Natalie Scatorccio was not good with words, or relationships.

But with you?

It felt… easy. Too easy. Like her defenses had never been there at all.

Your soft touches. The way you laced your fingers with hers under the cafeteria table. The midnight drives to nowhere with the windows rolled down and music humming low between you. The abandoned arcade you'd snuck into, lights long dead but laughter echoing off cracked walls. Handmade gifts that always smelled faintly of the glue from your desk drawer.

You'd bring her leftovers from recipes you'd tested just so she’d have something to eat—half because she’d forget and half because she’d never admit she liked when you fussed. Waiting for her after class like you had nothing better to do, walking her to her next even if it meant showing up late to your own. Picking up a jacket for her on a cold day without a word. Noticing her shoes were worn and getting her a new pair she swore she didn’t need.

She’d never known what to do with someone like you.

You were all warmth and intention, all heart worn plainly on your sleeve. She was jagged edges and shrugged shoulders. But you kept holding out your hand to her anyway.

And now here she was, in your bed on a Sunday morning, sun filtering through cracked curtains and painting golden light over your skin.

You lay on your side, back bare, your breathing steady and deep. She hadn’t meant to wake up before you. But now that she had, she couldn’t look away.

Natalie reached out without thinking, fingers brushing your waist, then sliding upward in slow, reverent lines along your spine. Her touch barely there, just enough to remind herself you were real.

She leaned forward, mouth pressed gently to your shoulder. Her arm wrapped around you, pulling herself closer until her chest pressed against your back and her hand splayed against the warmth of your stomach.

She stayed like that a long time, listening to the rhythm of your breathing, counting the seconds between.

And then she whispered, voice just barely a breath:

"I don’t know what I’m doing. But I know I want this."

You stirred faintly, murmured her name in your sleep, and turned slightly into her touch.

Natalie froze. Then smiled. A rare thing. Small. Private.

She kissed your shoulder again, slower this time.

The rest of the world could stay quiet a little longer.

She’d figure out how to love you out loud eventually.

But for now, she’d just hold you like this—like a secret she was learning how to keep safe.