dahliia

The discovery comes slowly. So slowly, that even with your back pressed against Natasha's front and her arm wrapped around your neck trying to teach you self-defense, the dots don't connect.

"Baby, I'm only going to squeeze for a second so you know what the technique is, but always know you can tap my arm at any time before then if you feel uncomfortable or unsafe." Natasha meets your eyes in the mirror. Her arm is only wrapped loosely, allowing you to tilt your head up to maintain contact. You give her a mischievous smile.

"Well, I didn't feel unsafe in the first place, but someone insisted on teaching me self-defense," you respond with a teasing lilt.

Natasha rolls her eyes in that playful way she does when she wants to be annoyed with you but can't quite manage it.

"Sue me for wanting you to be safe," she says with exasperation, but the underlying worry in her voice grows. "There's been a rise in crime in the area and I can't always pick you up from your university. What if something happens when you're walking back home?"

You let your head drop down with a sigh. As you do, her forearm presses lightly against your throat. You know she's right. It's why, despite all your whining about how much you don't want to learn, you still ended up in the home gym in this exact position.

In front of this mirror, sunlight glinting off it from the midday rays coming through the windows, Natasha annoyed behind you. You pick your head back up, tapping it lightly against her bicep with a little smirk.

"I'd probably be fine. Like I have been this entire time." Light sarcasm bleeds through every word.

You feel Natasha inhale deeply, her chest expanding against your back, before letting out a heavy sigh that brushes against the crown of your head. It's the quiet fear and worry in her eyes that finally makes you knock it off. That, and the fact that you've complained before every single technique she's tried to show you for the past thirty minutes.

"But since you insist…" you drawl out, softening your posture.

"I do insist," she responds, completely deadpan.

You give her a little grin through the mirror, matching her gaze. "Ready whenever you are."

"I've been ready for the past five minutes," she mutters under her breath.

Her expression shifts. The playful irritation vanishes, replaced by the cool, focused seriousness of an instructor. "Okay, I'm going to squeeze gradually since this is just to show you."

She pulls you closer, erasing the remaining space between your bodies until your spine is flush against her. She secures her arm more tightly around your neck, the crook of her elbow aligning under your chin, while her bicep and forearm lock against either side of your throat.

You drag your eyes up, your gaze immediately drawn to Natasha's face that's looking down at you with concentration. Even without her squeezing yet, the muscles of her arm are prominent, all of them viewable from the tank top she's wearing. Your gaze shifts.

Your breath catches in your throat, not from her pressing yet, but from how the two of you look in the mirror. You love giving Natasha control over you, over your body, but you had never given her control of your breathing before.

She's just trying to teach you something, you chastise yourself internally, clearing your head when you feel Natasha begin to squeeze.

Pressure builds on both sides of your throat, making breathing more difficult, but not impossible. Heat starts to build in your face as blood becomes trapped. Your hearing begins to become muffled as Natasha squeezes harder, her bicep and forearm pressed tightly against your neck.

"Okay, baby," Natasha says through the ringing in your ears, "I'm only going to do the full hold for a second, remember what I told you earlier."

And then the pressure reaches its height. Her arm presses painfully against the sides of your throat. That lightheaded, fuzzy feeling you get when you stand up too fast immediately washes over you, your vision beginning to narrow. Your heart beats rapidly, threatening to explode out of your chest.

But then, Natasha releases you, wrapping her arms around your waist and holding you against her. You slump forward, your breaths coming out ragged through your mouth, your body trying to regulate itself.

You knew you weren't in danger. It was Natasha after all. You expected to feel relief after she released you. But what you weren't expecting was the rush.

This is what you imagine being high feels like. The oxygen-rich blood rushing back to your head feels like it was injected with exhilaration. Your limbs tingle pleasantly, warmth rushing through the rest of your body.

The sounds of your own breathing finally register in your ears and the tingling begins to fade away. You tilt your chin up, meeting Natasha's observant gaze in the mirror. But most of all, you notice your own eyes, wide and bright. You hadn't even realized the corners of your lips were upturned.

"Are you okay, detka?" Natasha asks, staring at you seriously.

You school your features as the fuzziness completely fades away. What was that? you wonder, but you notice Natasha is beginning to look concerned.

You give her a wide smile. "I'm okay," you promise her, your voice a little scratchy. "Now, are you going to show me how to get out of it?" you ask, straightening your posture. You lean your back against her and tilt your chin up, looking up at her playfully.

She looks down at you with a teasing smile. "I will, but can you try not to stall by complaining this time?"

She releases her arms from around your waist when she feels you wiggle against her. You turn around to face her, leveling her with a playful glare. "I wasn't stalling."

"Yeah, yeah," Natasha says sarcastically, turning around and waving her hand like she doesn't believe you.

She walks across the gym to grab her water bottle. You trail behind her, wanting to bother her a little more.

It's two steps in before you feel the uncomfortable stickiness in your panties.

—

It's a week later when you remember the way you felt during your self-defense training with Natasha. You had passed off the heat that you felt, deciding that it was probably just because of your close proximity to her. Life went on with you going to classes, finishing assignments, and meeting friends. All while missing Natasha, who was on a business trip for five days.

Or at least, it was supposed to be for five days.

"I just couldn't stand not being with my princess for any longer," Natasha breathes out against your lips, her hand tilting your chin up as she presses your back against the front door.

The cool wood of the door seeps through your shirt, making you shiver against her.

"I… I missed you," you murmur honestly, still in shock by her sudden arrival a day early. You meet her gaze with wide, innocent eyes as she rubs your bottom lip with her thumb. She's looking at you with so much affection that it makes your heart ache.

You wrap your arms around her waist, clutching the fabric of her blazer in your fists. She takes a step closer to you, if that's even possible, your head tapping softly against the door.

Her grip on your chin tightens. "I missed you too, baby girl. If only I could work from home all the time and keep you locked up here with me," she muses, looking up for a moment like she's actually thinking of a plan to make it happen.

She looks back down at you with an innocent smile, leaning her head down closer to you until your foreheads tap gently against one another. "But for now… I just want to spend time with my princess."

Her lips are just barely touching yours, the slight movement of her lips against yours making you want more.

"Natty…" you mumble against her lips, your eyes full of want.

You barely have time to blink before her lips capture yours in a searing kiss. Your head presses further against the door. The feeling of her lips melding with yours, her tongue pushing through the small gap between your lips, makes you feel lightheaded.

Her thumb hooks over your chin, forcing your jaw down to deepen the angle. Her other fingers spread across the side of your neck. The contact is light, but the heat of her fingers is immediate.

Her tongue wrestles with yours. It's a familiar game of dominance that you always play with her, even though you know you'll always lose. You feel her fingers press a bit harder against your pulse point the moment you try to fight back, sending tingles throughout your body. It's the same feeling from when you were in the gym with her a week ago.

She presses her tongue down against yours, finally winning the game. You feel the slight curve of her smile against your lips before she explores your mouth like a victory lap. You bite down on her tongue lightly. It's a silent, stubborn reminder that you aren't taking the loss lying down.

You feel her tongue pause its exploration, her breath brushing against your face as she huffs in disbelief. Suddenly, she shifts her leg between yours. Her free hand pushes you down by the shoulder, forcing your core flat against her knee as she follows your lips.

You gasp when the solid muscle of her thigh presses against your clit.

She begins to bounce her leg, releasing and returning the pressure over and over again. Natasha's lips leave yours for a moment, and the muffled moans previously hidden behind the kiss finally ring clear in your own ears.

"Natty…" you moan breathlessly, inhaling sharply when she bounces her leg a bit harder, driving your body down harshly against her thigh. "Need more," you whine, gazing up at her pleadingly. The few seconds of contact aren't nearly enough.

She raises a brow at you, her thumb dropping from your chin to the other side of your neck. "Then don't mess with me, baby," she growls before forcing her tongue into your mouth again.

Her hand grips your throat lightly, holding you in place. The slight pressure makes every breath just a bit difficult. Excitement courses through your body at the restriction, heat beginning to pool deep in your stomach.

You don't quite understand why, but you want Natasha to take more. You want her to hold your breath in her hands.

