Chapter Text
Natalie knows the afterparty is going to be a mistake the second the elevator doors slide open.
Sound rushes in first. The bass is heavy and polished, music loud enough to vibrate her entire body. The rooftop penthouse is all glass and shadows, lights low and flattering, the city spread out beyond the windows like it’s been staged on purpose. It’s the kind of place people come to be seen, not known.
She steps out with the group and lets the room close around her.
Jackie is already filming before Natalie’s fully out of the elevator, her arm lifted and phone angled toward the skyline like she’s documenting evidence that they were all allowed in.
“This is actually obscene,” Jackie says. “Like, there should be laws.”
Shauna moves in behind her without a word, fingers automatically smoothing the pieces of Jackie’s hair that have fallen out of place. Jackie doesn’t even pause her commentary when Shauna leans in and kisses her, quick and familiar, like it’s punctuation instead of an interruption.
Van barrels past them the second she spots the bar. “Yep,” she announces, arms wide. “This is my new favorite place. I’m emotionally attached already.”
Tai is apologizing to the strangers Van nearly collides with, voice calm and practiced. “Sorry. She gets enthusiastic.”
Van doesn’t hear her. She’s already laughing, already leaning across the bar like she owns the place.
Natalie watches it all with a loose smile she doesn’t have to think about. This part is easy. Walk into a room like she owns it. Let people assume she’s fine. She’s playing the part of a rockstar. Untouchable.
Jackie hooks an arm through hers and drags her toward the bar. “Drink,” she says decisively. “Immediately.”
Natalie laughs. “I was going to.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t moving quick enough for my liking,” Jackie says.
The bartender doesn’t ask questions. Tequila lands in front of Natalie without her saying anything. Aperol for Jackie, bright and citrusy. Whiskey for Van. Some cocktail for Shauna. Gin, neat, for Tai.
Natalie downs her drink in one swallow. It burns and it helps, but it doesn’t help enough.
She sets the empty glass down harder than necessary and feels the echo of it in her chest. She should feel good. The show was amazing and the crowd was loud. This should be a victory lap.
Instead, her brain keeps skipping.
The quiet of her dressing room plays back like a glitch she can’t correct. The way Lottie sat like she wasn’t killing time. The way her eyes held Natalie’s and didn’t slide off. The brush of their fingers when Natalie handed her the glass. The almost smile. That not yet that keeps looping in Natalie’s head like a lyric she didn’t mean to memorize.
She signals for another shot before she thinks better of it.
Jackie clocks her immediately. “You’re celebrating quite aggressively.”
Natalie shrugs. “It’s been a long night. Plus, you’re the one who practically dragged me to the bar.”
Van reappears at Natalie’s side, whiskey in hand, arm slung over her shoulders with easy familiarity. “You were crazy tonight,” Van says proudly.
Natalie laughs and lets it land. “You already told me that.”
“Because it’s still true.”
Tai’s hand settles briefly at Van’s waist, grounding more than stopping her. She meets Natalie’s eyes for a half a second before looking away.
Natalie jokes with someone she barely knows. Answers a question about the tour without thinking. Laughs when she’s supposed to. She plays the part.
Inside, everything keeps circling back to one thought she doesn’t want.
I barely know her name and somehow she feels like a problem.
It irritates her. They way it sits in her chest like a hook. She’s done this before. The flirting, tension, near misses. She knows the pattern. This shouldn’t feel like anything new.
Her phone feels heavier in her pocket than it should. She doesn’t pull it out. She doesn’t need to. The text is burned into her memory anyway.
She tells herself she isn’t waiting for Lottie to show up, but she ends up scanning the room anyway.
Jackie is still filming. Shauna drifts close, fixes Jackie’s hair again without thinking. Van is deep in conversation with someone who looks delighted just to be included. Tai is doing quiet damage control nearby.
Natalie leans against the bar and tells herself to breathe. It’s just a party. She takes another shot. The burn makes sense. The burn is honest.
Someone bumps her shoulder and apologizes. Natalie waves it off. Someone else tells her that they loved the show. She thanks them. Another person asks about her writing process. She jokes about her insomnia. People laugh.
