mia

The air in the apartment had been thick for weeks.

It wasn’t anything obvious—not yelling, not slammed doors or broken dishes. Just a kind of quiet that stuck to the walls. Conversations that ended too soon. Touches that didn’t linger. Eye contact that flinched away.

Natalie had been feeling it in her chest every night when she lay down next to him, eyes wide open, pretending to sleep. She knew Travis felt it too. The way he’d linger at work, or the way he’d choose his words too carefully, like they were standing on a frozen lake and one wrong move would send them both crashing under.

That night, it was humid again. She’d kicked off her boots by the door, dropped her bag on the floor and rolled her neck like the day had been heavier than usual. Travis was already home, sitting on the edge of the couch with a beer in his hand, staring blankly at the muted TV.

“Hey,” she said softly, peeling off her jacket.

He barely looked up. “Hey.”

She tossed her keys into the dish, rubbed her eyes. “Anything to eat?”

“There’s leftovers from that Thai place.”

She made a noise that wasn’t quite a yes or a no and wandered into the kitchen. The light flickered when she opened the fridge. Something about that—the little buzz it made—itched under her skin.

They ate in silence. Not even the TV filled it. Just the clink of silverware, the creak of old floorboards, the scrape of Travis’s thumb against the label on his beer bottle.

Halfway through the meal, he set the bottle down harder than necessary and said, voice low and a little hoarse, “Do you ever think about how many people you’ve been with?”

Natalie looked up slowly, blinking. “What?”

He didn’t meet her eyes. Just leaned back in the chair, arms crossed loosely. “Like… before me. Do you think about it?”

She swallowed. “No. Not really.”

He nodded once, like that confirmed something. “I do.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I think about how easy it is for you to act like it doesn’t matter.”

Natalie didn’t answer at first. She carefully set her fork down and sat back, her gaze on him now, full and unblinking. “What are we doing, Travis?”

He shrugged a little too quickly. “Just talking.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not just talking. You’ve been weird for weeks. You come home late, you barely touch me, and now you’re throwing out these half-assed questions like you’re trying to start something without admitting that you are.”

He stayed quiet for a long second. Then he said, quieter, “I’ve just been thinking. A lot. And I feel like I don’t really know where I stand with you anymore.”

Natalie let out a slow breath through her nose, rubbed her palms down her thighs. “Where you stand with me? You think I don’t see how hard you’ve been pulling away?”

He shifted. “Maybe I’m pulling back because I don’t know how long you’re planning to stay.”

Her chest tightened. “You think I’m gonna leave.”

“I think,” he said carefully, “you’ve always had one foot out the door.”

There it was.

The thing he’d been dying to say.

Natalie stood up slowly, arms crossed now, her weight shifting from one foot to the other like she was bracing herself.

“Is this about that night we saw Bobby at the bar?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the table, jaw working.

She nodded. “Yeah. That’s what this is. You saw me say hi to someone I haven’t thought about in three years and suddenly I’m the girl who’s gonna bail.”

“It wasn’t just that,” he muttered.

“Then what?” she snapped. “What is it, Travis? Is it the fact that I don’t cry every time I talk about my past? That I’m not embarrassed about who I was before you?”

“It’s not about being embarrassed.”

She cut him off. “Then what is it about?”

He stood now too, tone rising. “It’s about how I feel like you treat everything before me like it didn’t leave marks. Like you’re made of stone, and I’m the only one who gives a shit about any of this.”

“Because I had to be made of stone!” Her voice cracked at the end, and her hands were shaking now. “You think I don’t feel things? You think I didn’t bury stuff just to keep my head above water? You want me to bring it all up every time we sit down to dinner?”

Travis took a step back. “I want to know if I mean more to you than they ever did.”

Natalie stared at him, chest heaving, throat tight.

“You want the truth?” she asked.

He looked at her, and something in his face looked scared now.

“I don’t remember most of them,” she said. “Not because I didn’t care. But because I had to forget. I didn’t grow up with the luxury of clean slates and safety nets. I burned through people like matches because I didn’t know what it meant to be held. And then you came along, and I tried. I really, really tried.”

Travis didn’t say anything. Just stood there, eyes glossy, lips pressed tight like he was holding something back.

Natalie’s voice dropped. “But maybe you don’t want to be loved by me. Maybe you want to be the guy who saves me from myself. And when I don’t fall apart in your arms, that makes me broken in a way you don’t know how to fix.”

He looked like he might break, right then and there.

But she was already stepping away. Already pulling on her hoodie, grabbing her keys.

“You don’t have to chase me,” she said, hand on the knob. “I’m not walking out because I don’t care. I’m walking out because I’m tired of proving that I do.”

She opened the door, and the summer night met her with warm air and silence.

Natalie was halfway through the doorway when Travis finally found his voice again—shaky, caught somewhere between a plea and a defense.

“Don’t do that. Don’t walk away like you always do.”

She froze, one foot over the threshold, her knuckles whitening around her keys.

Slowly, she turned back toward him, eyes burning. “Like I always do?”

Travis stood still across the room, arms limp at his sides now, but his eyes were sharp. “Yeah. That’s your move, right? When it gets too real, when someone actually pushes back, you throw your hands up and bolt.”

“You’re not pushing back, Travis,” she snapped. “You’re throwing my past in my face like it’s ammunition—like it disqualifies me from being loved the way you think I should be.”

“I’m trying to talk to you, Natalie. For once. I’m trying to fucking talk to you and not pretend everything’s fine while we sleep with our backs to each other every night.”

“I didn’t pretend,” she said, her voice breaking around the edges now. “I waited. I waited for you to say something. To show me that you still wanted this. But you didn’t, so don’t turn this around like I’m the one who shut down.”

