You’re Insecure.

“Baby,” You huff dramatically as Vada walks through the door to your bedroom, “I’m glad you’re here. We have to break up.” 

Vada halts. She blinks, her brown eyes widening as her entire face falls. Her hands fall limp by her sides. She’d arrived, not two minutes ago, while you were toiling in bed, thinking seriously. Clutching a twelve inch record in your hands and deciding some things just had to be done. 

“What?” She asks, sounding crestfallen, “But I got you flowers.”

She gestures to the stack of lilies she has in hand. She looks wounded, confused, hurt. Like a little puppy you’ve just kicked in the face. 

Immediately, you sit up, heart falling. 

“No, babe,” You retract, reaching out to her. She blinks back at you, eyes as wide as chocolate buttons, “I wasn’t being serious.  Not a real breakup. A fake breakup. A fake-up.” 

Now, she’s confused. Her eyebrows knit together as you watch as she tries to work it out. 

“A fakeup?” She repeats, blinking slowly, “Why?” 

You tilt your head back to reveal your latest purchase. A shiny, purple vinyl of Taylor Swift’s latest record. 

“Taylor Swift just released an album and I need to experience it in full.” You say, quite seriously. You are serious when it comes to Taylor Swift. You’d thought Vada would know this by now. 

Vada stares. 

Your lips purse into a coo as you pry the lilies from her hand. 

“You got me flowers?” You say, rubbing your hand over her cheek, “That’s so sweet.” 

She smiles, a little shy. 

“Yeah. The lilies you like.” She says, and then she frowns again, “But I’m confused. Why does Taylor Swift mean we have to fake break up?”

“Because I need to be sad, babe,” You explain as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I need to feel pain the way she felt pain when she wrote these songs.”

“Doesn’t she have a nice song?” Vada asks, a little dubious. 

“No,” You say immediately, “I mean, yes, but I’m saving those ones for when we get back together.” 

“But we’re not apart.” Says Vada, still confused. 

You can’t resist. You lean down and press a kiss to the pout on her lips. 

“We are as of now.” You tell her. You exhale, close your eyes and try to think of Vada breaking up with you. A sharp pain flashes through your chest. You imagine her looking mournful as she does it. Stuttering over her words. Looking almost embarrassed as she tells you she never wants to see you again. 

It works, for a split second.

And then you open your eyes. 

She’s staring back at you, looking sweet as ever. Tilts her head like a confused puppy. 

“Say something mean,” You prompt.

She frowns. 

“No,” She says, “I don’t want to.”

“Babe,” You groan, “I need you to make me sad.” 

“I don’t want to make you sad,” She says. She leans into you and wraps her arms around your waist, snuggling into your chest, “I want you to be happy all the time.” 

You groan. In all your grand-scheming plans, you’d forgotten you were dating a literal ray of sunshine. A golden retriever of a girlfriend who’d never gotten mad at you, or said nasty things about you, or even had a bad thought about you in her life. 

But you need this. 

“Please?” You ask, smoothing down her dark hair to look into her eyes, “For me?” 

Vada frowns. She’d do anything you ask, this you know. And it's hardly a big ask. All she’d have to do is tell you she never wants to see you again and you’d cry and listen to ‘Last Kiss’ and pretend as if your entire world is crumbling. 

And then have vigorous make-up sex to ‘Sparks Fly’. A win-win, truly. A rollercoaster of emotions.  

You squeeze her shoulders in encouragement. 

“Okay,” Vada says, sounding resigned. Her eyebrows knit like she’s thinking hard, “I… don’t like your shoes.” 

At this, you snort. 

“You don’t like my shoes?” You ask, “That’s the meanest thing you could think of?” 

She looks up at you, pout still on her lips. 

“Yeah,” She says. She curls back into your chest, “Because you’re perfect and there’s nothing mean to say about you.”

She pauses. 

“And I actually do like your shoes,” She mumbles into your chest, “I’d steal them if we were the same size.” 

You sigh, wrapping your arm around her shoulders and lean down to kiss her head. 

“How am I supposed to listen to the album when you’re being so sweet?” You grumble. 

“We could listen to the nice songs together?” Vada pitches with a happy smile. And then her lips curl into a coy smile, “And then we could listen to the naughty songs and make out.” 

“There’s no naughty songs, babe, it’s Taylor Swift.” You say with a laugh. 

“Oh,” She looks a little disappointed, “Well, maybe we could make out to the sad songs and pretend like we just got back together?” 

You hum. 

Making out with Vada does sound a lot better than fake breaking up with her. She emphasizes her point with a kiss to your chest. 

“Fine.” You relent, leaning down to press your lips to hers. 

She sighs, happily, curling her hand against the back of your neck to pull you closer. 

“I hope you can rest easy knowing I’ll never experience the blood-curling pain Taylor Swift felt writing ‘Dear John’.” You grumble against her lips. 

“Call me back right now,” Tara hisses into the phone. 

She paces back and forth, the living room a mess. Cushions strewn across the floor, coffee table toppled over in a fit of panic and rage and more panic. 

“I mean it, YN, this isn’t funny. I have no idea where you are, you could be lying dead in a ditch for all I know. Call me back or I’ll-” 

She stops. Tries to think of an appropriate reaction for a slight of this sort. 

“I’ll call your Dad.” She nods, in agreement with herself, “I’ll call your Dad and tell him you’re missing and you know what happens when I get him involved.” 

She hangs up. 

She takes a deep breath. Her mind wanders to the worst - another Ghostface, some psychopath determined to take vengeance for some minor crimes Tara had committed when she wasn’t of right mind.

Then - her mind wanders to something much, much worse - maybe, you’re out with another woman. 

The thought almost flattens her. 

She breathes deep, rage and anger and jealousy brews like a tornado in her chest. She reaches for one of her Mom’s dumb decorative ornaments - a crystal duck - and tosses it as hard as she can to the floor. 

It shatters, leaving a mess of glass in its wake. 

Tara reaches for her phone again, determined to call once more. Her fingers quiver over your name. Remorse floods deep through her. 

You’re missing. You’re missing and she’s yelling at you. 

Tara swallows. She presses the phone to her ear once more and closes her eyes the moment she hears the beep of your dial tone. 

“Hi babygirl, it’s me again,” She says, voice softer, “I’m sorry for yelling, I’m just worried. Please call me back, sweetheart, I’m going out of my mind-” 

Tara freezes at the sound of a car on the driveway. 

She hears the sound of a laugh - Sam’s laugh and then yours. 

Her stomach flips. 

She races to the front door, trying to clean up the mess of her ire in her wake.

When you open the door, Tara is standing right in front of it. Her face is a little flushed, her eyes a little wild.  

“Hey baby.” You say, with a bright smile. You’re holding shopping bags in your hand. 

“Hey,” She says, voice a little high, “Where were you?”

“Girls day!” Sam says, jutting past the two of you, shopping bags in hand. 

Tara frowns. 