She looks toward the skyline and thinks about how small the dressing room felt. How quiet and real.
Van slides back into her space. “You’re thinking too hard,” she says.
Natalie shoots her a look. “I’m not thinking.”
Van grins. “Sure.”
Jackie pops up on the other side, phone lowered just enough to be conspiratorial. “You are absolutely thinking.”
Natalie groans. “Stop.”
Shauna sips her drink. “She’s spiraling.”
“I am not spiraling.”
Tai lifts her grin. “You’re… vibrating.”
Natalie stills. “I am not.”
Van laughs. “You totally are.”
Natalie downs another drink because it’s easier than arguing and because her mouth is safer when it’s busy. She wants to ask where Lottie is. To pretend she hasn’t already checked the entrance twice. She almost succeeds.
The music shifts to something slower and heavier. Her chest tightens like she’s bracing for impact. She hates that she knows why.
Natalie presses her palms to the bar and grounds herself on the cool surface. She tells herself she’s fine and that she’s done much harder nights than this.
She laughs at something Jackie says and nudges Van away from starting a debate. This is her life. Loud, messy, and familiar.
And still, every quiet second between beats, her mind slides back to calm eyes and steady hands with a voice that didn’t ask her to be anything other than who she is.
Natalie exhales and reaches for the tequila again.
Natalie doesn’t remember deciding to leave the bar. One second she’s leaning against it, fingers curled around a glass she doesn’t need refilled, and the next she’s pushing through the sliding doors toward the balcony like her body made the call without consulting her brain. The air outside hits sharp and clean, cutting through the residual heat clinging to her skin. The city sprawls below, indifferent and endless.
She exhales and Van is immediately following her.
“Hey,” Van says, casual, like her following her wasn’t intentional at all. She plants her elbows on the railing beside Natalie, drink hanging over the railing with her eyes on the skyline. “Your brain’s somewhere else.”
Natalie doesn’t look at her. “It’s nowhere.”
Van snorts a laugh. “Uh huh.”
Natalie closes her eyes for a half a second, then opens them again. The city lights blur and resettle. She grips the railing, grounding herself in the cold metal.
Van tilts her head, studying her with that familiar, unnervingly accurate focus. “Is ‘nowhere’ tall, gorgeous, rich, and looks like she owns the world?”
Natalie stiffens. “What?” she snaps. “No.”
Van smirks. “Wow. You didn’t even have to ask who I was talking about.”
Natalie scoffs and pushes off the railing, pacing two steps before turning back like movement might shake the feeling loose. “You’re projecting.”
“I’m observing,” Van says easily. “Big difference.”
Natalie laughs, sharp and humorless. “You met her for, what, a minute?”
“And that was plenty.”
Natalie rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
Van shrugs. “I’m right.”
Natalie opens her mouth to argue and then closes it again. She goes back to the railing, fingers curling tight around the edge. The city hums below them.
Van watches her, expression shifting from teasing to something more careful. “You’re defensive,” she says. “And you’re drinking faster than usual.”
Natalie bristles. “It’s a party.”
”You hate parties.”
“I tolerate them.”
Van hums. “You usually disappear.”
Natalie shoots her a look. “You’re here.”
“That’s because Tai dragged me out,” Van says cheerfully. “And because Jackie promised us drama.”
Natalie exhales through her nose. “Of course she did.”
The door slides open behind them and Tai steps out, jacket slung over one arm. She takes in the scene in a single glance. Natalie pacing, Van leaning, and the tension humming between them like a live wire.
“I knew I’d find you out here,” Tai says calmly.
Van gestures between herself and Natalie. “Tell her.”
Tai leans against the railing on Natalie’s other side, close but not crowding her. She looks at Natalie instead of the city. “She’s amazing,” Tai says gently, “be careful.”
Natalie scoffs immediately. “I don’t need a warning, Taissa.”
Tai doesn’t rise to it. She never does. “You don’t do soft well,” she continues. “You don’t do slow and you definitely don’t do uncomplicated.”
Natalie’s jaw tightens. “I’m not doing anything.”
Van arches an eyebrow. “Didn’t say you were.”