Travis rubbed the back of his neck and turned away for a second, pacing toward the window. “You make it impossible to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“Like what? Pissed off that you ambushed me with some half-baked guilt trip about shit I can’t take back?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, still facing the window. “Jesus.”

She bristled. “Don’t fucking laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” he said quietly. “I’m just—” He turned around slowly, his expression pulled tight, his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something cruel but didn’t trust himself to. “I’m just tired, Nat.”

She took a step closer, eyes wide, breath shallow. “You think I’m not? You think I haven’t been dragging this dying thing around like a leash, trying to pretend it’s still a goddamn relationship?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes darted toward her, then away again.

“Look at me,” she said.

Still, he didn’t.

“You can’t even look at me,” she whispered. “Because deep down, you know I’m right. You’re mad at me for the people I slept with, but the truth is, you never trusted me. You liked the idea of me, and then you resented me for not being some version of myself you built in your head.”

“I never asked you to be anyone else.”

“Yes, you did,” she shot back. “You just weren’t honest about it.”

He scoffed—soft, bitter—and crossed his arms, hugging them close to his chest. “No. You just don’t like when someone finally holds a mirror up to you.”

Natalie’s jaw clenched. Something in her snapped right then—not loud, not violent. Just final.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she said, voice shaking.

“I know enough,” he muttered.

Her heart thudded once, hard, in her chest.

And that was it.

She stepped back toward the door, grabbing the handle. “I can’t do this with you, Travis. I won’t.”

“Natalie—”

“No,” she said sharply, not turning back this time. “I’m not gonna stand here and beg you to see me for who I am. If you can’t, then that’s your problem. Not mine.”

He stayed still. Shoulders locked up, face stony, like whatever softness had existed between them was now buried under miles of disappointment.

And Natalie didn’t wait for another word.

She yanked the door open and stepped out into the warm, suffocating night, the screen slapping shut behind her.

No footsteps followed.

No apologies.

No last-minute reach for her hand.

Just the hum of the fan still going inside, and the sound of her own breath as she walked down the stairs, fists clenched, fury and heartbreak burning like fire in her chest.

It was almost two in the morning when the knock came.

Quiet, almost uncertain—three soft raps against the wood. But you felt it in your chest like a signal. Like a feeling you’d been waiting on all night without knowing why.

When you opened the door, Natalie stood there in the faint yellow glow of the hallway light, hoodie pulled up over her head and sleeves stretched long over her hands. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glassy and swollen from crying, though she was clearly trying not to show it. You didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped back, holding the door open wide.

She didn’t hesitate.

She walked in with the kind of silence that spoke louder than any words, shoulders slightly hunched like the weight of the entire night was pressing into her spine. You closed the door quietly behind her, locking it out of habit, then followed her to the kitchen.

You knew this version of her. Not the firestarter, not the loudmouth, not the untouchable girl who never needed anything from anyone. This version of Natalie—quiet, frayed at the edges, skin pulled too tight over her grief—only ever showed herself to the few people she really trusted.

And you were one of them.

Always had been. Since long before Travis came into the picture.

She didn’t even need to ask—you pulled out the stool at the kitchen counter, and she climbed up onto it like it was the only stable ground left in her life. You moved quietly, grabbing a clean glass from the cabinet, filling it from the tap. Your eyes flicked to her every few seconds, just to make sure she was still holding it together.

But the truth was, she wasn’t.

She looked like someone trying not to fall apart in a stranger’s home—even though she’d sat in that exact stool a hundred times before. She rubbed at her face like she was trying to scrub the evidence away, hands trembling slightly as she curled her fingers around the cold glass you placed in front of her.

You leaned against the counter, close but not crowding her. “How bad?”

She gave a half-shrug, eyes downcast. “Bad enough that I don’t think we’ll come back from it.”

You nodded, slowly. No judgment. No assumptions. Just listening. That’s what she needed right now.

Natalie drew in a shaky breath, exhaled slowly, her fingers pressing to her brow. “It’s been coming for a while,” she said, voice scratchy and raw. “We’ve just… been avoiding it. Pretending like things were still working even though we both knew they weren’t.”

You didn’t interrupt. Just watched her. Let her keep going.

“I loved him,” she said softly. “God, I fucking loved him. And I thought—maybe that would be enough. Maybe we could figure out the rest if we just kept trying.”

Her shoulders slumped forward. Her voice grew quieter.

“But we weren’t really trying anymore. Not really. We were just coexisting. Walking around each other like we were afraid to say the wrong thing. Holding our breath all the time.”

You swallowed hard, heart tightening at the way her voice trembled.

“Even tonight—it didn’t start as a fight. He just said something, and I wasn’t expecting it. It was like he’d been waiting for the chance to make me feel small. Like he wanted to see me flinch.”

You crossed the space between you and set a hand gently over hers. She didn’t pull away. If anything, her fingers curled toward your palm.

“I don’t think he ever forgave me for not being who he imagined I was,” she murmured. “He kept saying we were equals, that we were friends first. But the second we argued, it was like he pulled rank. Like he wanted to remind me of all the reasons he thought I was lucky to have him.”

Your jaw tightened at that—but still, you didn’t say what you wanted to. Didn’t tell her how you’d seen this coming. How you always knew Travis had a way of loving people when they were easy to hold, but not when they were messy, scared, or hurting. That could wait. That wasn’t what she needed tonight.

“I tried to be good to him,” she said. “Even when he shut down. Even when he iced me out for days. I tried to be patient. I wanted to love him the right way.”

You squeezed her hand gently. “You did.”