“I’m a girl, aren’t I?” She says, sounding a little aggrieved, “Why wasn’t I invited?” 

“Future sister-in-law day,” You say with a smile, pecking her cheek, “Sorry, babe, no future fiancés allowed.” 

Tara relaxes a little. She can’t help the smile that edges over her lips. 

“I got you something,” You tell her, bumping her hip with yours. You lower your voice so Sam can’t hear, “I’d give it to you now but I want you to wear it for me later.” 

Tara’s ears perk up. She peers into the bag you’re holding. 

And then Sam moves into the living room. 

“What happened in here?” Sam asks, looking crestfallen. 

Tara swallows as four sets of eyes find hers. 

“Um, nothing,” Tara says, voice hasty, “There was a racoon or something.” 

Sam’s eyes widen in horror. 

“Don’t worry, I got rid of it,” Tara says. 

Sam drops her bags and hurries off to no doubt clean up the mess the raccoon had caused.

“Do you mind if I borrow your phone?” Tara says, but it’s not a question. She reaches into your back pocket and tugs it out, “Thanks babe, I need to call Chad.”

“Something wrong with yours?” You question, voice wry as she fumbles your PIN into your phone. 

“Yeah,” Says Tara, eyebrows knit as she moves to clear your voicemail, “The raccoon- stole it.” 

“A raccoon stole your phone?” You question, eyebrows raised. 

Tara blinks up at you. 

“Peed on it,” She says, “Sorry. The raccoon peed on my phone.” 

She’s a terrible liar. But it’s fun to watch her try. You press your hand to her lower back and lean in to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You left a bunch of semi-threatening voicemails on my phone, didn’t you?” You question. 

Tara has the decency to look sheepish. 

“No.” She says, somewhat unconvincingly. 

You smile. Circle her back and press a kiss to her lips. 

“Sorry, baby,” You say, “I should have called.” 

“Mom’s duck!” Sam exclaims from the other room. 

Tara wedges her head into your neck. Her hands circle your waist, gripping tight. You press a tender kiss to the side of her head as Sam reenters. 

“I’m calling the exterminator,” Sam says, sounding stressed, “If a raccoon can cause all this damage while someone’s in the house, god knows what it can do if we’re all out.” 

She retreats back into the living room, hands in her hair. 

You sigh. Press a kiss to Tara’s lips and decide to save your girlfriend’s dignity. 

The school bell rings, loud and shrill, and everyone scatters towards the doors. Everyone but Y/N. She's partly frozen on the spot, not really sure where to go and her heart sinks when she looses sight of Chad and Amber.

She's nothing but nerves and the threat of tears, but she won't show it. Her jaw is tight, her back much too stiff for the likes a six year old, and her gaze is steady at nothing in particular. That is, until she feels a presence sidle up to her.

"Are you lost?" a gentle voice says and Y/N turns to follow it.

Y/N is small, but the girl she finds standing next to her is even smaller. She's all dark brown hair, bright brown eyes, and a denim skirt covered with what looks like iron on flower patches. Y/N might recognize her from a different kindergarten class, but doesn't know her name.

Y/N shakes her head turning her gaze away, but the girl next to her doesn't move.

"You look lost," the girl tries again.

"I'm not lost," Y/N says softly but firmly. There's a hint of a waver in her voice. She is lost though, completely. She's never been on this side of the school before and when her mom had told her there'd be a lot of bigger kids, she was not expecting this, not expecting to feel like she might get trampled or swallowed at any given second.

The girl takes a step in front of Y/N, but Y/N looks past her. "Okay," the girl says shrugging. She waits a moment before turning on her heels but only makes it about three steps.

"No, wait," Y/N calls out, closing the distance. She looks at the girl sheepishly. "I'm...lost," she says, quieter this time.

The girl smiles, eyes lighting up like she has been waiting to help Y/N. "Who is your teacher?" she asks.

"Um, Ms. Garcia, I think."

"Hey! Mine too!" The girl squeals, practically jumping on the spot. "Come on," she says, grabbing Y/N by the hand and leading her towards the doors.

Y/N follows, but pulls her hand out of the girl's. The girl stops, turns around, and half pouts.

"I don't bite," she says, re-extending her hand. Y/N eyes it apprehensively and eventually takes it when she hears the rush of kids coming from behind her.

"I'm Tara, by the way," the girl finally says when they're inside in the school. "You're Y/N right?"

"How did you know?" Y/N says, following Tara closely, eyes sizing up her surroundings.

"You know Chad and Amber. They're my friends too."

"Oh," Y/N nods. "Yeah, I'm Y/N." She smiles for the first time all morning.

They're in a maze of hallways, loud noises, and big people and it's actually Tara who tries to let go of Y/N's hand first, but Y/N clings tightly. Her heart isn't beating as quickly as it was a few minutes ago, and she doesn't feel like slipping through the fence in the schoolyard and running home to her mom and dog anymore.

If Tara minds Y/N's sweaty palm in hers, she doesn't do or say anything about it. In fact, it actually makes Tara squeeze harder. It's not until they're safely inside the classroom that they both reluctantly let go. They stay close though, never drifting more than a few feet apart.

Y/N doesn't understand it now, but years and years later, she'll pinpoint this moment as the very first time she fell for Tara Carpenter.

ii.

Y/N finds Tara outside on the trampoline; knees hugged tightly to her chest as she sits and watches the breeze ruffle the treetops in the backyard. The sun is low now, the sky a deep, smoky orange colour.

Somewhere in the Carpenter household, the adults are all cleaning up the aftermath of Tara's 12th birthday party. It had started wonderfully, all her friends present; now Tara is feeling foolish for letting it end with herself in tears.

"Hey," Y/N says gently as she climbs through the side netting of the trampoline, crawling next to Tara. Tara sniffles, wiping the tears from her eyes looking away.

"Hey," Y/N repeats, even more gently this time while draping an arm around her best friend's shoulder. "Wes is the dumbest person I've ever met. Don't let him ruin your birthday."

Tara is silent, willing the tears to stop. She knows that Y/N is right, knows that Wes loves to cause trouble and is all around a grade A jerk. Still, he's in her friend circle and she hates how he has always known how to get under her skin. Always saying the wrong things at the wrong times.

"But did you hear what he said, Y/N/N?" Tara finally manages through a sob, hurt laced into her words. "He said I'd never be as pretty as Liv and that should I just stop trying."

Y/N shakes her head, feeling the anger starting to bubble in her blood. She has never liked Wes Hicks, not from the first day they met in the third grade. Everything about him is stupid as she always likes tells Tara, especially his hair. Y/N had once tried to gift him with a comb at school, but it ended up back in her cubby with a note that read, "you could use it more." It has been war ever since.

"I can beat him up for you if you want," Y/N offers with a sudden sparkle in her eye and lilt to her voice.

Tara leans her head into Y/N's, trying to hide a smirk. She doesn't doubt Y/N in the slightest; Y/N would do anything for her, always loyal to her word.

"I just don't want to be his friend anymore," Tara says, heaving a sad, shaky sigh.

