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alwaysmicado · 30 days ago

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The Maple Tree

3.1k | Nathan Bateman x reader | one-shot

Nathan Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: emotional hurt/comfort, soft!Nathan Summary: You’re having a bad day. Talking to Nathan about it is surprisingly comforting. A/N: I love fall. It’s a season that brings so much beauty, calmness, and memories—memories I don’t mind carrying. But fall also brings days like this: the hard ones, the ones where I feel like I’m drowning. If you’re going through something similar, I want you to know you’re not alone. Take care, and thank you for reading! ♡

You sit outside on the deck, the thick blanket Nathan draped over your shoulders earlier still wrapped tightly around you. The fire bowl flickers weakly, its warmth curling into the cool evening air.

It’s fall—your favorite season.

The trees surrounding the compound are a brilliant display of reds and oranges, vibrant in the dying light of the day. The creek murmurs softly nearby, its steady rhythm the only sound accompanying the whisper of the wind in the leaves.

Everything is serene. Calm.

But none of it feels right today.

It should feel like home, like peace. That’s what fall usually brings you: a sense of grounding, nostalgia that is comforting, not crushing. But today, it’s like everything is out of reach. Like you’re watching it from behind glass.

Your breath feels shallow, like your lungs have forgotten how to work, and your heart—your heart feels heavy, swollen with something you can’t name. It’s like you’re grieving, but there’s no clear loss to mourn. It’s as if you’re fading, slipping out of focus in your own life, and you don’t know how to stop it.

Nathan’s inside. Watching. He always is.

His eyes follow you even when you’re not looking, a silent, constant presence. You don’t have to see him to know he’s there.

Tonight, though, his gaze feels heavier, pressing into you from behind the glass. Waiting. He’s been waiting all day for you to say something, but you haven’t. You can’t. You don’t know how to explain this feeling, this absence inside you. You’ve tried to untangle it, to give it words, but there’s nothing there.

Nothing but the pit in your stomach and the ache in your chest.

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself and stare out into the wilderness, the thick, dense forest that encloses you in this isolated world. It feels suffocating tonight, even though you’ve always loved it here. The crackling fire, the smell of wood smoke, the cool, crisp air—it should be soothing, but instead, it feels like a distant memory. You feel like you’re slipping further away with every second that passes. Like you’re losing grip on something, and you don’t even know what.

The glass door to the living room slides open, and you don’t turn. You hear Nathan’s bare feet pad softly across the deck, the sound muffled by the blanket of leaves scattered around. He doesn’t speak right away, just walks closer, standing behind you. His presence is heavy, like a storm about to break, but it’s also warm, familiar. For a moment, you wonder if he’s going to touch you, lay a hand on your shoulder, your neck, something to break the barrier of space between you. But he doesn’t.

Instead, his voice is low when he finally speaks.

“You’ve been out here for hours.”

You don’t respond. You don’t know how. You just keep staring at the trees, at the way the light fades into the horizon like a slow, quiet death. He waits, and you know he’s giving you space, but it’s not the kind of space you want. You need something more, or maybe less—you’re not sure anymore.

“Feeling any better?” he asks after a moment, looking down at your face with a furrowed brow.

You feel the words like a dull thud in your chest. He doesn’t say it unkindly, but it feels hollow, like he doesn’t understand. And maybe he doesn’t. How could he? Nothing bad happened. Nothing tangible. There’s no reason, no room here for what you’re feeling.

You swallow hard, trying to find words, but they stay stuck in your throat. How do you explain this feeling like you’re drowning when everything around you is quiet, peaceful, beautiful even? How do you explain the way your chest feels like it’s caving in, like you’re untethered, free-floating without direction?

You don’t know how to answer him.

Nathan steps around you, moving to sit down on the chair next to yours. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a thick hoodie, his face illuminated by the flames, casting long shadows across his sharp features. He’s watching you again, those dark, piercing eyes behind a pair of glasses studying you like an equation. It makes you feel uneasy and vulnerable, yet comforted and safe. It’s strange.

He looks away, finally. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head, your fingers clutching at the blanket like it’s your lifeline. Your voice feels distant when you finally manage to speak, hoarse from the hours of silence.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you admit, the words barely a whisper. It’s the truth, and yet it doesn’t make you feel any better to say it. In fact, it makes the emptiness worse, like saying it out loud makes it more real. Plus, sharing your innermost thoughts and feelings is uncomfortable. Scary, even.

You’ve never believed much in baring your soul to others, laying your weaknesses out in the open for someone else to see, to interpret, to judge. Nothing good has ever come from that kind of vulnerability—not for you. So you just…stopped. You learned to keep the messy parts inside, locked up, unshared.

Nathan nods, running a hand over his dark beard, a faint smile on his lips. “That’s okay. I’ll just sit here with you for a bit. You don’t have to say anything.”

There’s a sincerity in his voice that makes your throat tighten.

You want to believe it. You want to believe that he cares, that you’re not just a squeaky wheel he feels compelled to fix, that this thing between you means something to him. But some days—like today—it feels fragile, like it could shatter at any moment. You can feel the distance between you, even as he sits right here, close enough to touch.