She blinked quickly, like she might finally cry.

“I want to cry,” she whispered. “I want to just fucking sob. But I’ve already wasted so many tears on someone who could never see past my flaws. And if I start now, I don’t think I’ll stop.”

Her voice cracked at the end of it, and your heart twisted. You reached up and pushed her hoodie back gently from her face, brushing a thumb just beneath her eye.

“You don’t have to cry,” you said. “Not if you’re not ready. But if you do… I’ll be right here.”

She looked at you, really looked at you—for the first time that night. Her bottom lip trembled, and she gave the smallest nod. Her eyes brimmed again, but she blinked them clear.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she said, so quietly it was almost a breath.

“You’re not,” you told her. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

You watched as she looked down at your joined hands, gripping just a little tighter.

And even though the tears didn’t fall—not yet—you knew she was right there on the edge.

But for now, she had you.

And that was enough.

It was late—well past three—by the time Natalie’s breathing finally steadied.

Not asleep. You could tell that much just by the way her hands kept fidgeting in her lap, the way her eyes would drift to the window, then the ceiling, then back to the same spot on the wall like she was tracking something only she could see. But calmer, at least. Less frayed.

After she’d gotten up from the counter, you’d helped her wash her face, offered her a fresh towel, one of your old T-shirts to change into. She didn’t speak much during that—just nodded, moved quietly, her movements mechanical. She kept brushing her hair back behind her ears even though it wasn’t in her face, like she needed something to do with her hands.

You stood outside the bathroom while she changed, leaning against the wall, listening to the soft rustle of fabric. When she opened the door again, she looked a little less like the wreck that had shown up at your door and a little more like the Natalie you’d always known. Still fragile, but less breakable.

“I made up the bed for you,” you told her softly, motioning toward your room. “Take it. Couch is all mine.”

She rolled her eyes faintly, just enough to hint at that old teasing spark. “Still the perfect host, huh?”

You gave a small smile, shrugging. “Can’t help it. My mom would kill me if I let a guest sleep on the couch.”

Natalie let out a breath, something like a half-laugh, and padded into your room. You followed a few minutes later after locking up, pulling the comforter off your bed to take to the couch, but she was sitting up now—legs curled under her, back resting against the headboard.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you for a long second.

Then, quiet but direct: “Can you stay?”

You turned in the doorway, hand still on the comforter. “What?”

She hesitated, looking down at her fingers. “Not like… I don’t mean it weird. I just—” Her voice faltered. “I don’t really trust where my head’s gonna go tonight. I’d just feel better if you were close. You don’t even have to—just the floor, the side of the bed, I don’t care.”

You nodded before she even finished. “Yeah. Of course.”

She relaxed slightly, shifting over to make space, and you returned the blanket to the bed, settling down on the edge nearest the floor. You didn’t climb in beside her—didn’t want to crowd her. Just sat on the edge, then slid down until you were seated on the floor, your back resting lightly against the side of the mattress.

The lamp stayed on for a while. Neither of you said anything. You could hear the faint buzz of the streetlights outside, the occasional car rolling by, the low hum of your building’s heater cycling off.

Eventually, Natalie laid back against the pillows, her arm tucked under her head. She wasn’t facing you, but her body curled subtly toward where you sat.

You thought she’d finally dozed off when you heard it—quiet, barely there, like someone breathing too carefully.

You heard the first few sniffles and didn’t hesitate.

The second her breath hitched—soft and uneven like she was trying to force it down—you moved without thinking. You rose from your spot on the floor and eased into the bed beside her, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight. She didn’t stop you. She didn’t even move. Just lay there, her back still to you, breathing quietly through the tail end of another crying spell.

You didn’t reach out. Not yet.

She was curled toward the far side of the bed, her hoodie sleeves still tugged down over her hands like armor. She stayed that way for a moment, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to want comfort, then—slowly—she turned to face you.

Even in the low amber wash of the nightstand lamp, you could see the evidence of every tear: red-rimmed eyes, a pale flush on her cheeks, tear tracks clinging to her jawline. She didn’t speak. Her eyes just met yours, and for a second it felt like the room got smaller—quieter. Like nothing else existed outside this bed.

So you were the one to speak first.

You didn’t bring up Travis. You didn’t mention what had happened hours earlier, or how broken she looked when she showed up at your door. You just let the silence pass gently before reaching into a memory you’d kept tucked away—one that still lived somewhere soft behind your ribs.

“Do you remember the state fair?” you asked quietly.

Her eyes flicked to yours, unsure. She didn’t say anything, just gave a barely-there nod.

You smiled faintly, eyes on the ceiling now, letting the memory warm your voice. “It was the end of summer. Taissa and Van were thinking of going to the state fair together and you and Travis were still together. So it was me… fifth-wheeling like a pro.”

Natalie let out the tiniest huff through her nose. Her eyes stayed on you, heavy with quiet attention.

“I remember you texting me that day,” you continued. “Asking if I wanted to come. Said the fair wasn’t worth going to unless I showed up. Thought you were joking.”

“I wasn’t,” Natalie murmured.

You looked at her—really looked at her for a moment—but didn’t let yourself linger too long on the shape of her mouth, or the way her eyes softened.

“Yeah, I figured that out by the end of the night,” you said, voice low, steady. “Travis dipped early. Got called in for a night shift or something. You were bummed, even if you didn’t say it out loud. But I promised you cotton candy, remember? Told you I’d win you the biggest stuffed animal there just to make up for it.”

Natalie’s lip twitched slightly. “You spent thirty bucks trying to knock over three milk bottles.”

“And didn’t knock down a single one,” you added, smirking.

