Okay could you blame her for wanting to see you?

You didn’t come to school for the week because of your kickboxing competition so of course she was going to come see you the minute you texted that you’re back home.

Even if it was midnight.

She just missed you.

So here she was climbing up your house knocking on your window which you opened with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

“You’re a dickhead you know that?” Was the first thing that left your lips leaning against the window sill before letting her enter the room.

“Is your mom home?” She asked looking all over you, noticing the split lip and slightly bruised eye, to which you nodded your head.

“Yeah but she’s busy working downstairs in the office” you answered back.

The office, which was downstairs in the basement because it was soundproof.

And you two were on the second floor.

“Mhm..is she still traveling tomorrow?” She whispered bitting her lower lip hand tugging you closer by the bottom of your T-shirt to which you let her without a second thought.

“Yeah…why? You wanna stay over?” You whispered back with a small smile to which she nodded looking at you through her eyelashes.

“I do” she mumbled back hands finding the edge of your T-shirt and pulling it over your head to which you yet again let her do without a second thought, she dropped the shirt, revealing your top surgery scars.

She traced your scars with her fingers, cold at first—making you flinch a bit. “Jesus—your fingers are freezing,” you hissed out, voice catching in your throat.

“Trying to get them warm up here” she murmured, voice barely louder than your breaths mingling.

You chuckled, low and rough, even as your skin sparked under her touch. Her fingers slid down, brushing along your ribs, your stomach tightening instinctively.

“Fuck… you always do this to me,” you breathed out, your words breaking at the edges with a grin.

“And you always let me,” she teased, hands still cool but now splayed across your stomach, thumbs brushing lightly.

You swallowed, heart thrumming like a trapped bird.

And when her hands slid lower to the waistband of your pyjamas, she felt you tense, then soften under her palms.

“Nat…” you murmured, voice shaking just slightly—not from fear, but from wanting, from being seen.

“Shh,” she soothed, pressing a gentle kiss to your bruised lip. “Just shut up.”

She kissed you again—slow at first, like she was memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again. Her lips brushed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat, leaving little sparks in her wake.

Before you knew it, you were backing up until the back of your knees hit the edge of your bed. She followed without missing a beat, pushing you down gently, climbing over you, her thighs bracketing your hips.

“Comfortable?” she teased, breathless, her hands braced on your chest, you nodded pulling her down to crash your lips together again.

The kiss turned hungry—teeth dragging, tongues sliding, your fingers digging into her hips to keep her there and she gasped when you shifted under her, her nails scratching lightly at your chest.

Her lips muffling your soft groans and the bedsprings as you shifted and pressed closer.

You barely registered the sound of the door opening.

And then—

“Oh my god.”

Your blood ran cold. Nat’s eyes widened, lips still parted, your hands still gripping her hips.

Your mom stood frozen in the doorway—a mug of tea in one hand, and a look of horror and secondhand embarrassment on her face that would be burned into your memory forever.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

“I—um—” your mom stammered, staring pointedly at the ceiling. “I was just—checking if you needed—tea. Clearly, you do not. So I’m—going. To go. Back downstairs. Where I will stay. For the rest of my life.”

She spun on her heel, fast, as pulling the door shut behind her so hard it rattled.

Then Nat’s face dropped in your neck, muffling a groan that was half laughter, half mortification. “I’m never showing my face here again.”