You release one hand from its grip on her blazer, sliding it up the arm that's holding your neck. You place your palm over hers, feeling the prominent veins in the back of her hand. Her fingers twitch at the unexpected touch.

Between the heat of her tongue and the tightening in your airway, your thoughts grow fuzzy. You press down on her fingers before you can think twice. Finding her thumb, you force it down against the other side of your throat—cutting off the oxygen more and drawing a strangled gasp from your lungs when you try to breathe in.

You feel the bounce in Natasha's leg pause, your full weight resting against her thigh when your knees buckle. Her fingers twitch, trying to release their grip on your throat, but you don't let her.

Her face pulls away from yours. Her expression morphs into puzzlement as she takes in your face. You hold her gaze even when your vision begins to tunnel at the edges.

You know she could easily break your grip and move her hand away if she wanted to. She knows it, too.

The sounds of your choked gasps begin to fade. You squint your eyes against the static forming in your vision.

Natasha's puzzled expression shifts, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile of disbelief. Her eyes dance with that familiar, dark amusement—the same look you've seen before when your body is trying to swallow a thick strap she bought.

Your grip on her hand loosens as your consciousness begins to slip. The moment your fingers fall away, Natasha releases the pressure, and your lungs force you to inhale sharply, desperately pushing oxygen through your body.

Your chest heaves as you slump forward, your forehead tapping against Natasha's chest.

You feel the blood begin to flow rapidly back into your head and limbs. The tingling in your fingers feels like sharp pinpricks, but the dopamine flooding your body along with the oxygen stops any real pain. The pressure of Natasha's thigh against your clit feels ten times more sensitive. Your body squirms against her to chase the friction before you even realize what you're doing.

Natasha gaze drops to your hips before her dark eyes lock back onto yours with certainty. A slow, knowing look crosses her face. Her body shifts slightly, and suddenly you hear her breath right against your ear.

"And here I thought I was the only crazy one," she murmurs, her hot breath sending pleasant shivers down the side of your body. Your soaking panties press uncomfortably against you, making you whine. You reach for her hand shakily, bringing it to the waistband of your pants.

"Off," you whine, your voice raspy but airy like you're in a dream.

Natasha leans back, you catch the tail end of her rolling her eyes before she raises a brow at you. She breaks your grip on her hand easily, moving both her hands beneath your thighs. She smacks the back of one of them lightly. Even with the light contact, it sends a jolt through your leg, making tears form in your eyes from how sensitive your entire body feels.

"You're not the one in charge here. Do you understand?" she grits out lowly.

You look up at her slowly, giving her that teary, apologetic pout that she loves. "Yes, sir," you mumble defeatedly.

She smacks your thigh again but a little harder this time, making you gasp and your eyes widen, a tear finally streaming down your cheek.

"That's Daddy to you."

Your lips jut out in a harsher pout. "You said only in the bedroom."

She leans back a bit more, hoisting you up. Your legs wrap around her automatically and you press your cheek against her shoulder, peering up at her. She raises a brow at you while turning around and walking further into the house.

"Where do you think we're heading?" she asks, amusement and arousal dancing in her eyes.

—

The sounds of your muffled, whiny moans echo through the bedroom. The wet, sticky sounds whenever Natasha drives her fingers into you make more of your arousal gush out around her hand.

You're face down, your cheek pressed against the silk sheets, your bottom up in the air as Natasha drives three fingers deep inside you over and over again relentlessly. Your ripped panties are strewn haphazardly next to your face, the rest of both your clothes thrown around the room.

Natasha couldn't help herself anymore the moment she'd carried you in here. She'd held the pieces of your panties up in front of you mockingly when she saw how soaked they were, telling you they were ruined anyways.

Her fingers curl perfectly against the soft, spongy spot inside you that she knows so well, making your fingers tighten around the sheets.

"D-daddy," you stutter out, moaning in between every syllable. "Gonna cum."

Her pace doesn't slow, rather, she rams her fingers even deeper, curling them at just the right moment as they retract. You shift your eyes until you can just make her out through your blurry, tear filled vision.

She has a wicked grin on her face, her gaze dropped low, watching her fingers go in and out of you. Her breaths quickening whenever you cry out when her fingers tap against the deepest part of you.

Her eyes drift to yours, her pupils so dilated, you can barely see the vibrant green you love so much.

"Look at you dripping all over the sheets. You couldn't just ruin your panties, huh? Had to ruin my sheets as well." You look down past your breasts. A thick string of your slick drools down your folds connecting to Natasha's expensive sheets, collecting there and darkening the fabric.

You close your eyes immediately, heat rushing up your neck to your cheeks. Natasha laughs behind you, her pace slowing slightly but making sure the tips of her fingers drag at just the right spots. You turn your head, muffling the cry that's forced out of your mouth when she uses her other hand to press a fingertip against your clit and drag it around.

She begins to circle your clit faster, her fingers driving into you following suit. The heat in your body spreads, concentrating around where she's touching you. The feeling of her touch only grows more sensitive, your insides throbbing against Natasha's fingers and tightening whenever she hits deep, like your body doesn't want to let her go.

"Cum whenever, baby. But just know, Daddy's not done with you," she informs you with an amused lilt, her voice a little breathless. The promise of what's to come makes the tension in your lower tummy grow, the heat becoming molten. All you can feel is her fingers stretching you out, her fingertip playing with your sensitive nub.

It only takes a few more thrusts of her fingers until the coil inside of your tummy shatters into pieces. Your bottom trembles against Natasha's bare torso as she releases your clit, placing her hand on your hip and pulling you back against her then away, her fingers moving in and out of you at the movement.

"Daddy s-stop," you force out, your voice shaking when Natasha continues, your body becoming overly sensitive. Her fingers dig into your hipbone.

"My baby girl wants to stop?" she asks sympathetically. It only lasts for a moment before the edge in her voice returns. "That's funny when you're the one who won't let me go." Your cheeks flush when you realize how tightly your walls are holding her fingers in place. You whine into the sheets when Natasha lets out a bright laugh.

"Fine fine," she says with a sigh, acting as though she's conceding. She wiggles her fingers out from your tight hole with effort, bringing her sticky fingers to your other hip.

"But it's Daddy's turn now," she announces suddenly, not giving you a moment before she flips you onto your back.

Your eyes blink open in surprise, drifting up Natasha's naked body to her face. She doesn't meet your eyes. Her gaze is lower, settling just below your chin.

"I guess everyone will know you're mine," she murmurs, her eyes darkening. "How could they not, when the imprint of my hand is right here on your neck?"

The corners of her lips curve into a satisfied smirk.

Your hand finds its way to your neck, your fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin where she held you earlier. The feeling makes a bolt of thrill shoot down your throat to your lower tummy, igniting the flames all over again.

Your breaths quicken as Natasha easily lifts one of your legs, placing it over her shoulder and exposing your core completely. She leans forward, driving your leg back closer to your torso. Her hand finds its way between your breasts, right over your sternum, resting her palm heavy against your skin.

"Ah!" you cry out at the unexpected sensation of Natasha pressing her clit against yours. It feels more sensitive then when she had been circling it earlier, the coil in your tummy tightening again. You try to squirm away, but she only shifts closer, pressing her hand harder against your chest, effectively holding you in place.

Your breathing becomes labored as she begins circling her hips, the most sensitive part of you rubbing against hers in an agonizingly slow rhythm. You look up at Natasha, your eyes pricking with tears from the overstimulation.

Her face is flushed, her eyes wide, still glued onto your neck as if she's looking at a wonderful view rather than the splotchy marks on your neck. Maybe they're the same thing for her.

She thrusts her hips harder into yours, the pressure between your cores growing. You hadn't noticed outside of the sounds of your increasingly ragged breaths, the slick sounds coming from where she's pressed against you. Your eyes drift down, finally noticing her arousal sticking to the sides of her inner thighs. Her slick melds with yours, creating a sticky mess between you that makes her clit slide against yours easily.

"Fuck," Natasha groans, her eyes close for a moment as she rolls her hips against you. Her hands presses down harder against your chest, making it more difficult for your lungs to expand. She opens her eyes, the green in them mere slits as her other hand slides up to your neck, her thumb tracing the line of your throat with deliberate pressure.

