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Pete’s never been very good at sitting still.
(The scent of nutmeg and cinnamon surrounds him. His eyes fall closed.)
He’s always felt most tethered when he’s in motion, clinging to the chaos like a lifeline. It’s what he’s most familiar with, but it’s also what he craves. There’s a certainty in it that he can’t replicate when things are peaceful.
(Natasha’s fingers comb through his hair in slow, steady movements. The rhythm of it is unchanging. His thoughts slow to match it.)
Peace makes his skin crawl. Always has. Still does, truthfully, but he wants to be better about that. Wants to learn how to be okay with pausing and living inside a single, solitary moment. His instinct is to always prepare for the next one, and the next one, and the next one. But Natasha –
(There’s music playing softly from the television; a song he doesn’t recognize, but he thinks Natasha does. With his head pillowed on her lap, he can feel the muscles in her thigh moving as she taps her foot along with the music.)
– Natasha’s so much better at this than he is. There’s such a poise to her in these moments, one that captivates him so fucking deeply. He wants that for himself (just as long as she’s here, too), so he chases after it. Chooses to sink into the calm that’s seemingly overtaken Natasha’s little apartment, the quiet that’s fallen over them in her living room.
(He can feel the sting of windburn on his cheeks from a morning spent at the farmer’s market. The pumpkin bread that they mixed together is baking in the oven.)
There’s a clarity here that he knows he’d never be able to replicate anywhere else.
(“I’m in love with you,” he rasps, keeping his eyes closed. Natasha’s fingers don’t stop moving through his hair, but he hears the way her breath catches. He opens his eyes. “Is that okay?”)
It still feels a little unnatural. A little unsteady.
(Natasha’s dark eyes are filled with warmth as she gazes down at him. She grins slowly, her head tilting to one side, and nods.)
But Pete thinks he could stay here, right here, for the rest of his life.
(“Yeah, that’s okay,” she answers, her free hand pressing over the steady, slow thrum of his heart. “I’m in love with you, too.”)