caro

It was humiliating.

“Pass the salt.”

You nearly dropped the entire container into your soup.

Natasha blinked at you from across the dinner table.

“…You okay?”

“Yep,” you answered too quickly.

Sam snorted into his drink.

You kicked him under the table without looking.

Natasha took the salt from your hand carefully, fingers brushing yours for maybe half a second.

You stopped breathing.

Actually stopped.

She frowned a little. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Mhm.”

Your voice cracked.

Clint outright choked laughing.

—

Natasha, somehow, did not get it.

Which made absolutely no sense because she was literally one of the best spies in the world.

She could tell when people lied before they even opened their mouths. She noticed tiny shifts in posture, changes in breathing, microexpressions.

But apparently your painfully obvious crush existed in a blind spot.

Or maybe—

Maybe she noticed and just didn’t care.

That possibility haunted you most.

So you avoided her.

Not dramatically. You weren’t hiding behind walls or sprinting in the opposite direction.

You just… strategically disappeared.

If Natasha entered the kitchen, suddenly you remembered you had laundry.

If she sat beside you during movie night, you’d excuse yourself for water you didn’t need.

If she tried talking to you one-on-one for too long, your brain melted into static.

It got so bad that one morning Steve found you fully climbing back out of the common room window.

“…Why are you using the fire escape?”

You glanced past him.

Natasha was inside making coffee.

“…Fresh air.”

Steve looked unconvinced.

“You live on the thirty-eighth floor.”

“Cardio?”

—

The thing was, Natasha made it impossible.

She wasn’t even trying.

She’d casually sling an arm around your shoulder after missions.

She’d smirk at you from across the training room.

She’d praise you in that low, rough voice like it was nothing.

“Nice shot.”

“Good work.”

“You’re improving.”

And every single time, your brain replayed it for the next six business days.

The worst part?

Natasha liked being around you.

A lot.

She liked your dry sarcasm. She liked how you got protective over the team despite being newer and younger. She liked how your hair curled slightly at the nape of your neck after training.

She especially liked making you flustered.

Not maliciously.

It was just… cute.

You’d get all stiff and avoid eye contact while trying so hard to act normal.

And Natasha, despite decades of emotional repression and spy instincts, had somehow mistaken your crush for intimidation.

Which honestly offended her a little.

One night after a mission, she cornered Clint in the kitchen while he dug through the fridge.

“She’s scared of me.”

Clint stared at her.

Then he started laughing.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “You seriously don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Clint.”

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then realization slowly crossed his face.

“Oh my God,” he said again, quieter this time. “You like her too.”

Natasha scoffed immediately. “I do not.”

“Nat.”

“I don’t.”

“You look at her like she personally invented sunlight.”

Natasha opened her mouth.

Closed it.

“…That dramatic?”

“Worse.”

—

After that conversation, Natasha started paying attention.

And suddenly everything clicked into place.

The nervous fidgeting.

The avoiding.

The staring when you thought she wasn’t looking.

The way you’d go completely silent whenever she sat too close.

Oh.

Oh.

The realization hit her so hard she nearly walked into a glass door.

You had a crush on her.

A big one.

And somehow, impossibly—

Natasha felt warmth bloom low in her chest at the thought.

—

The next few days were torture for both of you.

Because now Natasha noticed everything.

Like how your ears turned red when she touched your arm.

Or how you always looked for her first after missions.

Or how your entire face softened whenever you thought no one was watching.

It was unbearably endearing.

Which became a problem when Natasha started getting shy too.

Not externally, obviously.

Natasha Romanoff didn’t really do externally shy.

But internally?

Disaster.

You smiled at her in the elevator one morning and she forgot what floor she needed.

You complimented her fighting stance during training (something which you had taken a whole of 30 minutes to muster up the courage for) and she spent the next hour punching the bag hard enough to split seams.

It was deeply inconvenient.

—

The breaking point came during movie night.

You were curled into the far corner of the couch, hoodie sleeves shoved over your hands, trying very hard to focus on the screen.

Natasha arrived late carrying popcorn.

Your heart immediately started acting traitorous.

There was exactly one open spot left.

Beside you.

Of course.

You contemplated death briefly.

Natasha sat down close enough that your shoulders touched.

You froze.

Completely.

She noticed instantly.

And this time, instead of pretending not to, Natasha tilted her head slightly.

“You always this nervous around me?”

Your eyes widened.

“…No?”

“Liar.”

The fondness in her voice made your stomach flip.

You stared determinedly at the TV.

“I’m not nervous.”

Natasha hummed softly. “So if I did this—”

Her fingers slipped carefully around your wrist where it rested against your knee.

Gentle.

Warm.

You nearly short-circuited. Luckily no one noticed, at least, they pretended not to

“Shut up,” you muttered weakly, still staring straight ahead.

Natasha’s thumb brushed against your pulse.

Way too aware. She was way too aware of how fast your heartbeat got.

Her expression softened.

“You know,” she murmured quietly enough just for you, “for someone so confident around everyone else…”

You finally looked at her.

Big mistake.

Natasha was already watching you with this small, impossibly soft smile.

Not smug.

Not teasing.

Just… warm.

Your face burned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Probably.”

But she still didn’t let go of your wrist.

Actually, her fingers slid down slowly until they tangled with yours.

Your brain stopped functioning entirely.

Natasha squeezed your hand once.

Then, very casually, she leaned her head against your shoulder.

You looked at her like she’d personally rewritten reality.

Natasha didn’t look up from the movie.

But you caught the tiny smile tugging at her mouth when your fingers squeezed hers back.