"You think I didn't notice the look on your face in the gym a week ago?" she taunts, her fingers tightening slightly against your skin. "Those bright eyes, that excited smile on your face. And then at the door when you forced my fingers to press against your throat." Her voice begins to strain as the motion of her hips begins to stutter.

You let out a garbled cry when her clit slides against yours aggressively, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks at the overwhelming ache in your lower tummy, the coil threatening to snap at any moment. Natasha's looking down at you almost drunkenly, her hand around your throat, her palm pressing into your chest making it harder and harder to breathe. The pressure mounting in your head, your thoughts turning fuzzy along with your vision.

"Daddy… p-please," you choke out, your voice raw and strained against the pressure on your throat. You don't even know what you're asking for. For her to squeeze harder, for her to roll her hips more, or for her to let you cum.

You let Daddy decide.

And in true fashion, she does all three.

She leans her head in close to yours, her jaw clenched tight as her movements become erratic against you. Your airy moans, the sound of you struggling to take a breath, and you whispering "Daddy" despite it all, driving her crazy.

"Fuck, baby," she grits out. "You crazy girl. You're making Daddy go insane."

She looks down at your hazy eyes, her breaths just as ragged as yours despite her airway being clear. The sticky concoction of your arousal is spreading all over you—your folds, your clit, and your inner thighs. Your vision starts to fade slightly, the edges becoming fuzzy.

Suddenly, Natasha's head drops down beside yours. Her long, low moan is barely audible to you as she releases your throat and moves her hand off your chest, placing her palms on either side of your body instead. Her hips stutter against you, her clit sliding against yours then missing entirely at random intervals, making it hard for your body to keep up.

The rush you felt in the gym and at the doorway doesn't even compare. It's like a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away, your consciousness flickering despite the harsh breaths you take in and release. Your entire body trembles uncontrollably at the dizzying electricity flowing through you. It feels like you could float away from the sheer lightheadedness, your head completely empty as oxygen perfuses through your body like a drug.

Your limbs tingle, your breaths taking ages to slow. Natasha recovers faster than you. Her hand, still sticky with your slick from earlier, cups your cheek. Her finger taps against your skin at a steady rhythm, and your breathing slowly begins to match the beats.

The sound of both your breaths finally registers in your ears. You hadn't even noticed Natasha moving your leg back down. It rests flat against the mattress now, Natasha laying on her side and looking at you with a soft, satisfied expression. She doesn't stop her rhythm.

You blink slowly. The lingering shocks in your body begin to fade, though the surface of your skin remains hyper-sensitive. Natasha gently rolls you onto your side, scooching you closer until your ear is pressed flat against her chest. Her tapping stops, letting the steady thump of her heartbeat do the work of grounding you instead.

Your thoughts feel distant, like they're on a deserted island while you're floating on the sea.

You just want to be with Natasha.

You squish your cheek closer against her skin, wanting to feel her more. Her hand rubs your back soothingly.

"We can lie for a bit," Natasha murmurs quietly, using that soft tone she saves for when she thinks you're on the verge of sleeping. "But I'm going to have to bring you water soon."

You let out a raspy groan against her chest. You don't need water. You just need her.

You hear the rumble of Natasha's low chuckle against your ear. "I know you don't like it, crazy baby. But it's necessary." Her feet tangle with yours under the sheets. Her voice lights up with a teasing lilt. "And here I thought I was the kinky one."

You roll your eyes lightly, not having the energy to do anything more. She's definitely still the kinkier one.

"Hey, I felt that, you know," she teases. Then, her tone turns more serious. "I could tell you wanted me to, but I didn't squeeze that hard. We need to talk about it more."

"Mmm…" you moan in agreement.

She huffs out a laugh, her chest vibrating under your cheek. "I bet you weren't even paying attention during the self-defense lesson."

You look up. It's nighttime.

The dark blue sky holds a full moon that rains down a pale glow, turning the white field around you luminous. Stars cluster into constellations in the distance. It's quiet. Not in the way where it scares you. Not in the way where your thoughts attempt to drag you under. It's a peaceful quiet where the world stands still for you.

Just for you.

You open your fist. The cotton balls roll away from your skin, plopping soundlessly onto the white expanse below. You drag your palm across the surface, tracking the soft texture. You press down with your full weight, expecting the fibers to collapse and drop you through, but they hold steady.

You gaze toward the distance, where the dark line of night seems to stretch on without an end. The scenery is identical in every direction.

A movement catches your eye. Your shadow stretches across the white surface, mimicking your posture. You look down at the dark shape. It tracks your frame perfectly, but it lacks any real definition. No features. No edges. Just a flat, black void cutting through the light.

But it's surely you.

When you raise your arm, the shadow raises its arm. When you tilt your head, the dark shape tilts its head.

You pause.

The shadow keeps moving for a fraction of a second before it snaps into a sudden standstill. It stops matching you entirely.

Staring at it makes your heart ache. You're perfectly fine with being a shadow drifting through life. Disappearing the moment the sun comes up to make room for real people—bright people with character, who roam and live and take up space.

You don't have to be special. You don't want to be. You don't need to be.

Flashes of green erupt across the dark sky. Ribbons of vibrant, shifting emerald and mint arc over your head, twisting like the aurora borealis you used to stare at in photos. They dance through the air, curving down toward you as if trying to make you smile.

The shades of green are too specific. You recognize them instantly.

"Please stop," you whisper, the sound catching in your throat. "Please don't treat me like I'm special."

The lights answer by swirling closer, tightening their perimeter until they weave into beautiful patterns around your body.

You had gotten used to the quiet. You had accepted being alone. Doing everything by yourself. Only counting on yourself

A wisp of the green light brushes past your cheekbone. For a moment, the air sparks with warmth and the smell of jasmine blooms. It reminds you of Wanda's hand against your cheek when you shared her desk. That familiar warmth. The kind that makes you want to let your head fall and let her hand support you.

A brighter, vibrant green light wraps around you, completely blocking out everything. It forms a thick, impenetrable wall—exactly like Natasha blocking out the chaotic world past the office doors.

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing your eyelids together until the pressure makes your temples throb, waiting until it's safe to look again.

When you open them, the sky is empty. The lights are gone without a trace. As if they were never there.

You're alone again.

You're used to this part. But your shoulders slump as if a weight was dropped on them. Your knees bend, the muscles in your thighs trembling as they threaten to drop your weight. You look back up at the empty sky, wishing you could see the green ribbons again, even though you're the one who just begged them to leave.

A part of you had hoped they would stay anyway, even when you turned your back.

It's fine. You're just a shadow, and the gorgeous lights have probably drifted away to find someone more beautiful. Someone who is a real person.

The corners of your mouth twitch upward into a small smile, but your gaze drops. It's exhausting being alone.

You lean back. The space beneath your heels fills with the soft give of the cotton, absorbing your weight as you sink into them. You feel completely weightless. You close your eyes, letting your muscles go slack. Your head tilts to the side, your cheek presses into the soft fibers.

Your heart still hurts. Even here, in this empty space with nothing but the moon, the stars, and the perfect comfort below you—a space made just for you—the reality catches up. You can't run away from the aching want to have someone else shoulder your burdens with you.

Or maybe two people.

The cotton slowly begins to compress beneath your spine, flattening millimeter by millimeter. The loft is disappearing. You don't know how far down the ground is.

Please, just let me stay here, you think, your fingers curling weakly, holding onto the cotton that remains. Let me stay in this place. Forever.

A sudden touch registers against your skin. Soft fingertips press against your ankle, tracing circles right over your veins.

Your eyes fly open. You crane your neck down to look, but the field is empty. There's no one there. You just continue to descend, your body getting heavier and heavier. Somehow, you know there's not much time left.

You lay your head back down, closing your eyes in acceptance.

"It's time to wake up, detka."

The softest, raspy voice reaches your ears, brushing against your skin with the same weight as the fingertips on your ankle.

And you fall.

—

The faint hum of the heater overhead. The rhythm of your own breaths, slow and even. The drag of pages turning in a book.

A hand rests on your ankle. The thumb moves occasionally, tracing a slow arc near the bone and over your veins.

Your eyes blink open. The fabric of the couch’s backrest comes into view, sharpening the more you blink. Your face is pressed into the pillow, squishing your cheek. It feels like there's a thick cloud surrounding your skull. Your thoughts lag, arriving one by one at a snail's pace.

