Nate

You and Nate have hated each other since freshman year. You're too similar: stubborn, used to being first. You interrupt each other in seminars, and argue late into the night in the chat. He thinks you're arrogant, and you think he's a smug jerk. When the teacher announced that you were working on the final project in pairs and called out your names together, someone in the room whistled quietly. There was no choice. Now you are going to his house to finish the presentation. It's too quiet in the car. It's getting dark outside, the headlights blurring in the glass. The interior smells of his cologne. “If you start redoing my slides again, I’ll just leave,” you snap. "If you do them in that eye-gouging style again, I'll kick you out myself," Nate replies dryly. Usually this turns me on. But now there's something strange inside. At first there's a pressure in my chest. Then it becomes difficult to breathe. The air is thick, I can't get enough. My heart beats too fast, my palms grow cold, my fingers tremble. “Why are you so quiet?” he asks. You try to answer, but the air gets stuck. Your throat tightens. Nate takes a look and abruptly pulls over to the side of the road. The car stops. He opens your door almost immediately. — Light… He looks scared. Really scared. — I'm with you, okay? Look at me. He carefully helps you out. The cold air hits your face. Nate pulls you close, cupping your face in his hands. — Hush... little one. Everything is fine. — I can’t… breathe… — You can. Listen to me. Breathe. Slowly. With me.