Natalie snaps, “Then what are you saying?”
Van’s grin fades a small bit. “I’m saying you’re thinking about it.”
Natalie throws up her hands. “Jesus Christ, dude.”
Tai’s voice stays even. “We’re not accusing you of anything.”
Van grins again. “Okay, I might be.”
Natalie glares at them both. “I talked to a woman. That’s it.”
Van nods exaggeratedly. “A very hot woman. Sure.”
Tai studies Natalie’s face more closely now, not unkind, but very observant. “You’re unsettled.”
“Again. I just played a show.”
“And you’ve played hundreds,” Tai replies. “You don’t normally look like this after.”
Natalie looks away, jaw working. “You’re reading into it.”
Van’s tone softens, just a little. “You don’t usually let people get under your skin this fast.”
Natalie mutters, “She didn’t.”
Van snorts in disbelief. “Nat.”
The word lands heavier than teasing. Natalie presses her palms flat against the railing, grounding herself again. She hates how exposed she feels and hates how they can always see it.
“I’m not doing anything with anyone,” she says again, quieter this time. More firm. Like repetition might make it true.
Van watches her for a long beat, then nods once. “Okay.”
The music inside swells and dips, muffled through the glass. Natalie breathes in and then out. She already knows what she said is a lie.
Van claps her hands, breaking the moment. “Alright. Balcony interrogation over.”
Natalie shoots her a look. “That was all on purpose?”
Van grins. “Yeah.”
Tai laughs. “We should probably head back in before Jackie starts narrating your internal struggle to some influencers.”
Natalie laughs despite herself. “God forbid she learns to not overshare.”
She pushes off the railing and heads for the door, shoulders squaring, armor sliding back into place. Van falls into step beside her, bumping her shoulder lightly.
“For what it’s worth,” Van says low so Tai can’t hear her, “I like her for you.”
Natalie tenses. “You don’t know her.”
Van smirks and shoots a wink back at Natalie. “Maybe. But I know you.”
Natalie feels it before she sees her. Not a sound or a shift in the music. Just a recalibration in the room, like something essential has sunk into place and everything else is adjusting around it. The noise keeps going, but Natalie’s attention snaps sharp and immediate, her pulse stuttering like it’s been called out by name.
She turns without meaning to. Lottie is already inside.
Not hovering near the entrance. Not scanning the room. She’s standing a few feet in, speaking to someone Natalie doesn’t recognize, posture loose and grounded, one hand wrapped lightly around a drink she hasn’t rushed to finish. She’s dressed simply and still the room bends toward her like it’s inevitable.
Natalie’s chest tightens. She waits for Lottie to approach. It doesn’t come.
Lottie doesn’t look for her. Doesn’t make a beeline or even pretend to stumble into her orbit by accident. She laughs softly at something the other person says, head tipping just slightly, and Natalie feels something unpleasant twist low in her gut.
That’s new.
She tells herself she doesn’t care. That this is better. Easier and cleaner. Whatever happened earlier was just adrenaline and tequila plus Jacking being Jackie.
And still, she watches Lottie.
Jackie sees it instantly. Natalie can feel it in the way she goes quiet beside her, phone lowering just enough to catch the line of Natalie’s sight. Jackie doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. The silence feels smug.
Shauna drifts closer, eyes moving from Natalie and Lottie with that calm, unsettling precision she always has. Like she’s watching a hypothesis play out in real time.
Van mutters, barely audible over the music, “She’s not chasing you.”
Natalie snaps, too fast. “I didn’t expect her to.”
Van hums. “Sure.”
Tai says nothing. Which somehow feels worse.
Natalie shifts her weight, restless. Moves toward the windows again like she’s drawn by gravity instead of impulse. She tells herself she just wants space. That she doesn’t need to watch Lottie.
Lottie moves deeper into the room, never hurried, never lingering too long in one place. People drift toward her without realizing they’re doing it. Conversations pause and resume before she moves on. Natalie notices all of it and hates that she does.
She takes another drink she doesn’t need. Across the room, Lottie finally looks over. The eye contact is brief and controlled. Not an invitation. Just an acknowledgement.
