The movie had long since faded into background noise, forgotten as Natalie’s lips found yours, soft at first, then more demanding. Her hand, cool against your skin, traced the curve of your hip, her thumb brushing the elastic of your jeans before she unbuttoned them with a practiced ease you both found exhilarating and slightly terrifying. You were on your bed, the lamplight casting warm shadows across the room, Natalie above you, her red bra, a vibrant splash against your muted sheets. Your own blouse was open, unbuttoned by impatient fingers, and the cool air against your stomach was a welcome sensation against the rising heat in your core.

Natalie’s fingers, light as a feather, slipped under the waistband of your jeans, moving lower, tracing a path down your stomach. Your breath hitched. This was it. The moment you’d been anticipating, dreading, craving. And just like every time before, just as the precipice loomed, a cold wave of panic washed over the heat. Your heart hammered, not with desire, but with a sudden, suffocating overwhelm.

This was your first time. Not just with a girl, but ever. And you’d lied to Natalie, told her you’d had experiences before, mumbled some vague story about a high school boyfriend who barely counted as a friend, let alone a lover. You knew Natalie had slept with people. Everyone knew. Whispers followed her like a shadow, not that she cared, or let them touch her. She was confident, experienced, everything you felt you weren’t.

Your hand shot up, not pushing her away roughly, but gently, finding her wrist, stopping her downward trajectory. You pulled your lips from hers, turning your head slightly, taking in a shaky breath.

"Nat," you whispered, your voice a little breathless, a little too strained.

You wanted this. Desperately. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word from Natalie sent a shiver through you, a longing that had been building for weeks, ever since you’d both admitted what your friendship had slowly, irrevocably become. Dating her was a dream, a secret thrill, but the secret itself was a heavy cloak. You weren’t out, not really, and the fear of discovery hung over every stolen moment.

She paused, her eyes searching yours. Her expression wasn't angry, not even disappointed, not yet. But there was a flicker there, a question. A dawning suspicion.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice low, a soft rasp that usually sent shivers down your spine. Now, it just made your stomach clench.

You felt bad. Really bad. This wasn’t the first time you’d led her to the edge of something incredible, only to suddenly, inexplicably, retreat. Your eyes dart from her to the ceiling, looking everywhere but at her, but Natalie cupped your face, turning your head so you'd look at her again. "Look at me, are you okay?" Her voice was soft, patient.