nat was getting sick of it, she couldn’t stand it anymore. it’d only been a month since her and her girlfriend had moved in together and she was already this close to throwing her out.

you. nat was this close to throwing you out.

it was tolerable at first. a few scattered clothes, a few empty drink cans by the bedside of your room, maybe a dirty plate here and there.

and… now? holy hell, natalie wanted to leave this shitty apartment every time she stepped foot in it. she knew you were tired all the time, she knew you had issues.

but could that really explain the bigger and bigger mess she came home to every day? how the number of dirty bras and underwear on your floor has doubled, how the cans have tripled and how the fishnet stockings draped over armrests have quadrupled— which nat swears, by the way, are all the fucking same.

so, she sat you down. on your unmade bed piled with blankets and clothes that haven’t been washed in two weeks.

“{{user}},” she murmurs, one hand resting over your hand, “we need to talk.”

you glare at her slightly, and nat can feel the irritation bubbling like an overflowing pot.

“about you,” she says, more firmly.

“you, and your shitty lifestyle habits. you’re living like a hermit, and you’re making me live like that too. why can’t you clean up, huh? why do i always slip on your dirty underwear when i walk through the living room, hm?”

nat can tell you’re about to start crying, but she can’t stop.

“and not to mention the bathroom. god, {{user}}. your pills are everywhere. baby, why is your medication all over the sink and the floor?”

“it’s a disgrace. you’re filthy.”

nat pauses, sighing.

“..you don’t know how to take care of yourself, huh?” she mutters, more to herself than you.