It hits Natalie harder than the stare would have.
Her pulse jumps, sharp and immediate. She forces herself to look away first, jaw tight, annoyed at herself for caring. She tells herself it’s nothing. That this is better that they aren’t talking.
Two minutes pass. Maybe three. When Natalie looks again, Lottie has shifted. Not closer, but now she’s angled differently. The distance between them hasn’t changed, but the line of sight has. They’re aware of each other now in a way that doesn’t require constant checking.
Van lens in again, voice low. “She’s letting you choose.”
Natalie scoffs. “You’re reading too much into it.”
Van smiles. “You’re reading exactly enough into it.”
Natalie downs the rest of her drink and sets the glass down hard enough that Jackie winces.
“Easy,” Jackie says.
Natalie ignores her. Her focus keeps snapping back like a pulled muscle. Every time she laughs at something, every time she turns her head, she feels the awareness settle again. It’s unnerving.
She shifts again, threading through a cluster of people without really seeing them. Lottie shits too. Just adjusting. Natalie notices the pattern before she wants to.
They’re occupying the same pocket of space. Not together. Not separate. Shared.
Natalie stops near the kitchen island, palms braced against the cool stone. She exhales slowly, grounding herself. She tells herself she’s overthinking it. That she’s projecting meaning where there is none. She looks up.
Lottie’s gaze meets her immediately. This time, neither of them looks away.
The room dulls. Not silent, but just distant. Natalie becomes acutely aware of her own breathing, the way her shoulders are held too tight, the way her body feels like it’s waiting for something she hasn’t agreed to yet.
Lottie doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tilt her head. She just holds the look. Natalie swallows. Someone laughs loudly behind her and the moment breaks. Natalie blinks, breath catching, pulse spiking like she’s been startled awake. When she looks back, Lottie has turned away again, attention returned to the room like nothing happened.
Natalie’s fingers curl into the edge of the counter. She hates this. The not knowing. The restraint. The way it feels intentional without being manipulative.
She moves again, toward the bar, needing something solid. Something loud. Something familiar. The bartender recognizes her this time, already reaching for the bottle.
Across the room, Lottie lifts her own glass and takes a small sip. Not a toast or a signal but she’s paralleling Natalie.
Natalie’s chest tightens.
She laughs at something Tai says nearby, too sharp and quick. Tai glances at her, measuring, then lets it go. Van watches Lottie openly now, not interfering, just observing. Jackie and Shauna exchange a look that says we told you so without a single word spoken.
Everyone feels it. No one names it.
The music shifts again. The room compresses as bodies drift closer together. Natalie realizes suddenly that the distance between her and Lottie has shrunk to a handful of feet.
She doesn’t remember either of them moving that much. Lottie looks up again and Natalie’s breath hitches.
They hold the look longer this time. Not daring or challenging. Just quiet and deliberate, like something is being tested without being rushed.
Natalie looks away first, frustrated with herself. She drains her glass and sets it down with a decisive click, like an ending.
When she looks back up, Lottie is still there. Still not coming towards her. And that, more than anything else, is what finally gets under Natalie’s skin. Because it means this isn’t a game. That whatever happens next is going to have to be her move.
The balcony is quieter than the rest of the penthouse, but it isn’t silent. Music still leaks through the glass in a low, distant hum. Laughter drifts out in bursts, then fades. The city sings below, endless and unconcerned, lights stacked on lights like it’s daring anyone up here to feel small.
Natalie leans against the railing again because she needs something solid to hold her in place. She tells herself she’s out here for air. That she just needs a second.
She’s looking down at the city when she feels a shift. Not footsteps or a sound, but a presence. The same quiet presence she’s been dancing around all night.
Lottie stops beside her. Not close enough to touch, but not far enough to pretend it doesn’t matter. Inches apart, sharing the same air, facing forward instead of toward each other like it isn’t deliberate.
They don’t speak at first. The silence is comfortable. That’s the unsettling part. It doesn’t scrape or itch. It just settles. Natalie can hear her own breathing, slow and controlled, and she hates that she’s suddenly hyperaware of how steady Lottie’s is beside her.