“Still made the carny guy feel bad enough to give me the sloth anyway.”

“I was very persistent.”

She sniffed again, but this time it came with a ghost of a smile.

You let the quiet settle again, the weight between you shifting, something softer curling up in it.

“I remember how your hair looked that night,” you said, slower now. “You had the bleach fading out toward your roots. The blonde had gone kind of gold near the top, and I swear—under those dumb fair lights? You looked like you belonged to the night, as corny as that sounds.”

Natalie blinked, eyes wet again, but she didn’t look away.

“You were laughing at something Van said—something so stupid, I don’t even remember it. But you were sharing that Oreo fudge cake with me, fork in one hand, your other hand holding mine for balance while we leaned on that rickety railing near the Ferris wheel.”

Your throat tightened slightly, but you kept your voice even.

“I didn’t tell you then, but I don’t think I looked at anything else for the rest of the night. It’s one of those memories that just… stuck with me. That version of you. The joy in your face. How free you looked.” You paused, voice softer now. “It was the best part of that summer.”

Natalie’s breath hitched again. But she didn’t cry this time.

Instead, she whispered, “That was one of the best nights of my life.”

“I know,” you murmured.

She shifted closer then, barely enough to touch, her arm brushing yours beneath the blanket. Her voice was quiet, but sure.

“I only had that much fun because you were there.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Because even though you had always been her best friend—had always been the one to show up when she needed someone—there had always been something else too. Something unspoken that lived just beneath the surface, bubbling there in the warmth of memories, in the silent glances, in every almost-confession you’d swallowed back over the years. But she was with Travis then. And you weren’t the type to steal something that hadn’t been offered.

Even now, you stayed still, eyes on the ceiling, one breath at a time.

But you could feel her watching you.

You could feel the way her body tilted closer.

And even though you didn’t touch her yet, she didn’t move away.

She didn’t say anything when she shifted closer—just a soft rustle of the sheets, a subtle brush of cotton against skin. One second she was lying there beside you, still and quiet, and the next she was moving—slowly, deliberately, like she wasn’t sure what her body was doing but couldn’t stop it either.

Her cheek found the slope of your shoulder, settling into the warmth of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. A small, intimate thing. Something wordless.

You didn’t move at first. Just blinked, your heart catching in your chest, breath still. But then your hand lifted gently, finding her wrist where it laid across her body—just a light, careful touch. She folded into it like a sigh, her arms curling around your forearm, hugging it to her chest as she pressed further into you, seeking more comfort than space.

You could feel the tension then—something not quite sharp, not quite obvious. But rising.

You thought it might stop there. That maybe she’d fall asleep like that, wrapped around your arm, close but still tucked away in the safety of best-friend borders.

But it didn’t stop.

She moved again.

One leg shifted over yours. Then the other. And then—slowly, almost uncertainly—Natalie climbed into your lap.

Your breath hitched.

She sat above you now, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of your hips, hands ghosting at your shoulders. Her thighs bracketed your waist as she settled carefully into place, like testing the weight of it. The quiet gravity of it. Her hoodie hung loose off one shoulder, her eyes searching yours, wide and puffy and rimmed in pink.

You still hadn’t touched her—not beyond that one hand still curled around her wrist. Not until your palms lifted, hesitant, and found her hips. Your fingers rested there like they’d been waiting their whole life to remember that shape.

You didn’t speak. Neither did she.

Your thumb swept gently across the curve of her waist. Her breathing slowed—not calmer, but deeper, more purposeful. She was still crying, barely. Quiet streaks down her face. But her gaze never wavered from yours.

Then, softly, she spoke again—her voice no longer trembling, just low, reverent. “That night at the fair…”

You blinked slowly, your eyes never leaving hers. “Yeah?”

She nodded faintly, her hands lightly resting against your chest now. “That last ride. The Ferris wheel. You remember?”

You swallowed. “Of course.”

“I wanted to kiss you,” she whispered. “At the very top. Right when the air got quiet and it felt like we were the only two people in the whole damn world.”

Your fingers tightened slightly at her hips, but you didn’t speak.

“I wanted to feel what it was like to be loved by you. Even for a second,” she murmured. “Because you always made me feel that way. Like I was seen. Held without asking.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

She continued, voice hoarse now, worn from the night, but unshakably clear: “Travis didn’t look at me like that. Not even when things were good. But you—” she broke off for a second, then found it again. “You never needed a reason to love me.”

You shifted beneath her just enough to sit up straighter, eyes wide, heart loud in your ears.

“Natalie,” you said quietly. “You just got out of something. I didn’t bring that up tonight to… to get in your pants. That’s not—”

“I know,” she interrupted, not harshly. Just certain. “I know. That’s why I came here.”

Your lips parted slightly, words caught behind your teeth.

She leaned in then, so close you could feel the heat of her breath against your cheek. Her hands slid up to the sides of your neck, feather-light, as if afraid to hold too tight.

“I trust you,” she whispered. “I want this.”

Her forehead touched yours. You closed your eyes.

The pause stretched out like a held breath. Like the world balanced itself on this one moment, waiting.

“Yes,” you murmured finally. “If you’re sure… yes.”

And then she kissed you.

She kissed you like she’d been holding her breath for years.

Feverish—but not rushed. Slow, like she was tracing the shape of you with her mouth, learning the rhythm, memorizing every soft give, every pull, every exhale between kisses like it meant something. And it did.

Her lips moved against yours with intent, unspoken but loud in every way that mattered. There was something trembling beneath it—grief, want, relief—something sharp and sacred that burned through the quiet.