"So don't," Y/N says, holding out her free hand across her lap into Tara's. Tara takes it and holds onto it like she always does. "Wes isn't worth it," Y/N reassures, trying to mend her best friend's broken heart.

"He's a stupid boy with a stupid name and an even stupider haircut." She pauses, mulling over her words. "Liv is pretty, Tara, but you're prettier. The prettiest girl in school."

Tara scoffs almost immediately. Her tears are gone. "No I'm not. You must be crazy."

Y/N pulls her head away from Tara's in search of her gaze. When she finds it, she smiles shyly. "You are to me," she says.

There's a beat of silence and then Tara is back to usual grinning self. She wraps her hands around Y/N's neck and pulls her close, planting a firm, but wet kiss onto her cheek.

"Thanks, Y/N," she says, pulling away and tucking her head into the crook of Y/N's shoulder. "I love you."

Y/N lets the words fill and expand in her chest, and the warmth spread throughout her body. There's a slow burning sensation deep in her stomach and she's not all too sure what it means. What she does know is that she wouldn't mind staying like this for a little bit longer, nestled in as close to Tara as possible. She also knows she doesn't ever want to see Tara like this again: sad because of a boy; sad because of anything. All she ever wants to do is make Tara feel as safe as Tara made her feel on the first day they met.

"Love you too, Tara," Y/N breathes, ruffling brown flyaway hairs that tickle at her nose.

iii.

It's their senior year in high school and they're in Charleston, South Carolina for spring break. They forgo the big party cities despite Liv's pleas for them to join her, Chad, Wes, Amber, and Mindy, in Miami. Hearing Wes's name is more than enough for Y/N to immediately shun the idea, and Tara doesn't want to be anywhere that Y/N isn't.

Wes and Chad try to tag along, but Tara insists this is a girl's trip. Best friends only.

On their second day there, they meander through sunny colourful streets in tank tops and flip flops; large sunglasses and floppy hats. Often they're hand in hand with silly grins plastered on their faces. It's nice to spend time alone together like this and if Y/N is being honest, it always becomes harder and harder for her to spend any time away from Tara.

After what seems like hours of walking, hunger catches up with them and they stumble into a small and quite café nestled between an antique store and bookstore, which backs onto the water. Y/N leads them out onto the patio to a table as far away as possible from anyone. There isn't much shade out here, the sun relentless on their skin, which will later turn pink and sore. A waitress promptly brings them water and menus.

"I'm really glad we came here," Tara smiles. She means Charleston of course, not the café. Y/N flashes a smile back, reaching for her water.

"Me too," she says, and then crinkles her nose. "I'll bet Chad and Mindy are throwing up in a hotel bathroom somewhere."

"Gross," Tara laughs, pulling off her hat and hanging it onto the side of her chair. She leans back and unabashedly regards Y/N for a moment. Y/N's eyes twinkle brightly like emeralds in the sunlight, and her lips are full and probably taste like the chapstick they've been sharing.

"What?" Y/N wrinkles her brow, feeling her cheeks slowly tickle pink. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Tara says, opening up the menu trying to dismiss the conversation.

"Tara," she presses again and Tara closes the menu.

"Do you remember after my 12th birthday—"

"You mean the night my hatred for Wes came to life?"

Tara purses her lips into a straight line, trying to suppress a grin. "Yes, that night. You said you thought I was prettiest girl in school. Did you really mean that or was that just something a best friend is supposed to tell their best friend?"

Y/N swallows hard and she's certain of the blush that's creeping up her neck. She's also aware that Tara is aware.

"Of course I meant it. Why—"

"We're in high school now. What about now?"

Y/N blinks and her gaze is calculated. She doesn't understand where this is coming from and takes a moment to measure Tara's words before answering.

"The statement still stands, Tara. It always has and it always will."

There's a rigidness in Tara's shoulder that dissipates when she hears the words. As if for some reason she needed to be reassured of this, as if Y/N doesn't already look at her with a look that's only reserved for her.

As if they don't look at each other like they are the damn universe.

Y/N makes no mention of her observation at first, letting Tara's gaze flicker back to the menu. She does however make quick of the moment, letting her own eyes settle onto Tara. Tara is beautiful all the time, but right now, hair sloppily thrown into a bun and sunglasses resting atop her head, face bright and carefree, she looks a different kind of stunning and it leaves Y/N breathless.

The light catches the tiny scar under Tara's eye, the one she had gotten when they had both fallen out of a tree when they were about nine years old. No stitches required, but Y/N remembers the moment well—Tara nearly passing out from the sight on her own blood.

Y/N reaches her arm across the table and softly touches the side of Tara's face. It takes her by surprise at first, but then Tara is closing her eyes leaning into the warmth of her palm and Y/N is running her thumb across the scar.

"That wouldn't be there if you hadn't kicked me," Tara teases quietly.

"I didn't kick you, my foot slipped and you just happened to be in the way. It's not my fault you have the slowest reflexes ever."

Tara narrows her eyes, but her smirk makes it less than menacing. Before Y/N can retreat her hand, Tara reaches up to keep it in place. She places a quick and tender kiss in the centre of her palm and then lets Y/N have her hand back.

"I never told you," Tara starts, "but I always thought you were the prettiest girl in school."

Y/N is beet red for sure now. She can feel the sting high in her cheeks all the way up to her ears. There's a familiar buzz circuiting through her entire existence and an even more familiar rolling tug in the pit of her stomach. The only difference between now and the first time, is that now she can place an emotion to it, can identify it for what it is.

She's falling for her best friend and it's eating her up.

iv.

They are both a little drunk when it happens.

Too many miles have separated them for too many weeks and Y/N never fully understands the phrase "absence makes the heart grow fonder" until they both go to different colleges.

Now they're practically cuddling in Tara's dorm room at Blackmore University and laughing and catching up while they share a bottle of luke warm white wine. ("I'm on a starving student budget," Tara says, "we're drinking straight outta the bottle.")

They've always been overly affectionate growing up—their friends not so subtly taking bets on when they'd finally get together—but tonight, whatever line that does separate their friendship from anything beyond that starts to become a little blurry.

It starts when Tara falls to her bed and pulls Y/N onto her lap. It's innocent enough, nothing out of the ordinary, much like old times when they'd watch TV or movies together at each other's houses. Tonight, however, Y/N's sits perpendicular on Tara, her legs dangling off of her to the side. Her arms are wrapped tightly around Tara's shoulders for support while Tara's arms are securely around Y/N's waist. Tara rests her head into Y/N's chest and Y/N prays that she doesn't hear the way her heartbeat quickens.

"I missed you a lot, Y/N," Tara mumbles into the well worn material of Y/N's shirt.

"I missed you more," Y/N says, placing a soft kiss into Tara's temple. She likes to humour herself in thinking that there's a permanent dent there from all the times her lips have made their mark. "This is so much better than FaceTiming and texting."