Lottie breaks the silence without turning her head.
“You left earlier,” she says softly. “I wasn’t finished talking to you.”
Natalie laughs, reflexive. Armor sliding into place. “Didn’t realize I needed permission.”
Lottie’s mouth curves faintly. She doesn’t rise to the bait. “You didn’t.”
Natalie shifts her weight, tapping her fingers once against the railing. “You’re not exactly subtle.”
“I’m not trying to be,” Lottie replies.
Natalie laughs again, short and sharp. “Right. Because avoiding me at a party is subtle.”
Lottie turns her head then, just enough to look Natalie over. Her expression is calm and curious. Completely unbothered by the edge in Natalie’s voice. “I’m not avoiding you now, am I?”
Natalie scoffs. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Lottie’s gaze holds. “I know you didn’t ask me to leave after the show and you haven’t asked me to leave now.”
That lands closer to the bone than Natalie wants. She looks back out at the city, jaw clenched. “You read a lot into small things.”
“I listen to them though,” Lottie says. “There’s a difference.”
Natalie huffs a laugh. “Are you always this confident?”
Lottie smirks.
Natalie shakes her head, exasperated despite herself. “You’re infuriating.”
Lottie smiles. “You’re avoiding me.”
Natalie turns sharply. “I am not.”
Lottie doesn’t argue with her. She just waits.
The space between them fills with the sound of the city and the music inside. Natalie becomes painfully conscious of how close they are. Close enough that if she shifted wrong, their arms would brush.
She still doesn’t move.
Lottie speaks again, voice lower now. “Are you always this angry with yourself after you have a show?”
The question slices clean through Natalie’s defenses. She goes still. Not stiff, but completely quiet. Like something inside her has stopped scrambling for cover and doesn’t know what to do next.
She laughs automatically. It sounds wrong even to her ears. “That’s a weird question.”
Lottie’s tone stays gentle. “You don’t have to answer.”
Natalie swallows and her fingers tighten on the railing. She tells herself to deflect the question and shrug it off like she always does. Instead, she exhales.
“Not always,” she says. “Just when I feel like I left something unfinished.”
Lottie doesn’t interrupt. She listens like the words matter.
Natalie keeps going, quieter now. “I get offstage and it’s like… everything I didn’t say comes rushing back at me. Like I should’ve done it better.” She scoffs under her breath. “Which is stupid, because messy is kind of my brand.”
Lottie’s eyes soften. “That doesn’t mean it’s comfortable.”
Natalie glances at her, surprised. “You say that like you know.”
Lottie nods once. “I do.”
Natalie considers that. The steady way that Lottie holds herself. The restraint and patience that she commands. “You don’t look like someone who doubts herself much.”
Lottie’s smile fades into something more honest. “I doubt myself constantly. I just don’t show it.”
Natalie huffs a quiet laugh. “Figures.”
They fall into silence again, but it’s different now. Less charged and more intimate. Like something has been set down between them instead of thrown. Natalie risks a glance at Lottie’s hands. Relaxed and open, but not reaching for anything.
“Jackie and Shauna talk too much,” Natalie says suddenly.
Lottie smiles. “They do.”
“So this was… what?” Natalie asks. “A social experiment?”
Lottie considers her for a moment. “More like curiosity.”
Natalie arches an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“That’s enough,” Lottie says simply.
Natalie shakes her head, but she’s smiling now. Really smiling. “You’re still dangerous.”
Lottie’s gaze falls to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “Only if you keep pretending you don’t want me here.”
Natalie exhales slowly, pulse picking up again. It happens again quietly. No announcement or sudden shift. Just a gradual narrowing of space that Natalie doesn’t notice until it’s already gone.
Lottie steps closer. Not all at once. Just a small adjustment of distance, the kind that could still be dismissed as accidental if Natalie wanted to lie to herself. She doesn’t. She feels it immediately.
Natalie’s breath catches. She doesn’t step back. Lottie’s hand brushes her wrist as she shifts. The contacts is brief and light enough to feel unintentional. It isn’t. Natalie knows it isn’t because the touch lingers longer than necessary. Lottie’s fingers don’t flinch away like she made a mistake.