Yesterday. Matt sitting in the common room. His grip on your hand. The suffocating smell of smoke filtering through the vent all night. Your burning eyes. Natasha demanding you take a nap. Her impossibly gentle voice.

You do feel slightly better after sleeping, but it's as though a weighted blanket has been draped over your mind and body. It's easy enough to maneuver around, but it makes itself known and stays as a nuisance in the back of your mind. Pain radiates in your throat when you try to swallow. Maybe you had been asleep longer than you thought.

You shake your head lightly, trying to force the fog away, but the clouds refuse to leave. It's still fuzzy. Thick, like cotton.

You force your shoulders back. Your spine arches slightly and the familiar popping of your vertebrae sounds through the office.

"Mmm…" A whiny groan catches in your throat at the sensation of your neck and back muscles stretching, slowly forcing themselves back to life.

The hand on your ankle squeezes lightly. You force your bleary eyes toward the source. Vibrant green eyes—identical to the light that had shielded you in the dream—are watching you with quiet amusement. A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.

"How was your nap, sleeping beauty?" Natasha asks. Her tone is teasing, but a light seriousness remains in her eyes as she scans your face, tracking every twitch of your expression.

You blink a few times in a row. Your eyes don't sting as badly as they did earlier, though a slight burn still lingers behind your eyelids. It'll probably take another day to clear the prolonged exposure to the smoke. You still feel a dragging fatigue, but there are things you need to do. Spending your hours studying in Natasha and Wanda's offices instead of executing the regular tasks of an intern is already weighing heavily on your chest.

The office is slightly dim. Natasha must have lowered the blinds while you were asleep.

You flatten your palm against the couch cushion and push yourself up into a seated position. A wave of haziness washes over your vision, making the room sway before it clears within a few moments.

"I slept well. Thank you for the nap," you respond quietly. Your voice sounds weirdly scratchy, and trying to force the words out radiates a burning pain.

Natasha is seated in the open space next to your feet. Her hand remains wrapped around your ankle, the heat of her palm bleeding through your skin. The book she must have been reading is closed, resting flat on her thigh. Her body is shifted entirely toward you, treating you like the center of her attention.

"Your eyes look better than they did earlier," she notes, her thumb rubbing against your skin steadily.

She reaches for a water bottle on the coffee table that wasn't there before you closed your eyes. She cracks the plastic seal open for you and extends it. "Drink, detka. It sounds like your throat is dry."

Your fingers wrap around the plastic. "Thank you," you murmur gratefully.

Swallowing feels like sandpaper grating together. You take a long sip, but the cool moisture does little to ease the friction. The liquid slides down and stings like an open wound being doused with alcohol.

Detka. You repeat the word in your head. It's unfamiliar, but it's the exact same one she used right before you fell asleep. The way she structures her sentences makes it sound like a noun. She's calling you something.

Do you even want to ask? What if it's something bad? Maybe it's synonymous with troublesome.

There are more important things you should be asking, you remind yourself. Why are they treating you like you're special?

You set the bottom of the bottle against your thigh and glance up. Natasha has been watching you the entire time. Her lips are pulled into a rigid line. Her eyes look calculating. The shift is jarring compared to the teasing smile she had just a few minutes ago.

Maybe the thoughts getting stuck in your fuzzy head are showing plainly on your face.

"Nat—" you start, but a sharp knock on the door pulls her focus away.

Natasha’s shoulders look incredibly tense, barely moving as she turns her head toward the entrance.

"Let's talk about it later, okay?" She squeezes your ankle one last time before releasing it entirely. She casts a quick glance back at you, throwing you a smile that looks just a bit melancholic.

"Come in," she calls out.

Wanda walks in, her expression bright with a wide smile. You can almost picture sun rays following her steps as she crosses the room. Her soft yellow dress shirt matches her energy perfectly. It's the complete opposite of the dim room and the heavy mood hanging between you and Natasha.

The unspoken question sits like a wall in the space. Natasha must have anticipated it with how quickly she read your expression.

You smile back at Wanda, though the gesture lacks any real feeling. You're happy to see her, but your thoughts refuse to align properly. New questions twist alongside the old ones in your mind, but you already know they won't be answered right now.

Natasha rises from the couch and extends her arms above her head. She takes a deep breath, stretching her limbs, before looking down at you.

"I have to go to a meeting now." She gazes down at where her hand had just been resting on your ankle. A frown tugs at her lips. She looks like she's fighting a silent battle with herself.

"We'll all talk later," she says, giving a small nod to herself before offering you a tight smile. She reaches down, her fingers briefly brushing the bare skin of your ankle again.

She steps toward Wanda, who is looking between the two of you with a confused half-smile. Natasha leans in and kisses her cheek, whispering something low into her ear.

Wanda's eyebrows furrow at the words. She turns to look at Natasha, but she's already made her way to the door.

"Bye, girls. Have a good study session," Natasha says without turning around.

The door shuts with a soft thud.

Your gaze drifts back to Wanda, whose green eyes soften the longer she looks at you. She rounds the coffee table and slides onto the space right where Natasha was sitting just moments ago.

"Natasha told me you needed a nap. Do you feel better, honey?"

You look down to where your legs are still resting on top of the cushions. A heavy blanket is draped over your lap. The fabric feels far too warm against your heated skin. You shift your weight so your legs hang over the side of the couch, pushing the blanket away and bunching it into a divider between you and Wanda.

"I feel okay," you murmur, forcing a small smile. It isn't entirely the truth, but you do feel marginally better compared to when you arrived this morning.

Wanda scoots a fraction closer to you, ignoring the bunched fabric. "I've been stuck in a board meeting since I got here this morning," she says with a sigh of exasperation. Her eyes gleam as she turns her head to lock onto yours. "Can you guess what it was about?"

Your eyebrows pull together as you rack your brain for an answer. You've hardly discussed actual company logistics since you started your internship. Except for yesterday.

"Was it about the end of the quarter?" you guess with hesitation.

Wanda's nose wrinkles right at the bridge, her smile filling with affection. "Exactly, smart girl. I did say I would schedule a meeting right away after our conversation yesterday."

Her smile is infectious. Your lips curve into a soft grin despite yourself.

She leans in even closer, her shoulder presses lightly against yours. She continues, "I was able to get to the bottom of the accounting bottleneck. You were right, darling. After a few targeted questions, I narrowed it down to one of the senior managers who was creating a disruptive atmosphere while also being far too lax about deadlines."

"So what will happen now?" you ask, your head tilting slightly. You're familiar with mock scenarios in textbooks, but actually witnessing how a large company approaches problems in the real world is entirely new to you.

"Well," Wanda starts, looking up toward the ceiling with a dangerous smile. "That manager has already been replaced as of twenty minutes ago. We'll just have to see how the person who took their spot fares under pressure."

You nod your head slowly in understanding. Good luck to them, you think to yourself. You have a feeling they'll need it based on the sharp glint in Wanda's eyes.

Wanda continues to talk about the meeting. She mentions names of executives you've never met, things that need to be improved, and projects that are going well. Her voice dips into a low register when she's a bit frustrated, then brightens when she talks about things the company is accomplishing.

You sit quietly, listening but not quite absorbing her words. A heavy throbbing is starting to build right behind your temples. Maybe you're still waking up. You nod when it feels appropriate, letting her sentences bounce off your foggy mind. You watch her expressions change—her brows furrowing, then smoothing out. Her eyes rolling, then crinkling at the corners when she smiles. An accent you can't entirely decipher becomes more prominent on certain words.

You could listen to her all day. Her voice feels like music in the quiet space.

Suddenly, she pauses and looks at you with a teasing smile. "Honey, are you even listening to me?"

She reaches out, her palm cupping your jawline while her index finger taps a playful rhythm against your cheek. Her hand feels cool against your skin.

No, not really.

"I'm listening," you respond earnestly. It's painful to speak but you swallow past the burn. You don't want to hurt her feelings.

She lets out a light chuckle. "You look like you're still half asleep," she says, squeezing your cheek lightly before her hand relaxes. She tilts her head, her eyes softening. "Your cheeks are still so warm from when you slept," she notes, leaning in closer to investigate.

