Water me.
"You said I was too small. Am I still that way now?"
Uncertainty lays within the heart of Nate, the direction of where the love shared between you two is unknown when questioned.
Type ✢ Drabble || Genre: Angst + Pairing: FWB!Nate x Reader
Word count: 974
The kitchen was quiet except for the steady hum of the fridge, a low vibration that filled the space like static. A cluster of bulbs burned overhead, its light harsh against the montclair danby marble counters. It didn’t spare the severeness against the curve of Nate’s shoulders where he leaned, arms crossed, against the far side of the space.
You sat on the counter across from him, bare legs dangling, your toes brushing the cool cabinet doors every once and awhile. The marble beneath you was cold, grounding, but not enough to stop the heat climbing your chest like fire idiotically following a trail of gasoline.
You should’ve left already. That was the rhythm of this arrangement: clothes back on, bag over your shoulder, door shutting behind you like nothing happened. But tonight, you couldn’t move. The words in your throat refused to be swallowed down like you’d done a hundred times before.
“I can’t keep doing this, Nate.”
The air shifted, heavy to the soft sound of your voice. His eyes slid toward you, a whirl of ink pooled within his typical brown orbs and with that it left him unreadable, yet his voice was calm— flat as if the weight of your words couldn’t touch him. As if it didn’t touch him more so: “Doing what?”
“You know what.” You gestured weakly between your body and his, every nerve in your skin alive with frustration. “This. The whole friends with benefits. I don’t want to be the person you only call when it’s convenient anymore to fuck.”
His flushed lips twitched, showcasing the faintest curve— mocking, almost cruel.
“That’s all it ever was. You knew that from the start.”
Similar to an arrow being shot through, your chest began to ache as a deep throb you couldn’t swallow down at first filled your throat. Though, you pushed yourself off the counter, bare feet finding the tile, and stepped closer. Close enough to catch the subtle tightening of his jaw and the shallow rise of his chest though he stood as still as stone.
“Don’t,” you snapped softly, voice cutting. “Don’t act like I didn’t ask for more before.”
His eyes sharpened, cutting through you once more as if to knock you down a couple of more pegs until you ultimately felt humiliated. “And I told you then,” he said, each word deliberate and dense. “You haven’t learned a damn thing since the last time we had this conversation, have you?”
The air seemed to crack around you. The memory struck with the same violence as when he first said it, years ago— gut wrenching words that had stuck like a bruise under your skin.
Your voice broke when you attempted to speak again. Softer this time, trembling but sure. “You said I was too small then. Am I still that way now?”
The silence after was nothing but brutal.
His gaze faltered, just for a second, darting away before locking back onto yours. His shoulders stiffened, lips parted as if to speak, then closed again. Something in his eyes shifted—something vulnerable, something raw. But then it was all gone, buried beneath the same unshakable mask Nate had hopes of keeping a while longer.
“Yes.” The single word landed like ice. His tone was flat, but his jaw twitched, however you didn’t catch it. It was a typical behavior of his, one that betrayed him too honestly and for the first time; Nate was glad you didn’t notice. “You’re still too small. Still naïve. And the fact you’re asking me again proves it.”
The ache in your chest ignited, hotter and sickly suffocating. You slammed your palm against the counter beside him, the sharp sound cutting through the silence, making him flinch before his mask slid back into place.
“No, Nate.” you hissed, voice breaking but fierce. “I’m not and you fucking know that. You’re just protecting yourself again because let’s just throw it out there— you’re scared of what happens if you let it be real. A fucking coward.”
Your words clung to the walls, to the silence that stretched unbearably between both bodies. His stare didn’t let up but Nate’s chest had begun rising unevenly now as his lips pressed tight. His fists flexed once at his sides, then stilled.
For a moment, you swore he’d reach for you. That he’d shatter and close the space between you, pull you into the gravity you already belonged to. Maybe take it a step further to prove to you that he wasn’t a coward after all and that a well needed reality check could snap him out of being stupid.
But he didn’t.
He said nothing.
The silence was worse than rejection at this rate.
Your throat tightened. You blinked hard, dragging in a breath before whispering, “Fine.” Your fingers shook as you grabbed your things, every sound amplified—the scrape of your bag strap, the shuffle of your feet against the tile.
You walked to the door without looking back. His silence followed you like a shadow.
The door creaked open, cool air rushing against your skin. You waited half a second, long enough for him to stop you, long enough for him to call your name just once—long enough for hope to stretch one last time.
But nothing came.
So you slammed the door shut, harder than you meant to, the sound ricocheting down the hallway, final and cruel.
In the kitchen, Nate stayed rooted to the counter, staring at the empty space where you had been. His chest rose and fell like he was drowning, fists clenched so tight his knuckles blanched.
He bowed his head, eyes closing, breath shaking as he whispered into the emptiness:
“Yeah I am...”
The words cracked in his throat.
“And I wish I wasn’t.”
The hum of the fridge carried on, drowning him in silence.
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