You close your eyes, pressing them shut as you feel the sting of tears welling up, catching you off guard. You haven’t had the urge to cry all day; you’ve kept it all in, pushed it down so deep you almost convinced yourself it wasn’t there. But now that Nathan’s here, just sitting beside you, silent and steady, it’s like something inside you has softened, like the walls around you are suddenly brittle, crumbling under the weight of his quiet presence.

You fight it, blinking quickly to chase the tears away, determined not to let them spill over. You don’t want to cry in front of him. Not like this. Not when you can’t even explain why.

So, you swallow hard, willing yourself to pull it together. “I feel–” The words catch in your throat, and you take a shaky breath. “Off. I feel off.”

Nathan leans back slightly, his gaze softer now, searching your face as if trying to find the words you can’t seem to put together. “In what way?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I just…I feel like I’m drowning, Nathan. And it scares me.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares at you with that calculating expression that always makes you feel like he’s peeling back layers, pulling you apart piece by piece in his mind. But then, he does something unusual. Without a word, he reaches out and takes your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours, warm and grounding.

You glance down at your intertwined hands with a furrowed brow, surprised by the simple, steady pressure, by the quiet strength in his grip. The gesture of his hand holding yours is so simple, yet it’s disarming, catching you off guard in a way you can’t quite process.

“You’re not drowning,” he says quietly, his voice low and steady as his thumb brushes over the back of your hand in slow, rhythmic strokes. “I’m not going to let you drown.”

You look up into Nathan’s big, brown eyes, and there it is again—that…something you’ve caught glimpses of before, and each time, you wonder if you’re imagining it. You tilt your head, studying his face closely. There’s no smirk, no raised eyebrow, no trace of sarcasm or mockery. Just a calm sincerity that feels almost out of character, but undeniably real. How curious.

You wish you could believe him. You really do. But the truth is, you don’t know if you’re strong enough to keep your head above water. And that terrifies you.

“Do you think it’s too late for me?” The question slips out before you can think better of it, your voice soft, almost tentative, but you don’t break eye contact.

A flicker of concern crosses his face, a faint crease between his brows. But in an instant, he’s composed again, calm and measured. “Too late for what?”

You open your mouth to say something, but decide otherwise. Instead, you take in his face again—his irritating, beautiful face. And then you untangle your hand from his and smile. It’s a sad smile, but a smile all the same.

“Do you see that tree over there?” you ask softly, pointing at it. “With the red leaves?”

Nathan follows your gaze and nods, pausing like he’s trying to find the right words. “Yeah, it’s, uh…nice.”

He’s trying. You appreciate it.

“It’s a maple tree,” you say quietly, mesmerized by the vibrant leaves as they do their dance in the cool evening breeze.

Nathan glances over at you with that cocky smirk of his. “I knew that.”

You shoot him a look, the corners of your mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Sure you did.”

Your eyes linger on him for a moment longer, and then your gaze drifts back to the tree, to the fire-colored leaves swaying like they’re suspended between worlds.

“When I was a kid,” you begin, “we had this huge old maple tree in our backyard. And when the leaves turned, it was like someone had set it on fire. Blazing orange-red, the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. We’d rake them into these huge piles, and my sister and I would jump in them. We’d throw them at each other or hide under them like we were buried, laughing when someone found us. You could smell the leaves—kind of earthy and sweet, but also decaying. I loved that smell. It felt peaceful, like the world was settling down, getting ready to rest for a while.”

Nathan shifts slightly, turning his body further toward you. He’s watching you closely, quietly, not interrupting, just taking you in.

“I used to pretend the leaves were something else,” you continue, the words flowing a little more freely now. “Like they were treasures. Or clouds. My sister and I, we’d make up these stories about where they came from. Like the wind had brought them all the way from some far-off land. A kingdom of endless fun and freedom—and candy, of course—where the trees were always red and gold. We’d imagine there were people and small animals there, living in houses made of leaves, with rooftops that changed color with the season.”

Nathan smiles at that, a small quirk of his lips. “Sounds like you had the right idea.”

“I guess,” you shrug, smiling softly. “It was just fun to make things up like that. Everything seemed so full of possibility back then. We’d spend hours outside until it got dark, and then my mother would call us in for dinner. I can still hear her voice, actually. That…tone she’d get when it was time to stop playing and come inside. Like she hated breaking the magic for us, but she knew we had to eat eventually.”

You pause, your smile fading as your gaze drifts down to your hands in your lap, your right thumb gently brushing over your left. “It’s strange,” you murmur, almost to yourself, “having these peaceful memories…knowing what happened after. But I guess that’s how most of us feel, looking back.”

When you glance back up, Nathan’s expression is unreadable. He holds your gaze for a quiet moment before he speaks, his voice low, almost careful. “You ever do that as an adult? Jump into a pile of leaves?”

His question catches you off guard, and for a second, you just stare at him. His eyes, dark and intense as always, seem softer now, almost warm in the glow of the fire. It’s such a simple question, but it hits you somewhere deep.