"Tell me about it." Tara shifts, positioning Y/N more comfortably on top of her. Her hand slips though, and winds up flush against the warm skin just above Y/N's hip. The goosebumps read like braille.

"I'm squishing you," Y/N fidgets, quick to remove the attention from herself, and it's comical because even if she's some five inches taller than Tara, she's always been just a hair thinner and lighter. "I'll move," she offers.

Tara's grip only tightens. "No, stay," she rushes, then more slowly: "I mean, it's fine, I'm totally comfortable."

Y/N gets up anyways, her fingertips trailing the width between Tara's shoulder blades as she does. She doesn't actually want to get up, but she knows that the longer she's like this with Tara—so intimate—the more she'll start to lose her resolve and the last thing she wants to do is something stupid.

You know, like, kiss Tara.

Instead, she retrieves the half bottle of wine from the desk and hands it to Tara; another stupid idea in it's own right.

"Drink up, buttercup," Y/N urges, a coy smile playing at her lips. Tara's eyes don't leave Y/N's until her mouth is pressed to the bottle and her head is tilting back. And Y/N's eyes are definitely not the painting the length of her neck.

After a long swig, Tara hands the bottle back.

"You know the rules. Wine must have wine."

They never actually finish the bottle. They don't need to. They're both teetering the line between tipsy and drunk (Tara more so on the drunk side than Y/N) and for whatever reason unbeknownst to either of them, especially Y/N, they want to keep their wits about them.

Maybe it's because they both know that for the past year or so, something has changed. Like a switch has been flipped.

Sure, they've been best friends for as long as they can remember, but there's always been an undercurrent of something deeper than friendship that runs between them. Something they've both been too scared to explore. (Maybe it's for the best.)

Now it feels like an opportunity is presenting itself. For Y/N, it's an opportunity that could make or break them.

The next time they check the time, it's well after two in the morning. The alcohol is slow to leave their system; their senses dulled, their guards are down. Not that they ever really have one up around each other anyways.

Tara is already in bed (not) watching Y/N change into one of her oversized t-shirts. Y/N is overtly aware, though, her ears burning. Tara has never been one for subtleties and is caught in the act when Y/N unbuttons her jeans and slides them off.

"You looking for a show, Carpenter?" Y/N winks.

Tara has always been good at the recovery though.

"Maybe. Why? You wanna give me one?"

Y/N rolls her eyes and simply toes off her sock and kicks it at Tara's face, who swats it away. "Shut up," she laughs and climbs into the bed next to her.

It's small, the bed, and they are suddenly both overcome with nostalgia.

"Remember when my dad bought me that bunk bed so we could have sleepovers?" Tara sighs fondly, rolling onto her side. She slings an arm and a leg across Y/N and nestles so closely that her breath tickles at Y/N's neck.

"Mhm," Y/N hums, heart singing at the memory.

"And remember all the times we'd end up in each other's bunks?"

"Doesn't feel any different right now."

"You're right."

There's a silence filling room, a growing sort of static electricity. Y/N reaches out to turn off the light and then makes herself comfortable, relishing in Tara's body heat. She smells good too, like the same shampoo she's used since she was a teenager.

Maybe it's the alcohol, but Tara can't seem to keep her hands still. They're tracing up and down the side of Y/N's ribcage and as a result, Y/N's shirt has bunched up, her underwear partly exposed beneath the covers.

"Sorry," Tara whispers, her hand coming to a halt. She doesn't move it though, instead, it lays splayed on Y/N's hipbone, feeling the thin layer at her fingertips.

Y/N doesn't say anything. She blinks into the darkness not really sure of what to even say. She's been in the position a million times with Tara, but never like this. It's new and exciting and yet she knows she should probably turn the other way and go to sleep. But her heart is beating a little faster, her body temperature is rising, and she wonders if it's possible that Tara can hear the blood whizzing through her veins. She shifts, and instead allows herself to bear more of Tara's weight.

"Night, Y/N/N," Tara manages. And maybe it's because it's too dark and her head is in sorts, but she's quick to realize that the goodnight kiss she means to place on Y/N's cheek actually ends up on her neck.

It's so unexpected that Y/N can't help the small gasp of air that escapes her and then she's covered in goosebumps again.

Tara stills once more, her mind working overtime, but Y/N's lack of resistance cloaks her in a blanket of braveness so she kisses her again.

This time longer; this time more purposely.

Y/N lets out something more akin to a moan this time, her breathing suddenly more shallow and rapid. "Tara..." she tries, but before she can get much else out, Tara has shifted and is hovering above her; nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

"Y/N," Tara breathes so quietly, eyes closed, onto Y/N's lips that Y/N can taste it more so than she can hear it. It sends a rocket of a shiver down her spine and then her hands are gripping Tara's waist, hungry, holding her in place. "Y/N," Tara breathes again, rocking forward slightly. This time their lips actually brush. "Tell me I shouldn't do this."

Y/N screams it loudly in her head, but can't fathom it into words or actions. This isn't how she wanted this to happen; not while they're drunk and desperately missing each other, but alas she just can't find the willpower to stop it and thus her silence is answer enough to prompt Tara close what little space is between them.

Y/N's lips are much softer than they look and they taste sweet like the wine; and Tara does this thing with her tongue that if Y/N were standing, her knees might have given out. Nothing is frantic though. In fact, it's all very slow and tender because this isn't a random make out session with a stranger. It's two best friends kissing each other for the first time, one of which may have loved the other for the better part of a decade.

It's Y/N asking Tara if she's okay even though it's Tara who initiates the kiss.

It's Tara meticulously peppering Y/N's face with kisses, light like raindrops.

It's Y/N's hands nervously creeping their way underneath Tara's shirt, mapping the bumps and ridges as she goes.

Mostly it's Y/N being cautious, fully aware of the ramifications that tomorrow may bring.

But for now, Y/N will put up a mental block. It's years and years of pent up heart aching desire and love that Y/N is going to drown herself in because right now she can't separate her head from her heart.

v.

They don't see each other until the Thanksgiving break. When they do, it only happens once.

It is far too quick and unfulfilling. Y/N drops by the Carpenter residence the night before Thanksgiving Day to have dinner. Tara's parents and Sam welcome her with open arms as they have been since Y/N was six years old and this is the only place Y/N feels more at home than in her actual home.

They laugh and reminisce over spaghetti and meatballs like nothing has ever changed, but Y/N can feel it, can feel the distance that has wedged itself between her and Tara, though Tara's parents are seemingly oblivious, as well as Sam.

She doesn't regret sleeping with Tara, she regrets the way it happened: alcohol induced after desperately missing each other for too long. Y/N knew that Tara would not see it for what it was the next morning, solely blaming it on the alcohol and poor choices. Y/N also knows that if Tara could look past the alcohol, she could see that maybe, just maybe what happened had been a long time coming—inevitable.

Instead, now they walk on eggshells and Y/N is starting to lose the person she loves the most.