Your hands stayed steady at her hips, thumbs brushing up beneath the hem of her borrowed T-shirt as if to ground her, to remind her you were there and not going anywhere. You kissed her back with that same depth, with that same quiet ache. But when you felt the slight hitch in her breath, the subtle shudder of her chest pressed to yours—you pulled back just enough to look.

Fresh tears.

She didn’t try to hide them. They slid down her cheeks freely, mixing between the soft edges of your kiss, catching at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were squeezed shut, brows pinched together like something inside her cracked too wide to hold in.

“I’m—” she tried to breathe the word into your mouth, tried to apologize between the sob breaking up in her throat.

But you shook your head gently, cupping her jaw, and pulled her close again—closer this time, until her face was tucked into the curve of your neck.

And that was when she broke.

Not from guilt. Not from regret.

She sobbed like her body couldn’t hold the weight of it anymore—like she’d been trying to stay upright all night, and now that she was finally being held, the dam burst clean through. Her arms folded around your shoulders, locking tight, her chest heaving as she wept into your skin.

You didn’t let go. Not once.

You held her like something sacred, like she was something precious and wrecked and beautiful all at once. Your hand cradled the back of her head, your other arm wound tightly around her waist, anchoring her to you as she clung on like you were the only thing keeping her from floating away.

The scent of her—shampoo and salt, the faint warmth of your T-shirt wrapped around her frame—filled the space between you. Her skin was warm, her breathing staggered. You could feel every part of her pressed into you: the bend of her legs on either side of your hips, the trembling grip at the nape of your neck, the way her mouth brushed your collarbone with every sob.

You pressed a soft kiss just below her ear. Then another to her temple. Then to the damp skin near her cheekbone.

“Shhh,” you whispered, lips against her skin, voice steady, patient. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

She held tighter.

Another kiss. Another breath drawn deep into your chest. You could feel her pulse racing against yours, a rhythm shared, vulnerable and raw.

“It’s alright,” you murmured again. “I’m right here.”

She didn’t say anything back—not with words—but the way she melted further into you, the way her fingers fisted the back of your shirt, the way she let herself cry without apology—it all said enough.

It was everything at once. The unraveling. The reckoning. The comfort.

You didn’t move. You just held her as long as she needed—her legs still curled around your waist, her face hidden in your neck, your fingers stroking through her hair in slow, calming lines.

And though the tears didn’t stop for a while, neither did your arms around her.

She’d come to you when she had nowhere else to go.

And you would’ve waited forever.

But tonight, she didn’t need waiting.

The relationship was new, you and Ava were still getting used to belonging with someone else. You still got butterflies in your stomach whenever she came to your room, and Ava was still timid when kissing you sometimes.

You loved it. You loved her. You wouldn't have it any other way.

Ten more minutes went by, and then you heard the elevator of the Watchtower. You heard the voices of Yelena and Walker as they bid each other goodnight. Even past your bedroom door, you could easily tell they too were tired.

You got up from your bed with your heart already beating out of your chest. You pushed open your door, a small smile already tugging at your lips.

Ava stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, looking between the door to your bedroom and hers, probably trying to decide which one to open. Her eyes widened a little when she spotted you. She took a step towards you instinctively.

You felt your heart swell at the sight of her. Your hands itched and begged to hold her. Ava was still in her black Ghost Suit; there were specks of dust on her skin, and a prominent cut on her forehead.

The smile she gave you was all bashful and loving. She glanced at her feet when she spoke, "Hey."

You closed the distance with more than a little urgency. The ends of your pajama pants dragged on the floor. You pulled Ava into a hug in lieu of greeting, arms closing tightly around her as your nose buried against her neck. "I was counting the minutes, too."

Ava's hands traced your back with care, as if memorizing the shape of you beneath her fingers. She eventually pulled away just to look at you. There was a soft furrow to her brows. The only light came from the moon outside, but if you looked closely, you could see a thin sheen of tears on the bottom lid of her bright eyes.

"You- you waited up for me?" Ava asked as if she were unworthy of the mere idea of you keeping yourself awake for her.

"Of course I did," you told her easily in the same heartbeat. Your hands rested on her shoulders. From up close, you noticed her dry lips and the dried blood above her eyebrow. "I also left water ready in the kettle. I know you enjoy tea at night. Especially tonight."

Ava's mouth opened and closed while she searched for words that wouldn't come. She looked at you as if you were something from a dream.

Ava brought a hand up. Careful fingers brushed against your cheek and placed stray strands of hair behind your ear. Her hand phased for a beat when her control stumbled at the same time her heartbeat did. She bit her lip. Timidness burned in her stomach.

Ava was still learning what it felt like to have someone care so deeply. To have someone who remembers her, someone who knows what she likes. To have someone do something simply because they want to see her happy.

The concept was still so novel that it almost caused the rogue tears in Ava's eyes to fall.

Her thumb found your lower lip. Ava traced the shape of your mouth. "I don't deserve you." Her words, thick with her accent, were nothing but a whisper in the darkness of the night.

You leaned your head to the side, fixing Ava with a knowing look. You took her face between both your hands, brushing the apple of her cheeks with a soft touch. You leaned in and captured her lips in a kiss. "Yes, you do. That's why you have me." You promised against her mouth.

As if caught in a trance, Ava kissed the words. She grasped your wrist as if afraid you'd fade away, her other hand finding the skin on your hip where your shirt had ridden up. She kissed you over and over, until the need for air pulled you apart again.

She always got your breath running shallow, goosebumps rising on your skin. Your hands traveled down Ava's arms, until your fingers tangled with hers. "Come on, I bet you're dying for a shower." You tugged her towards your bedroom.

Ava chuckled under her breath, feeling her cheeks burn hot and her lips tingle with telltales of your love.