Suddenly, her face scrunches up in confusion.

She leans in incredibly close, her chest almost brushing your shoulder as she breathes in deeply. Her hand drops from your face entirely. She leans back, her eyes hardening as she takes you in fully. Her lips pull into a thin line.

"Darling, you really shouldn't smoke," Wanda says, her voice dropping into a stern tone. "It's bad for you."

What?

The clouds swirling around your head clear instantly. Her expression. It's the exact same look that was leveled at you countless times when you were growing up. A look full of disappointment.

Your heart begins to race erratically, thudding violently against your ribs.

"I… I didn't smoke." Your voice trembles from your sharp pulse throbbing painfully in your throat.

Wanda raises one of her eyebrows. Her jaw remains tight.

She doesn't believe you.

Your hands begin to shake violently against your thighs. You curl your fingers inward, digging your nails deep into the center of your palm. The skin breaks. A dull, wet sting follows, but the actual pain doesn't register through the noise in your chest. You slide your other palm flat on top of the wound, clamping down hard to hide the tremor.

It's too familiar. That look.

It reminds you of the times in high school when you spent days studying for tests and losing sleep, running your system entirely on fumes. You had put your all into it, truly. But when the results arrived, the numbers were just good. Not great.

Your father had always told you that as long as you tried your best, then it was okay. You really had done everything you could, but your absolute best just wasn't enough to satisfy him. After seeing the results, he had looked at you and asked if you had truly tried. You were honest with him. You told him that you had given it your all.

But he gave you the exact same look that Wanda is giving you now. The flat, heavy skepticism that tells you your words means nothing.

Why is the truth never good enough? Why aren't you good enough?

It hurts.

You haven't felt this ache since the day you packed your bags and left your parents' house. The two years that followed had been empty, colorless, and safe. No one could hurt you because you refused to allow anyone to get close enough to try.

You allowed this hurt to happen. By smiling genuinely, laughing wholeheartedly, and opening up even a fraction. By deviating from the way you've been living so far.

Alone.

You pull your shoulders back, locking your spine into a perfectly straight line. Your hand reaches up, your fingers clawing through the tight knots that had formed in your hair while you slept. The strands catch, pulling harshly against your scalp, but you ignore the sting. You force your fingers through anyway, smoothing the hair down until it obeys.

Your hand slides down to your blouse. You glide your palm hard against the soft fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles over your chest until the presentation is pristine. If you stay around Wanda for much longer, you know you might crack.

The strings pull. Your lips tug automatically into your practiced smile.

Reaching out, you grab your phone off the coffee table. The lock screen shows it's right around lunchtime. Pressing the back of your hand against the cushion, you push yourself up into a full stand. Your legs wobble unsteadily under your weight, a cold shudder running through your thighs. It must be from lying down for so long or the lingering residual effects of your sleepless night.

You grab one of the straps of your backpack, hoisting the weight upward, and slide the straps over your shoulders.

"Darling—" Wanda starts, her eyes widening as she watches your sudden movements.

"May I go?" you ask politely, keeping your voice level and deferential. "I haven't been down to the sixtieth floor in a few days, and I'd like to check in with some of the analysts I met. Maybe I can eat lunch and study there for the rest of the day?"

Before she can answer, you reach down for the blanket bunched messily on the couch. Your fingers work quickly, lining up the corners and folding the heavy fabric into a perfect, flawless square.

"Wouldn't it be better to eat with Natasha and I?" Wanda asks quickly, an edge of urgency cutting through her voice. "We're planning to order from one of our favorite restaurants," she says, her tone lightening as if trying to pull you back.

You shake your head, keeping your eyes locked on the folded blanket. "I think I should get to know the people I'll be working with, since my time on this floor will end after tomorrow."

You turn your head toward the wooden door. You don't want to look at Wanda right now.

It's completely silent for a long moment before Wanda releases a heavy sigh.

"Okay," Wanda whispers, her voice cracking slightly before she raises the volume of her voice again. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart."

The term of endearment that had sent a warm flutter through your chest even a day ago sends a dull ache instead.

You nod, your chin dropping just enough to acknowledge the words. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good rest of your day."

You're already moving, your wobbly legs dragging your weight across the carpet toward the exit. You reach out, your fingers wrapping around the cold handle of the door and pulling it open.

"You too, honey," you hear Wanda say quietly behind you.

The wooden door clicks shut behind your back.

A wave of exhaustion makes you press your weight back into your heels, letting your head land gently against the door. The cool wood feels good against your hot scalp. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, your teeth gnawing back and forth.

Your eyes close against the bright space.

There's nothing special about you. You'll just become another nameless intern working at their company. Eventually, their attention will shift to someone brighter than you. Someone who is actually a real person. Someone special.

Your arm lifts, fingers twitching toward the cold handle, wanting to pull it open just to see Wanda again.

Instead, you force your hand back down to your side. The walk toward the elevator feels like wading through mud. You press the button for the sixtieth floor. The doors slide shut.

Just like the emerald lights in your dream, even if you wish they would appear before you again, they won't. Because you're the one that wished them away.

—

The doors slide open to the familiar, low chatter of the sixtieth floor. Analysts offer quick smiles along the walkway. Heading toward the far left corner, you navigate to the desk where you had spent so little time, setting your backpack against the side before taking a seat.

"Haven't seen you in a few days. How's the job shadow been going?"

Eli's playful voice rings out from the neighboring desk. Turning your head toward him, his teasing smile somehow manages to make you feel a bit better.

"It's been going well," you respond, forcing a small smile that fails to reach your eyes.

Eli tilts his head, squinting as he observes your face. "Doesn't look like it," he says bluntly.

Your gaze shifts down to your lap. Silence hangs heavy between you.

"I was kidding?" Eli chuckles awkwardly, clearly trying to salvage the conversation.

Your fingers find the plastic edge of the ID card hanging around your neck. "It's okay," you say, forcing a short laugh. "I'm just a little tired today."

"Whoa!" Eli exclaims suddenly, his tone forcing your chin up. "Your hand is bleeding."

A quick glance down confirms it. A small amount of blood is smeared across both of your palms.

Eli pulls his desk drawer open and reaches for a compact first aid kit. "I always have one of these on me. My boyfriend is a clumsy one," he says with a fond smile before leveling a focused look at your hands. "Is it okay if I take a look?"

You extend your arms toward him, palms up.

The moment his hand slides underneath yours to support your weight, the memory of Matt's crushing grip flashes through your system. Your fingers snap closed into a tight fist instinctively. Your teeth bite down hard on your bottom lip, and you avert your eyes to avoid Eli's searching gaze.

His hand stays exactly where it is below yours, holding your weight up gently. When he speaks, his voice is softer than earlier.

"I don't have any siblings, let alone a sister. So, sometimes I don't really know the best way to comfort girls. Sorry if I was too forward," he says apologetically.

The genuine tone makes you uncurl your fingers slowly. Shaking your head, you finally meet his eyes with a genuine smile. "Yeah, sounds like you need to work on it."

His jaw drops before he levels you with a playful glare. "Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure to clean your hand extra well with the antibacterial wipe. Brace yourself."

True to his word, Eli tears open a small foil packet. He begins to tell a story about the time his boyfriend tripped over absolutely nothing and broke his leg. The cold wipe dabs against your raw skin, his touch growing gentler the closer he gets to the crescent-shaped cuts your nails made.

"He still swears he tripped over a step. Can you believe that? We were walking down a flat sidewalk," he says, shaking his head exasperatedly.

You laugh along with him as the stories keep coming, his voice filling the quiet corner of the floor. Your focus stays anchored on his words. A strange numbness is settling over your skin. You hardly even feel the sharp sting of the alcohol against your open palms.

—

It's a slower night at the restaurant. Nights like these, Angie goes around feeding the waitstaff in the kitchen and asking about everyone's plans.

The metal pass is holding more of your weight than you'd like to admit. Your body has felt almost unbearably hot since leaving the office today, but you've dealt with much worse.

Angie had asked you to wait for a moment before returning to the floor. A quick sweep of your section already confirmed everyone is enjoying their meals.

Finally turning to you, Angie squints her eyes. "You look a bit off, sweetie. You feelin' alright?"