—

By the time Christmas rolls around, they talk so infrequently—sparse texts, not a single phone call—that Y/N begins to wonder if they are even still friends. It's not for lack of trying on Y/N's end, Tara just doesn't seem ready to face the reality.

It's tragic and earth shattering, the thought of losing Tara completely, and Y/N would rather die than entertain the idea.

It's after midnight and the ground is powdery and white when Y/N peers out of her bedroom window. Everything behind her is dark, lit only by the moonlight that reflects off the white glow of snow. She stares outside for so long, completely mesmerized by the giant snowflakes that drift from the sky that it's not until her phone buzzing on her side table startles her back into reality.

Her heart practically stops when she sees Tara's face light up on the screen and she has to will herself to pick it up.

"Tara?" Y/N answers in a hushed tone almost too urgently. She can really only hear her pulse thumping in her head.

"Hey you," Tara says softly, her voice raw and Y/N can't tell if she's half asleep or has just been crying.

"What's wrong? Is everything okay?" It's the first time they've spoken in way too long that Y/N doesn't know how to react other than alarmed and worried.

"I—I miss the sound of your voice," Tara says earnestly and Y/N's heart grows heavy in her chest. It aches all the way to her toes and she wonders how a voice could break her so easily.

"I'm right here," Y/N assures, sitting on the edge of her bed. She buries her head into her free hand and rubs at her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Tara squeaks, her voice wavering. There are rocks settling in Y/N's stomach.

"For what?"

There's silence and Y/N thinks the call is dropped.

"For how we got to this point. I'm—"

"Tara," Y/N interrupts. She not sure she wants to hear whatever else Tara has to say. "Don't. Please."

There's silence again and the sound of sniffling in the background of the phone breaks Y/N heart all over again.

"Can you meet me outside your house in fifteen minutes?" Tara finally says.

"But it's snowi—yes. I'll be there."

—

Y/N is sitting on her porch bundled in her jacket, hat, and scarf when Tara finally appears at the edge of the driveway, dressed in similar fashion. She springs to her feet trudges through the snow to meet her halfway, but before any words can be exchanged, both girls are hugging each other tightly unwilling to let go. Y/N lets a tear roll down her cheek but quickly wipes it away before Tara notices.

When they pull apart, Tara's eyes are red and raw. She has definitely been crying and all Y/N wants is to go back to simpler times, to when they were ten years old and hiding from the boys in the cardboard fort they had built in Mindy and Chad's backyard, water guns as their only defense.

"Whatever is going on, you can tell me," Y/N comforts, even if she feels like she has nothing much to give. "You can tell me anything, okay? I love you."

The words almost feel like poison on her tongue because Tara will never know just how deeply she means them. Of course they love each other, but Y/N loves Tara. Unforgivingly so.

They end up walking aimlessly in silence for a few blocks, all the while Tara's gloved hand is intertwined tightly with Y/N's bare hand. It might feel like everything is back to normal again if they can stay like this long enough. When they eventually wind up at Tara's house, Tara doesn't lead them inside. Instead, she takes them through the side gate into the backyard and onto the trampoline.

Y/N's heart swells at the sight. It was never just a trampoline; it was their safe space growing up. Rarely was it ever used for bouncing and both girls have lost count of the number of times they've fallen asleep on the canvas under the stars after hours and hours of endless talking, zipped into the security of the surrounding safety netting, only to have woken up the next morning covered in blankets from the living room.

Tara unzips the flap and ushers Y/N in first. She brushes away a small area of snow so they can sit then reaches out to help Tara in, who then re-zips the flap shut behind her. There's history within these walls—secrets, tears, laughter, anger—that not even a textbook could rewrite.

They settle in side by side, keeping each other warm. When Tara finds Y/N's gaze, any unfamiliar outsider might mistake it for disinterest, but only Tara knows she's been hurt and there's nothing more devastating than knowing that ultimately, it's because of her. Her stubbornness, her fear.

"How did this happen?" Tara seemingly blurts out, like she's been holding in too many words for too long. Her body language is unnatural. "How did we get here?"

It's rhetoric more than anything else.

Y/N lets out a light and airy laugh that puffs white and wispy through her parted lips. Two months ago she would have never predicted being in this situation.

"I can think of at least one reason."

Tara turns her head, slight disapproval at first; then Y/N meets her gaze and lifts a knowing eyebrow. They both laugh together for the first time in what feels like forever. It's not a huge weight lifted, but it's something, a start. (Or an end. Y/N violently bemoans the idea in her head.) At this point, the least of Y/N's worries is that her love for Tara goes unrequited. She just wants her best friend back.

"So do you regret it?" Y/N asks. The air is heavy again, thick with unanswered questions. Tara confidently shakes her head.

"No. Not at all. I regret what happened after. How I acted, how I pushed you away. I was just so scared."

"I wish you would have talked to me," Y/N sighs. She angles herself so she can look at Tara more directly. It's been so long since she has really looked at her best friend that the pang of affection that follows is overwhelming. "You never have to be scared when it comes to me, okay? Tara, I lo—"

Y/N stops herself. She knows that in this context, I love you is just a simple gesture of their friendship, even if it's being held together by threads right now. The thing is, she can no longer say it without meaning it on a whole other level, a level that Tara can't reciprocate.

She's willing herself to say something when Tara cuts her off.

"That's just it," she tells her, "you love me, and I love—" Tara pauses, searching for eloquence in her words. She shifts, propping herself up onto her knees so she can regard more steadily at Y/N.

"Remember when we were in Charleston for spring break?" she tries again.

Y/N's face contorts in confusion, but she's listening and nods.

"And I asked you that stupid question if you still thought I was the prettiest girl in school and you said yes and then I said you were also the prettiest girl in school?"

Y/N nods again, swallowing. Of course she remembers. She remembers everything.

"I asked you because I had all these confused feelings about you, for you. I knew I was attracted to you, but I didn't know how far that attraction went. I had so many questions for you, I wanted to tell you so many things. Eventually I just repressed all of it."

Y/N blinks, letting the weight of the words register. It's a revelation, really, and Y/N is struggling to find the right words to fill the silence. If only she had known; if only she had the courage to speak up. Maybe this wouldn't be happening, maybe this, maybe that. She can't fault either of them for this being the current situation; no one is to bear the burden of simply feeling.

She can, however, find a way through it.

"What about now?" Y/N asks, pulling Tara back into a sitting position. She leaves her hand wrapped around Tara's wrist, letting her know it's okay, that she's safe not only within the walls of the trampoline, but within her.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you still have questions? Do you still have things you want to tell me?"

Y/N can see the gears turning in Tara's head. She knows there's so much in there that wants to come out so she waits patiently until Tara is ready.

Then finally:

"Y/N, you are my best friend and I literally can't remember anything before that. You're the only person I've ever felt completely safe and like myself around. You are my better half, and you are everything to me." Tara pauses, catching her breath. She takes a second to study Y/N, to see if she should stop, but Y/N is wide eyed and all ears. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that is it so unheard of to fall in love with your best friend? Is it so unheard of that two people who have shared their entire lives together would have this, sort of, visceral connection?”