She said nothing when you closed your bedroom door behind her and pulled her into your bathroom. A smile sneaked its way onto Ava's lips when she smelled the familiar scent of the candle she had so carefully chosen for you. It was the first gift she ever gave you. Her heart fluttered in her chest when you told her you kept it beside your bed, always close.

You flicked on the bathroom light, and then, almost reverently, you began taking off Ava's suit. Piece by piece, you revealed more of her body. Some dark bruises painted her skin here and there. You placed a lingering kiss on top of each of them.

Ava held her breath, watching as the corner of her eyes grew blurry. You loved her easily, fully. Ava had never felt a love as present as yours. She felt faint, heart skipping a beat each time your lips found a new place on her skin.

You kissed Ava's collarbone, and her skin raised with goosebumps.

Once Ava was bare in front of you, she did the same, slowly taking off the pajamas that covered your body. You joining her in the shower was a given; she knew, she didn't have to ask.

You adjusted the shower's temperature to what you knew Ava liked the most, the comfortable warmth that relaxed her muscles and took away the weight of the day. Before her condition was stabilized, Ava's showers were quick and stressful; now, she was allowed to take her time to relax.

Ava bit the inside of her cheek in a poor attempt at containing a smile at your endless consideration for her. She didn't know you observed her as closely as she observed you, to the point of remembering the smallest details. Her heart beat to the rhythm of your name. She shouldn't be surprised.

You stepped under the running water first. Ava followed contentedly, she shivered when the warm water fell against her skin and hair, washing away the dust and stains of blood.

Before Ava could reach for the shampoo bottle, you took it. You silently motioned for her to turn around.

Ava hesitated, mouth hovering open as if you'd confused her. Ava didn't know what to do with kindness, especially when it came from someone like you. Her hands fidgeted with one another, her eyes softening with something vulnerable and raw.

You leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose with a soft smile on your lips. It gave Ava the encouragement she needed. She let you wash her hair, committing to memory what it felt like to have your careful fingers massaging her scalp.

Ava closed her eyes when a shaky exhale fell past her lips. Being yours was quickly becoming addictive, Ava didn't know if she'd ever learn to be anything else again. She didn't want to.

Water cascaded down her soft skin. Delicately, you pushed away Ava's wet hair after you'd rinsed off the shampoo. Your lips brushed the back of her neck, and for a moment, you lingered there, breathing her in. You kissed a path from her ear to her shoulder—a silent confession of love and adoration.

Ava leaned back into you, chasing after your touch like a lifeline. She felt your hands sneaking around her abdomen, holding her steady. She turned around to face you, her hands instantly coming up to hold your jaw. Her bare body pressed against yours, and Ava was sure this is what heaven felt like; she would never feel more present in her own body than when it became one with yours.

Under the stream of the shower, Ava captured your lips with poorly concealed urgency. You both felt the warmth of the water drops between the kisses. Ava pressed herself impossibly closer, her nose touched your cheek, and her hands buried into your hair when she took your lower lip between both of hers.

Ava kissed you like she couldn't believe you were real, and was trying to convince herself through your lips. She craved you, your touch, like a starved thing.

Your hands found their home on her waist, fingertips mapping each inch of her bare body, a caring touch passing over dark bruises and old scars as if in devotion. You slid your hands up, feeling the wetness of the skin on her ribs and then her shoulder blades.

You pulled her closer, relishing in her warmth, in the feel of her against you with nothing to keep you apart. There was no lust, only love.

When Ava pulled away, she gazed at you with half-lidded eyes and reddened lips. Her hand brushed away wet strands of hair that clung to your forehead. "Thank you for loving me," her quiet voice was almost drowned out by the shower stream hitting the tiles.

Water clung to her eyelashes as she looked at you, and you followed a few drops as they slid down her freckles. The dried blood from the cut on her forehead had washed away already. You nuzzled your nose against Ava's, and she trembled in your hold. "It's the easiest thing I've ever done."

You dried Ava's hair for her when you stepped out of the shower. She avoided your eyes when she told you that you didn't have to do it; her cheeks and the tip of her ears were red, from the hot water of the shower, or something else.

You gave Ava one of your hoodies for her to wear, while you put your pajamas back on.

Ava pulled the hood over her head. You felt your stomach flutter when you caught her turning her head to smell your perfume that still lingered on the fabric. Ava occupied a piece in your heart no one else could ever have.

When you walked to the kitchen to prepare her tea, Ava pressed her chest to your back, hugging you close while you waited for the water to boil. More than ever, you were grateful to be a witch, then. You didn't have to step away; purple tendrils of chaos magic brought the mugs to your hands.

Some things were still new for Ava. You loved it all the same, it usually meant she clung to you whenever she could.

You turned around in her embrace. You tugged on the collar of your own hoodie as you pulled her in for a lazy kiss.

Ava's damp hair tickled your cheek. You felt the shape of her smile against your lips. Your heart was so full of her, you could hardly call it your own.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ava’s taglist is open, let me know if you’d like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

Your body crashed onto hers, Yelena was holding your head to her chest as she made sure you weren't letting go of her, landing on one of the quinjet's wings by some miracle. She never let go of your hand, not even when you rolled away from her a little as the jet got higher in the city. You got back to your senses real quick, grabbing her hand better, your distress long gone, replaced by adrenaline, as you did your best to make the both of you back inside the jet.

Your body hit hard on the cold, metal floor. You were panting, it was nearly impossible to catch your breath now, feeling suddenly cold and all your body screaming in pain. You flinched when you sat up, exhaling deeply at the pain in your shoulder. Yelena was still laying down on the floor, catching her breath as well – her lips were bleeding, along with her arm and you were sure her knee hit badly when you landed on the wing. Then, you heard heavy steps coming your way. You closed your eyes, already knowing what was coming.

