Chapter Text
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It had been a strange decision from the start.
Natasha did not need an apartment; she could live in a million-dollar tower if she wanted to.
She rented an apartment anyway. It was a small thing, only a couple of blocks away from Stark's tower. Sometimes, free will still felt like a foreign concept. Natasha wanted to break the cycle; she wanted a thing of her own, a home to go back to that was solely hers. And maybe that concept was even more foreign, but she was content.
The time she spent in her apartment didn't have a schedule or pattern. Work kept her away for several days at a time. Good work, clean work—Natasha would tell herself over and over each time she put on her black suit. If she stole files for SHIELD, if she took people's lives, it was for a good cause. She was going clean; she was washing away the red on her ledger.
Natasha told herself over and over. A mantra, muttered under her breath. Maybe if she said it enough times, she'd believe it.
On free days, she went back to her apartment. The decoration was still bare and dull; cream colored walls had no art or portraits on them, there was a single grey couch in front of a flat screen tv, a small kitchen with only the necessary amount of cutlery for one person, and thin curtains that did nothing to keep sunlight away and flowed easily with the wind.
But Natasha liked it. She had bought a small potted plant on a whim; the little thing had its place on her windowsill, and a rush of giddy pride filled Natasha when she noticed a new green leaf had grown after a few days of close care. It was peaceful, it was quiet. Natasha never had anything of her own. This? It belonged to her.
It didn't take too long for Natasha to meet you, then. When she rented the apartment, Natasha forgot to consider that she'd have neighbors.
She was about to step into the only elevator of the building. You, were rushing out of it.
Natasha had quick reflexes; she took hold of both your arms before you could crash into her and undoubtedly spill the coffee inside the to-go cup you were holding.
You gasped in surprise, looking at Natasha with widened eyes. And she frowned, more at herself than at you; because Natasha immediately noticed how beautiful your eyes were, even under the crappy blinking light of the hallway.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." You were quick to say. You had a burgundy scarf around your neck, which matched the pink of your cheeks. Maybe it was colder outside.
One of your hands grasped at the fabric of Natasha's black bomber jacket, around her forearm—out of reflex, no doubt—but Natasha was a little too aware of your touch. She averted her gaze, focusing on the open doors of the elevator behind you.
She shook her head dismissively. "No problem."
"You're my new neighbor."
When Natasha looked at you again, her brow raised with curiosity. She noticed that the smile on your lips was as soft as your voice. Natasha should not be looking at your lips.
"I had noticed the door next to mine was vacant. And then it wasn't." You explained further with a shrug when the redhead, still holding onto your arms, kept silent. Your eyes carefully followed the curls of her red hair. "Welcome."
Natasha held your stare for a second longer. She could only nod. She hurried inside the elevator and away from you faster than she meant to.
There was a kindness to you. Each time you and Natasha happened upon each other again—in the elevator, when you'd be arriving home at night and Natasha was just leaving, sometimes in the street just before going inside the apartment building—you always greeted her with a smile and a small wave, even on the days when she'd give you nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement.
In just a couple of weeks, you became a peculiar variable in Natasha's life, something she wasn't used to. She hadn't accounted on meeting someone like you. Someone as sweet as you.
At first, Natasha avoided you like the plague. At the same time, she secretly always hoped you'd find her, anyway.
And you did, because when Natasha walked into the cozy coffee shop across the street from the building, the face that greeted her at the counter was yours. There was a barely there falter on her steps, a fleeting moment of hesitation where Natasha considered choosing another place to buy coffee. But the poorly contained excitement shining bright in your eyes as soon as you noticed Natasha opening the door kept her hostage.
The place was very inviting, with brick walls, order suggestions written with chalk on blackboards, plush red seats that were too carefully crafted to be from this decade, and a grunge melody coming from a vintage jukebox in the corner.
Natasha reached the counter, gripping the edge with her hands. A beat or two passed, and she pretended to look at the coffee suggestions written to your right.
You waited until she was ready. You were kind like that.
When the redhead chanced a glance at you, that soft smile of yours that Natasha had already memorized the shape of was back; "What can I get you?"
She raised a brow, deciding on a challenge. "Why don't you surprise me?" Natasha's voice was velvety, her smirk tantalizing.
And you did, when you attuned with her quickly. You tapped your pen against your lips once, twice; smile not wavering. You wrote something down in your notepad. "It would be my pleasure."
Natasha chose to sit in a booth by the nearest window, which had a clear view of both the door and the counter.
You brought the coffee to her yourself. A Macchiato, along with a plate holding two chocolate cookies. You placed it in front of her with a quiet "Enjoy" falling past your lips.
Natasha drank the coffee and had to hold back a groan of satisfaction. She took a second sip and glanced up towards the counter in the same heartbeat. You caught her staring, but she caught you staring back. Your eyes had already been on her.
Natasha fought a smile when she watched the way your bashful eyes avoided hers, and a smile of your own framed your pink cheeks and crinkled the sides of your eyes.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Natasha had trouble looking away from you. She realized, with sudden shortness of breath, that she too became softer in your presence.
This sort of love was not allowed for someone like her. You were both too soft, and the world around you was all knives and chipped teeth. Natasha knew it well. And she should not be looking at your lips. This was the first reason why.