By now, Y/N's heart is beating somewhere in her throat. There's a welcomed hum buzzing under the skin, but still, she is cautious. It is not often she is guarded around Tara, but she is not looking to have her heart crushed anymore than it has been.

"For how long, Tara?" Y/N asks hesitantly.

Tara shrugs. "I loved you in the first grade when you were lost in the schoolyard and refused my help."

Y/N laughs. "Shut up." She swats at Tara's arm and Tara flashes a genuine smile for the first time all night.

"I loved you when you pushed Chad down a slide for kissing me on the playground. I loved you all those times you offered to beat Wes up for me. I loved you when I went on my first date with Chad and you went on yours with Amber. I even loved you when you kicked me out of a tree."

There's a break in the sky and the snow stops falling. The moon shines through brightly, haloing Tara in silver light. Her eyes are wet and she looks more scared than she ever has.

"I told you," Y/N hushes, heart slowly filling with warmth. "I didn't kick you. You got in the way of my foot."

"That's hearsay."

"Whatever," Y/N rolls her eyes, but it's only laced with affection. She pulls Tara closer by the front of her coat so she can wipe the tears that have fallen. Her hand is cold against her face and Tara shivers.

"Sorry," Y/N whispers, placing a feather light kiss on her cheek. Tara closes her eyes and leans forward into it.

"No," she says pulling away, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I shut you out. I'm sorry I ran away from what I was scared of. I'm sorry I hurt you."

Y/N's guard is low though there is still much to be processed and talked about. But for now, she will take this moment for whatever it may be, letting herself ruminate in the gravity of it all.

"Come on," Tara says, a hitch in her breath, "say something. I know I don't deserve much an explanation, but I need to know I'm not gonna have frostbite in the morning for nothing."

"I mean, what is there to say?" Y/N says, bearing everything she has into Tara's soul with her eyes.

"I've loved you before I even knew what love was. It's as simple as that."

"And now?

"The statement still stands, Tara. It always has and it always will."

The words are familiar and they etch themselves into the walls of the snow-covered canvas, into both of their hearts. This is where the free fall begins to slow. The parachute deploys as Tara leans in close, pulling the scarf away from Y/N's face.

She whispers, "I love you," low and slow onto Y/N's lips before she kisses her soundly, no holds barred, no more questions in the air. If Y/N is teeth chattering cold, she isn't anymore. She let's herself melt into Tara, pulling her onto her lap. They kiss until their ears and toes are numb and there's nowhere left to go but inside to get warm.

And this is where Y/N's feet finally touch the ground.

The free fall is over.

On your first day, you saw her sitting alone at lunch. The cafeteria was overwhelmingly busy, seats at every other table were being fought over. You tried to keep your chin up as you walked the length of Natasha’s empty table, sliding onto the stool across from her. 

Natasha’s head snapped up from her book at your arrival. It was a beaten up paperback, spine folded back on itself. 

‘Any good?’ You asked cheerfully, if a little desperately. Just one friend. That’s all you needed. The other children made wide berths around you in the corridors, as if you were more alien than stranger. 

Natasha seemed frustrated by your inquiry. She closed her book quickly and stuffed it back in her bag.  She stared down at her half eaten peanut butter sandwich, purposefully avoiding your nervous smile.

You didn’t know what you’d done wrong.

‘Sorry.’ You muttered, heat flaming your cheeks.

You started to bounce your leg anxiously under the table. You picked at your own sandwich. You weren’t hungry, but you didn’t want to look even weirder than you already were. 

A lump caught in your throat as you looked across the rest of the cafeteria. You felt jealous of the easy banter between the other large groups of students. You wished that it could be you. That you could fit in, just this once. 

‘Sometimes, they steal my books.’ Natasha said unexpectedly. Her voice was carefully even. She tightened her loose grip on the strap of her backpack.

You glanced back out at the sea of students. Their playful banter had a mocking edge to it that you hadn’t noticed before.

‘That sucks.’ You answered fiercely. 

Natasha rolled her eyes casually, taking another bite of her sandwich and retrieving her book again. You took a deep breath, settled by her nonchalance.

You felt hungrier and refocused on your lunch. As you ate, you zeroed in on a group of girls across the room. They were laughing as they ripped pages slowly from another beaten up book. Your mouth opened in shock.

‘They’re the worst.’ Natasha spoke up again, casually following your gaze. Her tone was dismissive. 

You didn’t speak. You stared at your fingers as they twisted together atop the plastic table. Anxiety rolled through you.

None of these kids seemed to like you. You weren't even sure that you wanted them to. The next few years of education stretched before you ominously. 

---

Suddenly, you felt a plastic wrapper graze along your forearm. You startled and looked up. Natasha pushed the chocolate bar across to you with her fingertips.

‘My mom always packs two.’ She informed you with a shy shrug. 

One of the kids at this school liked you.

You smiled again.

‘I like your blue hair.’ You blurted as you took the chocolate bar. 

Natasha’s cheeks tinged pink. You caught the way she lifted her chin up when she next met your eyes. 

‘Thanks.’ She mumbled, awkwardly offering out her hand to shake. ‘My name’s Natasha.’ 

—

Natasha was your first friend. For a long time, she was your only one. 

Then, one day she was no one at all. 

—--------------

You didn’t see her again until 2012. 

When your best friend had gone missing, the stories that swarmed the neighbourhood were unbelievable.

There had been no warning from the family. No phone number, no forwarding address. 

The first rumour was that loan sharks were after Natasha’s Dad. 

Then, men in suits came knocking on the neighbours’ doors. The rumours shifted to something more criminal; money laundering, fraud. 

Bullies at school laughed at you. The joke was that you’d somehow scared off the second weirdest kid in school. You grieved Natasha’s disappearance alone.

You sat through classes silently, dreaming up a hundred reasons to justify why Natasha might leave you behind in a place like this.

Nothing could have been more far-fetched than the truth. 

A super spy.

You were watching the live news broadcast when New York was attacked. Everyone was. 

You stared at raw footage of an alien race invading the planet. Nothing could be more shocking, you thought. And then, you saw the Avengers.

Natasha did not look the same. 

No more awkward and gangly, no more blue hair. 

It was the familiar tilt of her chin as she stared up at a passing spacecraft that jolted your memory.

You knelt in front of your TV, trying to get closer to the impossible picture. 

Two days later, the city officials held a large press conference. It was hosted on the first floor of the new Stark Tower. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were in attendance.

Tony Stark called her ‘Red’ off-handedly.

That’s what gave you the idea.

There was nothing else you could think to do anyway. Natasha Romanoff had the shortest Wikipedia entry you’d ever seen.

You addressed a letter to Stark Tower in the hopes that it might reach her. It was beyond a long shot, but you had to try. 

It was hard to explain the national feeling of adrenaline that lingered after the attack. It almost seemed like sure fate that Natasha would reply. Impossible odds were being beaten all the time.