You shake your head, letting out a small, almost bitter laugh. “No. I guess I haven’t. I think you stop doing things like that when you get older. Feels like you lose permission to, even though no one really takes it away, I suppose. But yeah, sometimes I think about it—how free that was. Just letting go of everything for a second, and throwing myself into something else completely.”

Nathan nods, his gaze steady. “Funny how we do that to ourselves,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “Convince ourselves that certain things are off-limits, when they’re not. I bet you’d still like it.”

“Maybe,” you muse. “But it wouldn’t be the same, would it? Not without that...I don’t know, innocence, I guess. That sense that the world was kinder, softer in a way, and you didn’t need to have all the answers yet. You could just…be. Not something or someone, just you. And you’d be okay.”

Nathan leans forward a little. “You miss that?”

You think about it for a moment, letting the question sink in. “Yeah,” you admit softly. “I think I do in a way. I don’t miss being a kid or living with my…with those people. But I do miss that feeling sometimes. That...open-endedness. Like nothing was decided yet, and you had all the time in the world to figure it out.”

He watches you for a beat longer, his eyes narrowing slightly like he’s considering something important. Then he tilts his head, his gaze sharp. “And now?”

“Now?” You echo, feeling a strange knot tighten in your chest. “Now it’s different. I mean, you grow up. Things get more...serious. More realistic. You go to school, you pay taxes, you lose friends, you slave away at a dead-end job until–” you give him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow, “–some guy lures you to his compound, hands you an NDA in exchange for an exorbitant amount of money, and you think, why not? Then, surprise, he’s a complete pervert…but it works out because, well, so are you. So, you sign, stay, and build a new life.”

A smirk tugs at Nathan’s lips, and for a second, you think you see the faintest hint of a chuckle behind his composed expression. He doesn’t laugh, but his eyes glint with amusement.

“Sounds like a pretty enticing offer,” he replies, leaning back as if savoring the whole scenario he’s orchestrated.

“Yeah, irresistible,” you say with a roll of your eyes, but a reluctant smile escapes, warming the edges of your voice.

“You don’t get to just play outside without a care in the world anymore, though,” you murmur, the smile fading as the words settle. “There’s always something waiting for you—some problem that needs solving, some responsibility you need to take care of, some invisible weight holding you down. Even when you try to let go, it’s still right there in the back of your mind.”

Nathan nods slowly, understanding flickering in his expression. “Yeah, that’s how it goes. The world keeps spinning and you can’t isolate yourself from it. Not even here.”

“Hm.” You pause, his words sinking in, and your voice comes out quieter, almost wistful. “It’s not all bad,” you say, as if trying to convince yourself as much as him. “Just...some things. I think there’s a kind of magic you lose along the way. That sense that anything’s possible. But then again, I never thought I’d be testing AI in a mad scientist’s basement, so maybe there is still a bit of magic left.” You smile faintly, shaking your head. “It’s just…hard to see it sometimes when you’re drowning in all the noise.”

Nathan lets out a low hum, almost to himself, and leans back, his arm stretching lazily along the back of the chair. His fingers are so close to your shoulder, but not quite touching.

“I get that,” he says after a long silence. His voice is low and surprisingly soothing, and when you glance at him, you catch something in his eyes you don’t often see—vulnerability, maybe, or recognition. “It’s...strange, though. Hearing you talk like this.”

“Strange how?”

“You’re always so...analytical. Pragmatic.” He studies you carefully, his gaze focused but unusually gentle. “Like you see things clearly, but at arm’s length. You see the bigger picture. It’s one of the reasons why I hired you. And now, here you are, talking about magic and kingdoms and piles of leaves, and it’s–”

“Embarrassing?” you interrupt, a self-conscious smile tugging at your lips. “Pointless? Dumb?”

“–nice,” he finishes, his voice warm. “It’s nice.”

You blink, taken aback by his admission. You didn’t expect that. Not from him. For a second, you wonder if he’s messing with you—he has to be—but there’s no hint of teasing in his face, not even the faintest smirk. He may not be aware of it, but after all this time, you’re just as good at reading him as he is at reading you.

And this right here, this quiet honesty…it’s real.

Before you can stop it, a warmth begins to spread in your chest like a glimmer of light piercing through the clouded sky that’s been dulling your existence. It’s subtle but undeniable, a feeling you weren’t prepared for, slipping past your defenses.

“Well, maybe I’m not as analytical as you think,” you murmur, half-joking, trying to deflect the sudden weight of the moment.

“Maybe,” Nathan replies, lifting an eyebrow. “Or maybe you’ve just learned to keep that part of yourself quiet.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything at all. Instead, you look at the trees again, at the leaves still drifting down in lazy spirals, catching in the wind. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like to stand up, walk out into the woods, and dive into a pile of them. Just for the hell of it. Just to feel that reckless, unfiltered freedom again, if only for a second.

“You know, if you wanted to…” Nathan’s voice pulls you back to the present. “There’s still time. The world won’t stop you.”

You manage a small smile, but shake your head. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Not saying you have to,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on your profile. “But what if you did?”

You have to admit, there’s something undeniably freeing in just thinking about it.

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Thank you for reading & let me know what you think! ♡

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