Natalie swallows and laughs softly, a low, almost disbelieving sound. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
Lottie tilts her head, eyes warm and unreadable. “Am I?”
Natalie snorts. “Yeah.”
“Glad you can tell,” Lottie says, then she’s closer again.
Not enough to crowd her. Just enough that Natalie can feel the line of her body beside her. The faint brush of fabric when Lottie shifts her weight. Natalie becomes acutely aware of how close they are, of how little space remains between them, and how easily it would be to close it.
She catches the scent of Lottie’s perfume again. It’s subtle, but impossible to ignore now that she knows it’s there. It settles in Natalie’s lungs and refuses to leave, like it’s already decided it belongs.
“Fuck,” Natalie mutters.
Lottie smirks. “Still okay?”
Natalie laughs under her breath nervously. “Define okay.”
Lottie’s gaze moves to her mouth and back up again, slower this time. More deliberate. Natalie feels it like a touch. Her pulse jumps as heat crawls up her neck, but she doesn’t tense the way she would have earlier. The alcohol hums pleasantly through her veins, loosening the instinct to retreat.
She lifts her chin slightly instead, looking up toward Lottie. “You’re very calm right now,” Natalie mutters, voice lower now.
Lottie’s hand drifts again, this time brushing Natalie’s waist as she turns just enough to fully face her. The contact is light but it lands like a spark. Natalie’s breath hitches.
“I’m calm because I’m paying attention,” Lottie says softly.
Natalie exhales.
Lottie’s smile deepens, amused by how flustered she’s making Natalie.
They’re close enough now that Natalie can feel the rise and fall of Lottie’s chest and the steady rhythm of her breathing. Natalie’s fingers curl into the railing behind her. She realizes she’s bracing herself without meaning to.
Lottie notices. “You don’t have to do that,” she says gently.
“Habit.”
Lottie’s expression softens, something that looks understanding there. She steps closer again, closing the last inches of space until Natalie can feel her. Their bodies align, breath mingling in the narrow gap between them.
Natalie’s heart is pounding now. She’s painfully aware of everything. The way Lottie’s gaze keeps dropping to her lips and lingering there and the way her own body seems to be leaning forward into Lottie without permission.
“Lottie,” Natalie murmurs, half warning, half invitation.
Lottie leans in just enough that Natalie can feel the warmth of her breath against her cheek. Not a kiss, but near enough to make the absence ache.
“Tell me to stop,” Lottie whispers.
The words slide between them, soft and deliberate, carrying more weight than a demand ever could.
Natalie’s mind goes blank. Her mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
Lottie waits. Not pushing or moving any closer. Just holding the space and giving Natalie the room to choose without consequence.
Natalie’s silence stretches. Her heart stammers against her ribs. Her skin feels too warm. She can feel the pull between them, steady and undeniable. She doesn’t say yes or no. She just stays.
Lottie exhales slowly, breath warm against Natalie’s skin. Her hand tightens ever so slightly against Lottie’s waist. “That’s okay,” Lottie murmurs, voice low and steady. “I hear you.”
The words send a shiver through Natalie. Lottie doesn’t kiss her but she doesn’t pull away either. She lingers there, close enough that Natalie feels the loss when she finally shifts back, creating a sliver of space between them again.
Natalie lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She laughs shakily. “You’re really good at this.”
“At what?”
“Making things complicated.”
Lottie smiles, unbothered. “You walked into this complication willingly.”
Natalie shakes her head, a crooked grin tugging at her mouth. “I walked into a party.”
“And stayed on the balcony with me,” Lottie counters.
Natalie opens her mouth to argue and then stops. She exhales instead. “Yeah,” she admits. “I did.”
Lottie watches her with that same calm attention, eyes warm and patient. She doesn’t reach out again.
Natalie meets Lottie’s gaze again, something unspoken and alive between them now. Not resolved or contained.
“Guess we should go back inside,” Natalie says finally, voice rough.