----

It was not that simple.

It took six months for you to hear a response. 

Your phone buzzed in the middle of the night with a text. 

Despite the late hour, the text was carefully constructed. 

You used to be able to read Natasha’s nervousness a mile off. When her Dad called her home early. When the teacher called her out for exceptional work in class. When you asked her favourite Christmas present and she stumbled over the answer.

‘Thanks for reaching out.’ She began, formal with her friendliness. ‘I do remember you and I appreciated your letter. We should meet up soon.’

The text sounded distant, but you felt certain that she wouldn't have sent it if she hadn’t wanted a response.

You tried to picture the woman that you’d seen on television, but all you could think of was the blue haired girl.

Despite everything that had happened. Natasha was still Natasha.

You called her. 

She answered after two rings. Vindication rippled over your skin, you were right.

‘Hi.’ Natasha breathed out.

Her voice rasped unfamiliarly.

Your heart twisted as you heard all the years that had passed. 

Natasha Romanoff was an adult now. 

‘I’ve missed you so much.’ You told her before you had time to think.

You heard her muted surprise in shallow breaths.

‘I missed you too.’ She murmured after a moment. There was a pang of emotion in her voice, you could feel it down the phone. ‘You were my best friend.’

Your stomach swooped strangely at her words.

You tried to play off the feeling. You sighed with mock dramatics.

‘Now, you prefer the Hulk right?’ You teased.

‘Oh yes.’ Natasha hummed, picking up the easy pattern of your teenage conversations. ‘He’s much better company.’

You talked for twenty minutes, mixing nostalgia with light inquiries about her new life. 

Before the call ended, Natasha invited you to visit her in New York.

It was an easy answer to give. 

When you hung up the phone, you held it close to your chest for a moment. The room was beginning to grow light with the dawn outside.

—-------

Natasha was not an awkward teenager anymore. 

She waited for you in the entrance of Stark Tower, dressed casually in leggings and a hoodie. 

It was unnerving. She was almost familiar to you. 

Your eyes met as you entered through the glass front doors. 

Natasha hugged herself, playing with the grey fabric of her hoodie.

You remembered the nervous gesture. You wondered if she still had the habit, or if she’d just remembered it because of you.

You sensed her uncertainty as you got closer. You opened your arms for a hug and she looked grateful for the direction. 

She fit perfectly. 

Your eyes filled with tears as her arms tightened around you. 

When Natasha pulled away, she gave you a confused look. 

You shook your head, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

‘I always hoped you were okay.’ You mumbled, wiping your cheeks, embarrassed at how quickly you’d gotten emotional. ‘I’m so glad you’re alive.’

Natasha’s eyes shuttered with a sudden blankness. She tried to shake it away too. 

‘No-one’s ever said that to me before.’ She murmured under her breath, before leading you back to the Tower’s elevators.

You pondered her words during the silent elevator ride. Natasha’s life was clearly full of danger. She was on the front line of extra-terrestrial defence. She’d fought monsters on live tv. 

You thought of the fake American Mom and Dad you’d been introduced to. You thought of the little sister, who had seemed so devoted to Natasha. 

Now noone was praying for Natasha to come home safe. 

In the elevator you took her hand, squeezing it gently.

Natasha looked at you, eyes crinkling with simple happiness. She squeezed back. 

‘Red hair suits you.’ You commented. ‘But, I preferred the blue.’

Natasha rolled her eyes with mock exasperation. The elevator doors opened. 

—---------

The space was obviously built to be a common area, but it was empty now. 

Natasha led you through the middle of it. 

You entered her room, following behind her. You stopped in the doorway, trying to take it in.

As a teenager, Natasha’s bedroom had been wall-to-wall with bright posters. In contrast, this room seemed almost clinically blank. 

A single piece of understated art hung on the far away wall. The bedspread was pristine white, like a hotel.

Your eyes clung to the only piece of personality in the room. A stack of CDs and a CD player lay on the hardwood floor, next to the largest window you’d ever seen. You recognised the top CD’s cover art immediately; Nevermind by Nirvana.

You looked at Natasha in surprise. It had been her favourite album when you’d last known her. 

Natasha met your gaze readily. There was a glint of defiance in the tilt of her chin. 

‘Oh, so you still have good taste.’ You grinned.

There was a pause. Natasha’s lip twitched with the start of a smile. Then, she hugged herself again.

‘I loved those songs.’ Natasha murmured, and her sudden fragility startled you. ‘It was the best time.’

Her eyes were careful, but you felt the emotion hiding in them. You moved forward again, hugging her instinctively.

‘The best time.’ You agreed quietly.

You spent the afternoon listening to the album, then another one, then another. The CD collection was well played. Sometimes the disc would catch for a moment, but the song would always persevere.

You didn’t feel the need to talk. 

Natasha sprawled out on her bed, head cupped in her hands as she faced you. You sat on the windowsill by the music, leaning your head against the glass and watching her in return. 

You exchanged smiles back and forth. You exchanged memories of the songs with just a twitch of an eyebrow or the quirk of a lip. 

Natasha’s finger tapped at the side of her jaw absentmindedly. 

Eventually, time moved on. When one more album finished playing, Natasha swung her legs over the side of her bed and stretched casually. You didn’t believe the nonchalance for a second, sure that such a smooth gesture must take forethought. 

‘Dinner?’ She asked and you nodded with a smile, ready and terrified to meet her roommates.

-----

Captain America offered you a bowl of pasta.

The weirdest day of your life only got weirder. The other Avengers were sitting around the large flat-screen television in the centre of the common space. Natasha picked her feet up as she stepped around their legs, heading to the furthest away sofa. 

You followed behind her, muttering quiet hellos in answer to the openly curious stares of Iron Man, Hawkeye and Dr. Banner.

Natasha tucked her legs in as she sat at the furthest edge of the sofa. 

Automatically, you followed a habit that had been established years before. You threw yourself casually into the space directly next to her. Your fork snuck over to her bowl of pasta, stealing a piece. You tasted it and grinned.

‘Yours is always better.’ You complained, watching as Natasha stuck her tongue out in response. 

You only remembered your audience when Tony Stark cleared his throat.

‘Did she tell you that she’s a ruthless assassin.’ He stated loudly, receiving a not-so-subtle elbow jab from Captain America.

 ‘What?’ Tony retorted, rubbing his side pointedly. ‘She’s never brought a date home before. And there must be a reason she’s called the Black Widow.’ 

You watched Natasha from the corner of your eye; the sudden embarrassment spilling over her face. The shame that lingered for a split second.

‘Not all names are literal.’ You answered bitingly, feeling an old defensive urge flaring. There had been enough bullies going after Natasha when you were in high school. ‘We don’t call you Micro-Penis Man, do we?’

Hawkeye snorted with laughter, Dr. Banner’s lip twitched. 

‘Clever.’ Tony drawled sarcastically. 

You ignored him, turning back to Natasha instead. Her expression was unreadable as she searched your face. You didn’t know what she was looking for. 