"I'm okay. I just didn't sleep enough last night. I should be fixed up by tomorrow," you say with a tired smile.

She gives you a blank stare like she doesn't believe you. "If you say so," she drawls out before looking through the small windows of the kitchen doors into the dining room. She points in the direction of the bar. "Nicole looks bored out there. Make use of her and take it easy today. It's okay to rely on the team, y'know?"

"I know," you respond with an appeasing tone. "I'll make sure to use her." You push off the pass. It takes a moment to stabilize yourself. Luckily, Angie is still looking into the dining room.

A glance at the clock on the wall shows only around an hour left of your shift. Returning back to the house after your internship today hadn't felt daunting, since you knew Matt would be sleeping in preparation for his shift. But with the conclusion of your restaurant shift overlapping perfectly with the exact hour he wakes up, the idea of stepping back through the front door feels impossible.

A tired sigh escapes your throat. You'll just have to fold the napkins slower tonight to avoid running into him.

—

It's Friday. Usually, the end of the week brings a sense of relief with it being the last day of classes. This week, the relief is entirely different. Come Monday morning, your schedule returns to the regular tasks of a standard intern. You'll finally be able to keep your head down and blend back into the crowd.

An email from Cindy had arrived first thing this morning. She apologized for not being able to escort you due to an assignment she's currently working on, instructing you to head up to Wanda's office on your own.

Wanda. You repeat the name silently in your head.

The thought of her sends immediate pricks of discomfort through your chest. It's hard to distinguish if the feeling is pain or unease. Your arm accidentally brushes against the metal wall of the elevator, sending a sharp wave of pins and needles across your skin.

Ever since your alarm went off, a heavy mound of pressure has been building right behind your eyes and forehead. Lifting your head off the pillow this morning had taken a massive effort despite the mundane motion. Your heated skin feels exceptionally sensitive, turning every slight movement of your limbs into a radiating ache. It's exhausting just to remain standing.

The elevator doors slide open to the C-suite floor, revealing the pristine marble floor. A part of you wishes you could just drop everything and lie flat against that cool stone. But this level of exhaustion and discomfort has become commonplace. You can bear with it.

Breaths become more labored with every step until you reach Wanda's office door. Pressing your hand against the wood takes some of the burden off your body before you knock twice.

Despite the fatigue, you force your mind to stay sharp. This is the last day. You'll only see them in passing after this. The conflicting feelings and the warmth you feel around them will disappear.

Are you okay with that?

The question flashes through your mind against your will.

You have to be okay with this. Maybe it's better that it's now. You knew you would walk away one day, before they could leave you broken. Before you accidentally give pieces of yourself away that can never be retrieved.

"Come in," Wanda calls out from behind the door.

Taking a deep breath, you straighten your posture with effort and plaster on a neutral expression. You turn the handle and push open the door, revealing Wanda sitting at her desk. She stands immediately upon seeing you.

The door shuts behind you.

The same chair from before is pulled up next to her desk in the same spot. The sight makes the pressure in your head build. Stepping up to the desk, Wanda watches you the entire way, her mouth opening and closing as if she doesn't know where to start.

So, you start for her.

"I have a few questions about some of the topics in one of my classes. It's going to be covered pretty extensively on the final. When would you have time to answer them?" you ask politely. You keep your voice low, knowing if you raise it any higher, it'll break and send you into a coughing fit.

"Darling, I think we should talk," Wanda says earnestly, tilting her head to search your eyes that keep averting from hers.

"Is it in relation to my internship?" you ask indifferently, setting your backpack down and pulling out your materials.

The creak of Wanda sitting down is the only sound in the office.

"No," she starts hesitantly. "About yesterday."

Looking up, you plaster on an apologetic smile. You try to ignore the scent of jasmine swirling around you. It pulls at your heart and threatens to break your resolve. Your thumb presses hard into the bandage on your palm.

"My first final is on Monday. I already sent Cindy my schedule," you respond. "Would we be able to schedule a time to talk about it another day? I'm a bit behind on studying."

Wanda looks like she's completely withering away. Her shoulders droop, her hands find each other to grasp tightly, and the corners of her lips pull down. The sight almost makes you want to say anything and everything just to bring back her bright smile. To have her call you smart girl and send that fuzzy feeling through your body like she did a few days ago.

But the instinct to protect your heart overrides everything else. These feelings will pass with time.

"I can answer some questions now," Wanda says with a weak smile.

"Okay," you respond, forcing your eyes down to your notebook page. "I made a note here. How would you…"

—

Natasha never ended up stopping by. She was called into an emergency meeting with investor and public relations in lieu of the upcoming earnings release. It feels fitting.

The look Wanda had given you when you said goodbye instead of I'll see you later still sticks with you even now, standing in the breakroom at the restaurant preparing for your shift. It was a look that made it apparent that this was final.

You take a deep breath in through your mouth. Your nose had become increasingly more clogged as the day wore on. You had to hide your sniffles between performative throat clears that made your throat burn during your time alone with Wanda.

You practice your smile in the breakroom mirror. It's reminiscent of the time before meeting them. It doesn't reach your eyes. It stays strictly within the line of cheerful and flat—just enough of a curve to let people know you're engaged in the conversation. It's hard to hold even this manufactured smile today.

Natasha patting your stomach to even out your breaths. Wanda praising you when you gave her department solutions. That's the problem when you become too comfortable and allow color to seep into your world. When the world turns gray again, you miss the light blue of the sky. You miss the orange-red rays of the sun. The vibrant green of their eyes. It tears a hole through you.

But it'll heal even if it takes a while.

Just get through this shift, you think to yourself, trying to force a surge of energy into your mind.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. Sliding it out, you glance at the message preview on the screen. It's Matt.

You shut your eyes tightly before opening them again to read the text.

I'm not working tonight. Let's hang out. I'll be waiting in the common room.

There's no apology for that night. Not even an acknowledgment. Fear courses through your system at the thought of returning home to find him sitting in the exact same spot. His calloused hand gripping yours. The suffocating mixture of smoke and alcohol on his breath. The looming possibility of what could have happened if your house leader hadn't arrived in time.

The sharp sound of the breakroom door opening pulls you out of your thoughts. Suddenly, your own frantic breaths become loudly clear to you.

Your coworker, Nicole, is leaning against the doorframe with a smile. "Hi," she greets you. "You're a finance major, right?"

You force your breathing to even out momentarily, contorting your expression into a polite, practiced smile. "Yeah, I am. Why do you ask?" Your voice sounds scratchy, but you maintain the pleasant cadence you were taught.

"A couple of my friends who're finance majors dined here a few nights ago and recognized you," Nicole says with a chuckle. "They asked if I would ask you to come to a party tonight. They said they've been wanting to talk to you, but couldn't find the confidence. I'll be going as well, if you want to head over together after this?"

She looks at you with hopeful eyes. You have yet to go to a single university party. Not that you ever really wanted to. The idea of standing in a crowded room with music blaring and drinks sloshing around sounds unappealing.

I'll be waiting in the common room.

The memory of the text forces your thumb to press hard into your bandage, sending sharp signals of pain through your body.

"I…" you start hesitantly, "I don't have a change of clothes." Going to this party sounds vastly better than facing Matt, but the logistics are an immediate problem.

Nicole's expression shifts into an excited smile. "Don't worry, I have an extra change of clothes right here in my locker. I promise it'll be fun. There are so many people who have been wanting the chance to talk to you."

Her body turns around to face the kitchen walkway, sending a fleeting smile back your way. "We'll talk more after the shift. I'm so excited!" she exclaims before walking away.

—

The dining room fills with a heavy rush of regulars, making the shift drag while simultaneously passing in a blur. Every step makes your joints feel stiff, like creaking bones. Even a light touch against your skin sends sharp pinpricks across your body. But you continue to chat with ease, keeping your speech charismatic and your expressions engaged. It's one of the times where you're thankful this is programmed into you.

A few customers ask about your voice, noticing the raspy edge. Hiding the scratchiness is becoming a struggle as your throat continues to swell. You brush it off with a practiced excuse, telling them you've just been talking too much lately. It wasn't exactly a lie.

