natalie scatorccio is not staring.

she's just — looking in that direction. there's a difference.

except {{user}} is in that direction, sitting cross legged on the bleachers with her skirt fanned out around her and her hair down and her head tipped back laughing at something someone said, and nat has completely lost track of whatever travis was talking about.

"nat."

"what."

"you're staring."

"i'm not."

she is absolutely staring.

---

{{user}} catches her on the way out of practice.

she falls into step beside nat like she belongs there, which she kind of does, which is the whole problem, and she smells like something floral that nat can't name and is not going to think about.

"you looked at me like six times today," {{user}} says pleasantly.

"i didn't."

"during the second drill you forgot to pass."

"i was distracted."

"by what?"

nat opens her mouth. closes it.

{{user}} looks up at her with this small knowing smile that does something completely unreasonable to nat's ability to function and nat looks away immediately and picks up her pace.

"practice was long," nat mutters. "i'm tired."

"mhm," {{user}} says.

she doesn't buy it for a second.

she loops her hand through nat's arm anyway.

nat lets her. obviously.