'Hey.' You whispered, keen to break the unspoken tension between you. 'If they call you Red, can I call you Blue?'

Natasha's lips twitched imperceptibly with a smile. She leaned across your lap, stealing a piece of pasta from your plate.

You sat in silence for the rest of your meal, watching the generic movie on screen instead of engaging in more awkward conversation with the group. Natasha's shoulder bumped lightly against your own.

More than once, you felt the others' curious stares lingering on you.

—--

As soon as you’d both finished eating, Natasha led you back to her room. This time, the air inside felt different. You caught the loosening of her shoulders, her subtle relief at returning to her own space. She unzipped her hoodie, throwing it haphazardly on top of her bedspread.

You glanced back around the room, realising abruptly that the design wasn’t clinical at all. It was more reminiscent of a spa.

You caught Natasha’s attention and gave her an encouraging smile.

‘Nice digs.’ You commented, raising your eyebrows.

Natasha laughed once, voice so much richer than you remembered. She ran her fingers through her hair and your attention caught on the muscles flexing in her bare arm. 

‘It’ll do.’ She shrugged teasingly. ‘It’s nicer than Ohio.’

You sniffed dramatically. ‘But there're alien attacks in Ohio.’

‘Just Russian infiltration.’ Natasha countered dryly. An unexpected shiver ran through you as she finally acknowledged the unspoken truth. Of the childhood friendship that had brought you here and the lie at the centre of it. 

A hot sadness bubbled up inside you. You could taste it burning your throat. Your eyes pricked suddenly with tears. 

Natasha watched you stoicly, chin tilted in guarded defiance.

You moved toward her, watching as she resisted an urge to step further back. You took her hands in yours. You blinked and for a moment, her hair was blue.

‘I’m going to say this wrong.’ You explained ruefully, holding her wide eyed attention. Her palms were warm, soft and nearly familiar. 

‘I’m on your side.’ You promised clumsily. ‘Even if you decide to join the aliens. Even if you don’t want me to be. You didn’t ever stop being my best friend.’

You waited for an evaluating stare, a moment of hesitation. 

Instead, you felt the soft push of Natasha’s head pressing against your shoulder. Her body moved flush against yours. Your arms slid around her back and you felt the curve of her spine beneath her clothes. The thud of her heart, hidden within a ribcage.

You closed your eyes, savouring the warmth of her.

‘There’s a spare room ready.’ Natasha murmured at last, words muffled. ‘But you're welcome to just stay in here.’

She kept her chin high as she took a step back, regarding you expectantly. 

You let a wide smile break out on your face. 

‘A sleepover? On a school night?’ You teased, enjoying the way your enthusiasm brightened Natasha’s countenance too. 

—--

Later, you changed into your pyjamas in Natasha’s ensuite bathroom. You brushed your teeth and stared at yourself for a few minutes in her large mirror. 

You wondered how different you must look to her now. If she noticed all the traces of growing up laid out on your skin. 

Natasha was beginning to feel eternal. The red hair was growing on you. 

---

You left the bathroom and froze almost immediately in your tracks. 

Natasha was standing at the foot of her bed, putting on her pyjama top. It was halfway over her head and the bare expanse of her back faced you. 

You couldn’t stop your sharp intake of breath. 

Hundreds of scars littered her soft curves.

Harsh, deep welts that hurt to look at. Natasha's skin was mottled in places, coated with different shades of injury. Some scars were older, but others seemed painfully new. 

They criss-crossed into a brutal painting, brushstrokes feverishly ripped across her skin. 

A sharp sense of outrage was already burning through you. A sour taste in your mouth. A need to fix what had already been done. 

Natasha's hesitation barely lasted a second. She pulled her top down calmly, before turning to face you with steady resolve. 

‘I’m not that kid anymore.’ She told you with simple directness. 

Natasha kept her chin up as you walked closer to her. You noticed the slight tremble in her jaw when you were only inches away. She held her arms still at her side and you wondered if she was resisting the urge to hug herself. Instead, defensiveness rippled through her. A readiness to hold onto her dignity.

You had seen that stance many times before, in the high school cafeteria. 

For the first time, you realised that Natasha did not remember you like you remembered her. She could not recall the simplicity of life with teenage drama and stupid crushes. 

A lifetime of trauma sat between you. There was no before or after for Natasha.

She’d had scars long before she’d had blue hair.

There were no words for your new understanding. No way to express it right. Your chest squeezed with something like love or sadness.

‘I know.’ You answered her at last.

You touched Natasha’s face without thinking, a careful stroke along her cheek. Your fingers reached her red hair and you thumbed a piece of it reverently.

When you looked back to her face, Natasha’s eyes were closed. 

Your kiss was feather light. Your lips barely brushed hers.

The taste of her stained your mouth anyway.

You felt new pieces of yourself click together, reorienting like a compass finding North. 

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open and her smile was new and shy. You still saw the fear lingering at the edge of everything. You chose not to mind it. You were glad to be able to recognise it.

—--

You slept in the same bed that night with Natasha holding your arm lightly between her own two. 

Her even breaths lulled you with their gentle rhythm. Loose strands of her hair tickled at your clavicle. 

You stared at the ceiling and thought about intimacy. About love and friendship. 

The tattoo of Natasha on your lips was spreading through your veins now.

---

At 3am, the alarm sounded.

Sudden and pounding, it echoed through the ceiling. A droning tempo that had you scrambling to your feet.

Natasha grabbed your arm tiredly, slowing your sleepy confusion.

‘Avengers alarm.’ She informed you, voice crisp and clear. 'There's no fire.'

You felt like you’d barely had time to blink before a dressed Natasha Romanoff was walking out the door. 

All the words you wanted to say were still on your tongue. 

-------

Four hours. 

Four hours spent pacing the common room. Watching an unhelpful news broadcast tell you terrifying speculation and hoping the building’s AI would give you something useful. 

Four hours imagining the worst. Four hours praying for her to come home. 

When the elevator doors opened at last, Natasha stood alone, suit coated in grime and blood. She held her chin up, defiant in the face of fatigue. You watched the way she hugged herself subtly, a nervous habit.

You were beside yourself. 

‘Thank God’ You muttered as you hurried forward, pulling Natasha into a tight hug. You breathed the familiar smell of her and held her even tighter.

‘I'm so glad you're alive.’ You whispered, more for yourself than for her.

When you let her go, Natasha took a moment to look at you properly. 

‘You were waiting.’ Natasha commented slowly, her gaze never wavering. 

You nodded silently, a lump catching in your throat. You couldn’t understand her expression. You wondered with new panic, if you’d crossed some line without realising.

If you'd finally made an assumption based on the girl you'd once known, rather than the woman in front of you.

You forgot about thinking when Natasha took another step towards you. Her hand touched your waist. With one finger, she reached forward and tilted your chin towards her.

She licked her lips, full of intentionality. 

Her mouth pressed surely against yours. 

—--------

When you fell in love with Natasha, she had red hair.

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