The shift finally ends, leaving you in the breakroom with Nicole. She hands you a gray long-sleeve shirt and a white skirt. It's freezing outside, but with what feels like literal lava burning beneath your skin, the light clothing sounds like a relief.

You unbutton your work shirt and slide it off. The fabric of Nicole’s shirt feels like sandpaper, scraping hard against your skin as you pull it over your head. The neckline cuts low, stopping just above your breasts. It's far less coverage than you ever wear, but you've also never been to a university party. Maybe this was the norm with how quickly it could get hot in a crowd of people.

You unzip your trousers, step out of them, and pull on the skirt. The sudden blast of cool air against your bare legs brings a brief second of relief. But it doesn't last long. The relief vanishes, and the room turns far too cold. Your body doesn't normally regulate its temperature well, but for the past day, it's been a pendulum. Swinging violently from a sauna to the arctic.

Nicole throws out names of people you don't know, but who are apparently in many of your same classes. You nod and hum in understanding whenever she complains about the boys in her lectures.

You stuff your work clothes into your locker. You'll be back tomorrow anyway.

Turning around at the same time, you both stand fully dressed. Nicole sends you a wide grin. "I can see why the guys were begging me to ask you to come," she says, followed by a sharp whistle.

You roll your eyes exaggeratedly. The motion backfires, sending a dull, throbbing ache straight through your temples.

"I'm sure that's why they asked you, too," you respond teasingly, forcing the pain down.

You open the door to the breakroom and look around. The kitchen staff have already cleaned thoroughly and are grabbing their personal things to leave.

"I think we should head out so we don't hold anyone back. Ready?" you ask, turning back around.

"You bet!" Nicole calls out, grabbing her keys. She jingles them in a sporadic beat.

Despite your body screaming at you to lie down, you can't help but laugh a little at her energy.

—

Bright fairy lights string across the front yards along the sidewalk. It's a block dominated by fraternities and sororities, most having decided the weekend before finals is the perfect time to throw a party. Loud, bass-heavy music bleeds from house to house, blending together as students drift between lawns to meet up with friends.

Walking beside Nicole, you discuss university life and expected final grades. The freezing night air bites sharply against the exposed skin of your upper chest and bare legs.

Some people call out greetings to Nicole as you approach the fraternity house where the finance and accounting majors are congregating. In front of you, drunk students sway unsteadily, barely catching their balance before they tip sideways.

The street is familiar. Your daily bus route passes right by this block early in the journey. Your own house sits only a short distance away.

Excited shouting and screaming echo from the next lawn over. Sparing a brief glance, you watch a few people lying starfish on the grass, giggling to themselves as they fail to push themselves back up, only to collapse and laugh all over again.

Nicole laughs, pointing toward a crowd hyping up a student shotgunning a beer. Apparently, it's someone from one of her classes, the onlookers push them to drink even faster.

The sound of your name being shouted from the crowd steals your attention.

"Hey!" a voice calls out.

Someone from the crowd sways slightly as he walks quickly toward you and Nicole. Without warning, he wraps a heavy arm around your shoulders. The sudden weight feels like he's dragging you straight down. You force your legs to lock, bracing your joints so you both don't collapse onto the sidewalk.

"I'm so glad you made it. I've been wanting to talk to you for forever," he slurs, his face too close.

"Oh, knock it off, Tyler." Nicole shoves his arm off your neck.

A sharp breath of relief escapes your throat. Tyler raises his hands in surrender, though one arm hangs clearly higher than the other.

"Us in finance are just friendly folk, Nicole. Right?" he says, sending a heavy wink your way.

"Right…" you respond, pulling your lips into an awkward, flat smile.

Nicole pipes up from beside you, leveling him with a look of disgust. "This is why you don't have a girlfriend."

Tyler rolls his eyes, but his pupils track so slowly it looks like he's seeing stars. Stealing a quick glance at Nicole, he wraps his heavy arm right back around your shoulders and forces you forward. Your legs shake violently beneath your weight.

"Hey!" Nicole calls out, following close behind. "Tyler, let her go." Her tone sounds playful on the surface, but a sharp edge cuts beneath the words.

He ignores her completely, pressing your body forward until you cross the threshold into the house.

The interior is pure chaos. Strobe lights flash erratically, sending blinding white needles straight through the heavy pressure behind your eyes. To your left, a beer pong game dominates the common room. The players slam their hands hard against the folding table whenever they miss, sending loud bangs that slice through the bass-heavy music. Crowds of students pack the space holding red cups, swaying and spilling alcohol onto the floor.

People turn their heads to track you as you pass by, their expressions shifting into pure surprise.

Tyler proudly marches you straight up to a large group standing near the beer pong table. He pats your shoulder once before finally releasing his grip.

The group looks you up and down in shock. One of the guys lets out a sharp whistle. "Wow, Tyler. How'd you manage to get finance's princess here?" His gaze travels between your face and below your chin. You pull your arms close against your chest, trying to shield yourself from the look.

"I worked my magic," Tyler slurs, leaning his weight into you. Your footing slips, and you stumble slightly before forcing your legs to catch yourself. The suffocating heat of the packed room sends sharp arrows of pain straight to your brain.

"You mean I worked my magic?" Nicole cuts in from behind. Her hands find your shoulders, holding your frame steady against Tyler's weight.

Turning your head, you give her a grateful smile. It feels like your brain is actively turning to mush. The space is too crowded. Too many eyes are locked on you.

One of the girls in the group catches your eye, offering a soft smile. "Hi," she says politely. "I've seen you in a few of my classes, but I didn't know how to approach you."

"Hi," you respond kindly. Her and Nicole's soothing voices feel like a balm against the pounding bass. "It's nice to meet you." You give her a gentle smile, lacking the energy for anything more.

The girl leans her head in a bit closer, her mouth near your ear. "I can see why people are so interested in you," she whispers playfully. "But if anyone bothers you, let me know."

"Me too," Nicole adds. You hadn't noticed her leaning in to listen, but she squeezes your shoulders lightly. "I'm going to go say hi to some of my friends real quick. If it gets too hot in here, let me know. I'll go outside and cool off with you. You feel a little warm already," she notes, studying your face carefully.

Nicole has already been so kind. You refuse to hold her back from having fun.

"I'm okay," you respond, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Go say hi to your friends," you say brightly, playfully pushing her toward a group looking at her expectantly. She throws a grin your way before disappearing into the crowd.

Immediately, Tyler presses his arm hard against yours. "So, what can I get you to drink, princess?" he asks loudly over the music.

"Just water is good, please." It isn't that you've never touched alcohol before, but the liquid always sits like a heavy rock in your stomach. It makes your brain fuzzy and your limbs refuse to cooperate. It's terrifying. It isn't the same gentle fuzziness that Wanda gave you.

Stop, you command yourself, cutting the thought off before it can dig deeper into your chest.

"Loosen up a little. Just one drink. Pretty please?" Tyler begs. He leans his face so close you're almost positive you could get drunk just from the heavy scent of vodka lingering on his breath.

"Tyler," the girl in the group warns, her voice laced with annoyance.

But the guys around him continue to press, their voices overlapping and bouncing off the walls.

"Come on, you can have the same thing as me."

"I'll make you whatever you'd like."

"Here," one of them says, shoving a red cup straight into your face. "Have some of mine."

The smell of cheap alcohol fills your nose, mixing with the suffocating heat of the room.

It's too much. You pull out your phone, casting a quick glance at the blank screen.

"Sorry, I have to get this," you say apologetically. "I'll be right back."

You wiggle your way out from under Tyler's weight. The group groans in unison as you back away.

Turning on your heel, you navigate your way through the packed room. The hot bodies of drunk students press heavily against yours, sending your heart into a rhythm that's far from steady. You force your way through the crowd faster, desperate for oxygen.

You're almost at the front door when someone's cold hand grips your wrist harshly.

You try to yank your arm away with a violent jerk, but their fingers refuse to yield. Your chest tightens. You need to get out of here. Right now.

"Is it really you?" a heavily accented voice sounds from behind you.

The lava burning beneath your skin freezes into solid ice.

No. There's no way.

Turning your head slightly, you peek over your shoulder. You're met with faces you could never forget. The two faces you've longed to see, that you've missed dearly, and that you've always felt incredibly guilty toward. A brunette and a blonde.

