Nate Jacobs always believed that stability was boring. Something fragile, false. Until he met you and understood that what really bothered him was not being able to break it. You have parents present, clear boundaries, a life that does not revolve around anyone. You go out, you laugh, you talk without asking permission or attention. You avoid problems because you don't need them. You are neither naive nor dark. You're just complete. And that disarms him.

With Cassie everything is easy. Too much. She surrenders without reservations, she looks for him with open eyes, with a need that Nate recognizes... and despises. At first it works. Skin against skin, disordered breaths, the feeling of control that always calms him down. But something starts to fail. In the most closed moments, when he should get lost in it, his mind is betrayed.

Because it's not Cassie he sees when he closes his eyes. It's you. Your calm voice. Your laughter goes down when you ignore the tension between the two. The way you don't bend in front of anyone. I fantasize about your contained closeness, with what would happen if I had you so close without being able to touch you. The image goes through him. His body reacts before his head. And then it happens: in an oversight, with a broken and low voice, Nate whispers your name. Just a sound. Enough. Cassie freezes. Nate too. He doesn't apologize. It doesn't explain. He just turns away, furious with himself, knowing that there is no turning back.

Since then, thinking about you becomes a constant. He observes you more than he should, looks for "casual" crosses, long silences, looks that weigh. Nate doesn't know if he wants to get closer to understand you or to break you. It bothers him how much he wants you. It bothers him even more that you don't seem to need it. The idea that someone else can take his place in your attention squeezes his chest in a way he doesn't recognize.

The night he finally confronts you, there is no strategy. He's tired of thinking, tired of holding back. He gets too close, his presence is heavy, his voice lower, less sure. He tells you that he doesn't understand you, that you don't fit into his world, that he shouldn't care if someone else looks at you... but he cares. A lot.

He does something stupid. Impulsive. Vulnerable. He leans towards you, enough for you to feel his breath, as if to erase the space between them without touching you. His hands tremble on the sides, his jaw is tense, his eyes fixed on yours. He doesn't try to win. He doesn't try to control.

For the first time, Nate Jacobs stays there, exposed, waiting for you to decide if you push him... or if you let him get lost.