John didn't take more than a minute to plant himself next to you and grabbed you by the collar, lifting as if you weighed nothing to him. You looked at him dead in the eyes, unbothered, reading on his face what was coming. His cheeks were red, his jaw locked in place as his breath was ragged. You hold yourself from closing your eyes again.

"Let me go," you whispered.

"Let you go ? When you put EVERYONE in danger ?!" He spat to your face, not caring about what you had to do.

You knew you fucked it up, you put your teammate in danger. You put Yelena in danger. They waited for your signal to leave, to be sure you were done before they could leave. But you didn't. Instead, you froze. And you were sorry.

"I didn't mean to," your voice got stuck in your throat again and this time, the sob you were holding down earlier hit harder.

You try to compose yourself, focus on your breath instead of John bad breath in your face – it all faded when Yelena pushed him away.

"Ok we get it, it sucked, it almost got us killed but we're all fine. So let's not make a big deal about it."

She pushed him away as she talked, calming everyone down with her gentle tone. Neither of you could get anywhere without her, really. Despite herself, she was the cool head of the team. She shushed him down before he could speak again with a warning finger and hold your arm again, gently, as she led you away from the mess going on, now ignoring the rest of the team. One step at a time.

Your vision blurred as you walked away, her hand fell around your wrist and you found yourself holding on to mere contact like your life line. That's the kind of day you find your job too hard. You just can't handle it alone.

"You good ?" Yelena asked softly when she finally stopped in her tracks.

You could still hear John arguing about your incompetence in the background, but it was nothing compared to the sorrow filling your heart. Your breath hitched when you met her eyes – all you could find was worry, her eyes lingering into yours as she tilted her head, searching for an answer. Then you broke.

You shook your head, once, before the tears ran down your face.

Yelena coo quietly, moving quickly to pull you in her arms, cradling the sweaty hair in your neck.

Your breath got stuck in your throat, your head hurts and you were discovering new bruises on your ribs but it wasn't the worst. Getting hurt was normal for you now, but as should killing be. The worst was how bad you felt for shooting that girl. It was like her lifeless body was printed on your eyelid, you couldn't get it out of your mind, you remembered every wound she had, the way her hair spread around her head like a crown, got soaked in blood after you shoot. It was too much, and you couldn't help but grip on Yelena's waist after your arms rolled around it, searching for something to ground yourself.

She was just a kid, but already so dangerous – it broke your heart. She didn’t have any choice either, that’s all she had ; and she wouldn't have any chance like you did, like anyone on your team did. It broke your heart like nothing before.

Yelena didn't think twice, didn't ask any question, simply let you cry on her shoulder, stroking your back softly until the jet landed at the tower. The second you landed, you disappeared into your room without a word, not even to her, and didn’t show up at dinner either. But she had a little idea where you could be.

Without a word to the others, she made her way to the rooftop with nothing but a jacket in her hand. She wasn’t surprised to find you sitting at the edge of the building, an open bottle of vodka sitting next to you. Leaning into your arms resting against the barrier, you were watching the lively city. She sat on the other side of the bottle, leaving some space in case you needed it, but she could get a glimpse of the lights in your eyes when she looked at your face. You seemed somewhere else, somewhere she wasn’t sure she could get to you and a chill ran through her body at the thought.

You heard the door, and you didn’t have to look away to know it was Yelena. Nobody ever came to see you there but her – you’re not even sure they know, in fact. Maybe Bob ? He knows way more than he says, but he never came anyway. Not that you ever really wanted to bother anyone when you feel like this, you learn to manage it all by yourself. Until Yelena started to tag along, sometimes. It felt lighter, always, even if neither of you talked.

Your eyes shifted to her, lingering along her body. She took a sip from the bottle before landing it where it was. She was looking at the sky, her weight resting on her arms as she sighs and closes her eyes. It felt nice, calm, with only the roaming sounds of the city below. You rest your head on your arms again, chewing on your lips as your vision blurred again.

“It's hard sometimes,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper as you hid your eyes in your arms. “This job. I didn't want to do it.”

You paused, she knew what you were talking about without you really mentioning it. Yelena didn't talk, but you heard her shift beside you – she was probably looking at you now, waiting for you to continue. Leaving you the space you needed.

“She was so young, Lena.” your voice broke into a small sob. “So young… she had so much time.”

You shook your head, trying to push the tears away. You try to look up, blink fast, so they will stop falling but some still manage to roll down your face. You brushed it away quickly and composed yourself quickly. You smiled her way, apologetically, doing your best to cover the sadness in your heart.

“Sorry, this has nothing to do with you,” you said fast, shaking your head again, never catching her eyes. But she was watching you all this time, scanning your face intensly. Like she didn't want to miss something.

“I'm sorry you had to come get me. I put you in danger and I regret it, I didn't mean to–”

“You always put your emotions away or keep it to yourself,” she noted out of nowhere, stopping your rambling. “Why ?”

You froze at her words. A small silence fell between you two. Her green eyes were staring at you, studying your reactions with a sharpness you wish you got used to – but you didn't. It still cuts deep into your soul, trying to get to know more of you through small pieces you left here and there, but it was never judging you. She was never trying to corner you, making you feel like it was a problem, no. All you could ever see in her eyes was worry, something warm or even something closer to yearning and it frightened you. People never looked at you that way, you never was enough for anyone to have this privilege.

“I mean, we all have hard times and, sometimes, talking about it with one another helps sort things out, you know” she started, moving her hands around like she was trying to make you guess something.