Kate and Yelena.

You can't do this right now. You never want to explain the reality of why you left them behind.

Yelena’s grip stays locked on your wrist while Kate stands right behind her. Their eyes widen in shock as they take in the side of your face.

Using their surprise, you rip your arm out of Yelena's grasp.

You stride quickly out the front door, the freezing night air doing nothing to clear the pressure in your head. Your eyes are frantic, scanning the front yard before you hit the concrete sidewalk and throw your weight around the corner. You need to be anywhere but here.

Rapid footsteps echo on the pavement behind you.

"Wait!" Kate calls out, repeating the word over and over into the night.

You don't stop. The remaining strength begins to wane in your legs, your knees threatening to buckle.

A hand clamps onto your shoulder, forcing your body to spin around. Yelena had always been faster than you in high school. It's exactly the same even now.

She levels a glare at you, gripping your shoulder tighter until her fingers dig into your collarbone. "What gives you the right to run away?" she yells, her voice echoing loudly around the empty space.

You cast a glance at your surroundings, grateful that the loud music bleeding from the houses makes it unlikely anyone else is listening to the commotion.

Reaching up with a shaky hand, you try to pry her fingers off your shoulder, trying to uncurl them one by one. "Let go," you grit out, your raw throat burning from the strain.

"So you can what? Run away again?" Yelena mocks sarcastically, refusing to budge. "You already did that two years ago."

Silence hangs heavy in the cold air, only the sound of your ragged breaths registering between you.

You force your eyes up, catching Kate's gaze immediately. She looks like she wants to reach out and pull you away from Yelena's grip, but she can't find it in herself to move. Her posture is frozen, as if she's terrified that any sudden movement will make you vanish again. Tears barely hold on above her lower lashes.

"I always wondered what happened," Yelena starts, her voice dropping into a low, raw register. "That maybe Kate and I had not been good enough friends. That we were not as close as I thought we were."

Her fingers claw tightly at your skin. Through the anger in her voice, you hadn't noticed the shakiness behind it. A gleam of moisture breaks through her glare as her eyes drop down to where her hand is gripping your shoulder for dear life.

"But at least when I pictured you, even without us, I thought you were happy. You were off somewhere smiling and laughing," she says shakily, before her voice spikes again. "But here you are, looking like this. How dare you?"

She forcefully shakes you by the shoulder. The sudden motion makes your vision blur and a wave of suffocating heat rushes back to your skin.

Kate steps forward, pulling Yelena's hand off your frame. "Stop it!" she cries out desperately. Tears track down her cheeks, glinting under the pale light of the streetlights. "Just stop," she whispers.

Turning to you, Kate meets your eyes with a watery smile. "Yelena and I need to sober up. Let's talk about this at a later time, okay?" she asks, the desperation clear in her voice.

You shake your head despite the sudden wave of dizziness. It feels like your consciousness is barely holding on by a thread. You won't be seeing them again after tonight.

"Why?" Kate pleads, her smile vanishing. "Why can't we talk after this?"

"Because…" you start weakly, your voice breaking entirely on the last syllable.

You sway unevenly on the pavement. Your breaths come out dangerously shallow and fast. Kate disappears and reappears in your blurry vision. The next thing you know, Kate has your arm slung over her shoulder, holding your weight up.

"Did you drink something? What's going on?" she asks frantically.

Yelena presses her palm flat against your forehead. The sudden chill of her skin feels welcome against the boiling of your blood.

"She is burning up," Yelena says, trying to search your eyes.

"I didn't drink anything," you manage to whisper.

You droop heavily into Kate, your legs completely failing. Everything around you looks pixelated. It's almost scary, but whatever is dragging your consciousness down calls to you, promising sweet relief. You want to listen to it.

A sharp, muffled sound cuts through the air from behind you, but you don't move.

Kate and Yelena's faces are suddenly lit up by a bright, sweeping beam of light Their eyes remain frantic, but a wave of relief washes over their expressions as well.

"Hey, I got your text to pick you up. Don't drink so much next time," an annoyed, raspy voice calls out. It's instantly familiar.

The sound of a heavy car door opening echoes down the street, followed by quick, decisive steps on the asphalt.

"What's going on? Did they drink too much?" the person asks, stepping in to help Kate support your body. Your head rolls helplessly to the side, leaning flat against their shoulder.

"She said she didn't drink anything," Kate says breathlessly. "I think she might have a fever. She feels really hot."

You look up slowly, trying to force your jaw to work so you can tell them all you can just walk home. It isn't far.

You're instantly silenced by vibrant green eyes looking down at you, alarmed.

"Natasha?" you mumble out, your voice barely a breath.

Yelena's hand freezes against your forehead.

"Yes, detka, it's me. I'm here," Natasha murmurs softly, her tone shifting instantly.

Yelena's hand drops away from your skin. She stands frozen, looking between the two of you in disbelief.

Natasha moves so she's standing directly in front of you. She pulls one of your arms over her shoulder. "I've got her," she says evenly to Kate.

Glancing at Kate, you see her eyebrows pulled together in hesitation, but she allows your arm to slide off her shoulder. Natasha places your other arm across her neck. Her hands find their way to the back of your thighs, and suddenly gravity isn't pulling you down as harshly. Your chest presses flat against Natasha's as she lifts you up, adjusting her grip beneath you.

Your body tenses immediately. Unwrapping one of your arms, you push your palm against her shoulder with a weak nudge.

"I can get home by myself," you argue, but the words lack any real strength.

Natasha adjusts her grip so only one arm supports your weight. Her other hand wraps around your fingers, lifting your arm and slinging it securely back around her neck. Sliding up to the back of your head, her fingers press lightly, guiding your face down until your cheek squishes flat against her shoulder.

"I'm sure you can," she says in a quiet, appeasing tone, her body beginning to rock side to side like she's lulling you to sleep. Your eyelids grow heavy, beginning to droop against your will. "You don't have to, though."

She uses her palm to cover your exposed ear. "Wanda, I need you to drive instead," Natasha calls out.

The muffled sound is a relief. The surrounding party noises were starting to send sharp, throbbing stabs straight to your brain.

You feel the motion of Natasha walking, holding you steadily so your body barely shifts. The sound of a car door clicking open echoes nearby before Natasha leans down, her breath brushing close to your ear. She slides onto the seat and tucks your legs close to the outside of her thighs, wrapping both arms around your frame to hold you close.

Your lips rest almost directly against the side of her neck.

"It's too hot," you whine quietly, your skin heating at the contact.

Natasha's hand begins to pat your back in a slow, steady rhythm. "I know, detka. It'll be better soon. Just sleep for now."

"Natasha, is that our sweet girl?" Wanda's voice projects from the front, sounding as if she's turned completely around in the driver’s seat.

"Yes," Natasha responds in a low register. "So drive carefully. We have precious cargo."

The steady rhythm of the patting continues against your back. Your eyes close.

The sharp sound of two more doors opening and closing pierces through the space, though the noises of the outside world are starting to fade into a distant hum.

"Natasha," Yelena’s voice cuts in from the seat beside you, her tone a tense mixture of anger and confusion. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Lena. Let's talk at their place. Let her sleep," Kate says from behind you.

A disgruntled, heavy sigh sounds through the vehicle.

"Let's go home," Natasha directs toward the front.

You press your face even closer into the curve of Natasha's neck. The heat is suffocating, but being held against her brings a completely different type of warmth. One that lets you know you're safe.

Using the last bit of your strength, your arms squeeze a bit tighter around her shoulders. Your mind drifts, slipping away from the waking world.

Right before the dark takes over, you swear you see a pair of gorgeous green lights—two slightly different shades—swirling together in the shadows around you.

They came back. —

A/N: Lots of drama. Butttt, we were able to get R out of that house, at least for tonight. Just like how Natasha can't help but baby, I also can't help but baby you guys too. I keep adding to the ending to make it softer because I don't want you guys to finish the chapter feeling sad 😅 In exchange for the drama filled chapter, in the next chapter I promise: Wanda and R will talk, we'll learn more about why Natasha and Wanda are interested in her, maybe make it a little subby.

Thank you guys as always for reading and the comments/asks. It always makes writing the story more fun ♡