Lottie nods. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Natalie pushes off the railing, forcing her body to move even though every instinct wants to stay right where she is and pull Lottie back into her. She pauses, glancing back at Lottie. “For the record,” she says, “that silence? That was not me not answering.”
Lottie’s smile is slow and knowing. “I know.”
LOTTIE’S POV
Lottie has always trusted stillness. It’s where people reveal themselves when they think nothing is being asked of them. When the performance slips, the mask loosens just enough to show the seams. She’s learned to recognize that moments right before someone either leans in or pulls away.
Natalie does neither.
That’s what stays with her as Natalie steps back from the railing, laughter soft and unsteady, pulse still written plainly across her throat. The moment doesn’t break. It pauses, suspended and waiting.
Lottie watches her go with a calm she knows how to wear well. Inside, everything is chaotic.
She hadn’t expected this. Not the pull, but the way it feels sharpened instead of dulled by proximity. Natalie’s isn’t composed in the way people usually are around her. She’s not trying to impress or charm her. She’s bristling and bright and messy in an unscripted way.
She’s alive. That’s the word that Lottie keeps circling back to.
Lottie has spent years in rooms where desire is easy and intimacy is performative, Where people touch first and listen later. Natalie is the opposite of that. All friction and restraint. Bite layered over something vulnerable she doesn’t know how to hide as well as she thinks she does.
Lottie saw it in her dressing room. She sees it even clearer now.
The anger Natalie carries isn’t outward. It’s inward. Sharp, disciplined, and exhausting. She flinches at praise that isn’t transactional. She jokes when she’s cornered. She drinks when the feelings come to close to the surface.
And still… she stayed with Lottie. That matters.
Lottie leans against the railing again, letting the night settle around her. The city below feels stable, reliable in its indifference. She breathes in slowly, grounding herself in sensation instead of her thoughts.
She’d almost kissed her.
The realization lands clean and unmistakable. Not because she couldn’t help herself, but because Natalie had been so achingly close to choosing it. The silence between them had spoken louder than consent ever could. Not refusal or fear. Just her want held carefully between her teeth.
Lottie smiles to herself. She’s not afraid of desire. She’s lived with it openly and deliberately. She knows how to want without apologizing for it. But Natalie isn’t someone you rush without consequence. Not because she’s fragile but because she’s guarded in ways that demand respect.
Lottie had asked her to stop because she needed to know Natalie would tell her if she meant it.
She hadn’t. And that silence had been everything. It told Lottie more than a kiss would have.
She pushes off the railing and heads back inside, posture smooth and her expression composed. The party resumes its shape around her. People glance her way, curious and interested, but unaware that she’s trying to calm her emotions in her chest.
She spots Natalie across the room almost immediately. She’s laughing at something Van says, shoulders loose and her head tipped back just enough to expose the line of her throat. She looks unguarded in a way that feels earned, not careless. Lottie feels the steady pull again. It’s inevitable.
Lottie doesn’t approach her. Not tonight. She watches instead, memorizing details she knows she’ll remember later. The way Natalie’s smile softens when she isn’t performing. The way she shifts her weight like she’s always half ready to bolt. The way her attention moves back towards the balcony like she’s replaying something she hasn’t decided how to name yet.
Lottie understands that instinct. She’s been circling her own wants long enough to recognize patience when she feels it.
Jackie catches her eye from across the room and lifts her glass in a smug, knowing toast. Lottie returns it with a small smile. Yes, something is happening. No, it doesn’t need interference.
Shauna watches too, quieter and sharper. Lottie meets her gaze for a beat and nods once. A silent acknowledgment that this matters. Not in a dramatic way, but in a deliberate one.
Lottie lets the night keep moving. She doesn’t need to claim Natalie with touch or words. She’s already felt their connection settle into place. It’s not explosive or fleeting, but something slower. Something that will deepen if given room.
She knows the difference.
As the music swells and the room tightens again, Lottie takes a sip of her drink and allows herself one last glance at Natalie before looking away.
It’s not avoidance. It’s restraint. Tonight wasn’t about crossing a line. It was about proving that there was one worth respecting. And Lottie has never doubted what happens when two people stop pretending they don’t feel a connection.
It doesn’t rush.
It waits.