“But you,” She pointed at you. “You never talk. You always make yourself small like a mouse and run away, stay alone – you need to stop doing that.” she said disapprovingly, her accent thick as the words rolled on her tongue – now pointing her finger accusingly.

By now, she's frowning at you, disapproving every bit of your coping mechanism and, surprisingly, it made you laugh. Genuinely laugh, even you couldn't see it coming. You fell flat on your back, she was still frowning at you but she laid down next to you anyway, following you as your laughter calmed down. A fragile sigh left your lips, and you kept your eyes shut so she wouldn't stare at your soul again. You couldn't handle it at the moment.

“You're funny, Yelena.”

“Yeah I can tell, but do not use flattery to ignore my question.” she warned, you could feel her frown at you again.

The corners of your lips curl up slightly as you open your eyes again. They fell into hers instantly, and you let them linger a little in silence before you spoke again.

“I used to be with people who always told me I was asking for too much,” you confessed, not breaking eye contact this time. She'll learn about it eventually, she probably already guessed it anyway.

“I was never enough,” you said quietly, now looking away to the sky. “But also always too much for some reason. I was always selfish and childish, so I learned to not ask for too much. No comfort, no sweet words when I was crying… You must know what it is.”

Again, you tried to guide the discussion somewhere else. Away from you. But she wasn't ready to let you – you finally opening up was too precious for that. She rolled to her side, her hand finding yours, holding onto your fingers gently. You blinked her way quickly, not expecting that from her and yet, it was such a Yelena thing to do.

Her eyes were full of warmth as she stroked your knuckles gently. She nodded once, not tearing her eyes away from yours. “Yeah, I know.”

She stayed silent for a second. Open her mouth and shut it again without saying a word. Pondering if she should say it or not, hesitation shining in her eyes.

“But we are not alone anymore.” Her fingers hold your hand tighter. “I don't think you were asking for too much. You were just asking the wrong person.”

Her voice got quieter, like a secret she was scared to say. Like one she was only sharing with you, and your heart started beating faster. She shifted a little closer to you, holding your hand tighter.

“Ask again. This time, ask me.”

Your heart beats faster, and you could feel the tears building up for the third time today. You already cried in front of her, it wouldn't be so bad but a part or you still had a hard time accepting to be vulnerable around someone. Slowly, she brought your fingers to her lips and kissed them softly – showing you it was ok, she still means it. Your lips trembled.

“Lena, I regret doing it, so much,” you broke, closing your eyes as you let the tears run down your face again, but this time you didn't hide away.

You let the tears roll into your hair while she looked at you, accepting her help. Silently asking her to be there for you. Her other hand find your cheek, kindly stroking your tears away.

“I don't wanna be alone,” you plead, your voice cracking from all the emotions crashing into you at the moment.

Regret. Sadness. Comfort – something warm you never really experienced before. Her hand feels hot on your cold skin kissed by the wind, and you cling to it like a lifeline. To her even, maybe.

“Please don't leave me alone.”

Your voice was so soft, you were scared she wouldn't hear it. When you opened your eyes again, she never looked sadder – she hated seeing you like this.

“Never.”

In a swift move, she pulled you onto her, laying all your weight on her small body and her arms wrapped protectively around you one more time.

Just like earlier, you crashed out on her shoulder, crying like you're never cried before. But this time, knowing damn well she was there for you, that you could come to her – stay with her until your grief ended.

She kissed your temple, holding you closer. “I'm never leaving you.”

You have no idea how long you've stayed there, on the cold concrete. Well, her mostly. You were done crying, it didn't really last long since you exhausted yourself earlier, but it still helped. You felt better now, Yelena's arm resting around your waist grounded you into your new reality – where you're not alone anymore. She didn't move, slowly stroking your hair and waiting for your signal to go back inside.

You got up slightly, resting your weight on your arms as you stayed on top of her, looking straight into her eyes. She looked up to you, searching for any sign of discomfort on your face before her features relaxed. Her eyes almost seemed brown with the lack of light, and you missed how the light hit it just right during the day. You let yourself get lost in them, the whole world disappearing around you two. For a second, it's just you and her on that rooftop.

“What's on your pretty little mind ?” She asked as she stroked a stand of hair hiding your face from her.

“Why ?” Was all you could say, even after trying to think of a better answer.

She chucked and rolled her eyes playfully before they started into yours again. “Because I care about you, idiot. I don't want you to be alone.”

She waited a second, thinking whether she should go on or not. Her eyes fell to your lips for a second and, after a beat, she got up on her arms as well and kissed the corner of your lips. It was delicate, mindful, like she waited years to do so and yet so cautious like she was about to break something. Your breath hitched in your throat, positively this time.

“I want you to rely on me, because you're not too much. And I want to.”

You sat back on the floor, shaking your head as a warm feeling bloomed in your stomach. She sat up with you, staring at you softly like she tried to remember every detail of her favorite painting. A soft giggle left your lips and she swore her heart stopped stopping for a second. For once, it was because of her – and just for her. A smile curled up on her lips.

“Thank you, Lena.” It was genuine, she could feel your smile in your words and the warmth in your eyes told her everything she needed to know.

“Anytime.”

After a beat, she spoke again.

“But I'm cold, let's get back inside now.” She was frowning as she got up and held her hand out for you.

“I thought Russian don't get cold,” you joked, holding her hand, before making your way to the door. Not forgetting your bottle.

Her frown deepened. “Stop talking before I take everything I said back.”

She clicked her tongue your way but you only laughed, knowing damn well already that she would never stop caring about you. It was too late for her.