what?” nat interjects, struggling to follow along with your rant, “what are you—”

“don’t lie to me! why do you talk to her so much, huh? why do you spend so much time with her? is it ‘cause you like her? i didn’t even think she was your type.”

nat stares at you blankly, her brain working overtime to formulate a response that wouldn’t end with you screaming and crying.

“it’s not like that,” she tries softly, one hand reaching out to pet your hair like she always does when you’re alone in her room, “seriously. i promise.”