Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Maybe we got lost in translation

Maybe I asked for too much

But maybe this thing was a masterpiece

Till you tore it all up

Running scared, I was there

I remember it all too well

 

And you call me up again

Just to break me like a promise

So casually cruel in the name of being honest

I’m a crumpled up piece of paper lying here

Cause I remember it all, all, all... too well

*

“I still don’t get it,” Yelena said casually, grabbing some seedless green grapes from the plastic container and popping them into her mouth one by one. “Why would any of you think Bob was my ex-boyfriend?”

They were sitting in the break room of O.X.E. Group’s branding department, having lunch together. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting delicate golden stripes across the gray-white marble countertop. Three lunch boxes and mugs sat on the table, the rich scent of black tea mingling with the tang of lemon in the air.

John hunched over and took a hefty bite of his taco—crispy beef wrapped in a golden corn tortilla, with lettuce and spicy sauce almost dripping onto the table. As he chewed, he mumbled through his mouthful, “Are you kidding me? Did you hit your head or something? Anyone would’ve thought you and Bob were a couple back then… Ava thought so too, right?”

Ava was staring intently at her kale salad, watching the dressing slowly seep into the folds of the leaves, as if sheer concentration would help her avoid the conversation. But John wouldn’t let her get away; he nudged her arm and said, “Come on, Ava, back me up. Didn’t you say it was a disaster when they broke up?”

“What?” Yelena frowned from across the table.

“I never said it was a disaster,” Ava turned her head and shot John a warning look. “I just said it was weird. Not like how normal couples break up.”

“So basically, a couple,” John concluded, turning back to Yelena. “Ava and I both thought you two were dating.”

“Absolutely not.” Yelena shot that down with brisk certainty, grabbing another handful of grapes. “How could you even think that? It’s absurd.”

“Hah, interesting.” John set down his taco, his fighting spirit ignited. “Not a couple, then what? Was he like your pet human dog or something? Don’t be ridiculous, Yelena.”

“He was my friend. I thought the four of us were best friends,” Yelena narrowed her eyes. “And yet you two actually thought Bob and I were dating?”

John’s expression softened a little, “The three of us are best friends. He’s not,” he corrected. “He just liked clinging to you. When did he transfer in again?”

“Junior year, first semester,” Yelena answered immediately.

“Right, junior year. But the three of us had known each other since freshman year—he was the newcomer, it’s different. I’d bet Bob was jealous about that, too.”

“There you go again.” Yelena rolled her eyes. “Bob was never jealous. He treated you as a good friend.”

“—Only when you were around. The minute you weren’t there, he didn’t even bother to pretend.” A drop of red hot sauce clung to John’s golden beard, which he wiped away with his hand.

“So what?” Yelena said, unfazed. “That’s probably because you used to bully him.”

John flared instantly. “Oh my god, Yelena! Are you really digging up ancient history? I didn’t bully him—and that was what, five or six years ago? I was just messing with him.”

Yelena let out a sharp, cold laugh. “Messing with him? You and your football buddies were a bunch of bullies—the captain, what was his name, Ted? He was the worst.”

“Honestly, I think Ted had a crush on you…”

“That’s even more disgusting.” She took a sip of her lemon tea.

Suddenly, John seemed to remember something. “Wait—hold on—I just thought of why we all assumed you and Bob were together. Didn’t you literally say it yourself? In front of the whole football team, no less. Remember?”

He looked to Ava for support, but she just wore the same puzzled expression. So he turned back to Yelena and described it in detail. “At the gym, that time. Ted was picking a fight, and you stepped right in, stood between him and Bob, and told Ted to back off. Ted asked what it had to do with you, and you said ‘He is my boyfriend.’ Ring any bells?”

Yelena calmly set her mug back down on the marble table. “I said, ‘He is my guy.’ And it was pretty obvious I was just helping Bob out.”

“It wasn’t obvious at all. After that, everyone assumed Bob was your boyfriend. The whole business school knew.”

“Oh come on, I said ‘my guy,’ not ‘my boyfriend’…”

“Is there a difference? Ava, is there a difference?” John was determined to drag Ava into this argument, but she ignored him, stabbing at her salad greens.

So John fought on alone. He placed his half-eaten taco back in its box and kept laying out his case. “He couldn’t be apart from you. Always right there by your side—in class, at cafés, on the field… he was basically your shadow.”

Yelena couldn’t be bothered to argue anymore. She tilted her head back and kept popping grapes into her mouth. “If I remember correctly, you two were usually there too. Are you saying all four of us were dating?”

Ava finally spoke up. She put down her fork and delivered her verdict. “But you lived together. You and Bob smelled exactly the same. And if I hadn’t found out, you weren’t even going to tell us.”

“Oh, we just used the same brand of laundry detergent…” Yelena straightened up, still chewing, as if that explained everything.

John’s eyes lit up with realization. “That’s right! You two did live together! Starting that summer before senior year…”

“That’s because he thought going home was too far, and he wanted to find an internship in Ohio anyway. Dorms close during break, so he stayed at my place,” Yelena said, sounding completely casual about it.

Ava raised an eyebrow. “And your family didn’t say anything?”

“What would they say? He helped me look after Fanny, and helped my brother-in-law with chores. My whole family loved him. Plus, he paid rent.”

“So Bob was just your roommate?”

“Pretty much.”

“But he didn’t move back to the dorms when school started. What about that?” John pressed, unwilling to drop it.

“Because it was cheaper to stay at my place than in the dorms. Hardly anyone lived in the dorms senior year. You didn’t.”

“That’s because I met Olivia. So you’re telling me your relationship with Bob was just like my relationship with Olivia—”

“Will you shut up already?” Yelena finally snapped.

“Alright, let me do the math,” John said, counting on his fingers with exaggerated seriousness. “Back then, you and Bob were living together, always glued to each other, and you publicly declared, ‘He is my guy’… Ava and I both thought you were dating. Then he apparently dumped you and disappeared. And now you’re saying you never dated at all?”

Yelena suddenly found the grape on her tongue tasted a bit sour. She forced herself to swallow it, then fixed him with a cold stare. “What are you trying to say? Stop circling around it and get to the point.”

John exchanged a glance with Ava. “I just want to ask you something.” He put on a solemn, almost earnest expression. “If—hypothetically—you ran into him again now, would you two get back together?”

Yelena rolled her eyes dramatically. “First of all, I’ve already said we were never a couple. Second, we never broke up, so there’s nothing to ‘get back.’ Third, why are you so obsessed with Bob today? You’re acting weird.”

“Fine. It’s just that…” John hesitated. “Ava happened to peek at Mel’s computer screen—(Yelena turned to Ava and said, ‘God, you are snooping again? You really are a ghost lady…’)—and found out who we’re shooting this afternoon.”

“Who is it?” Yelena heard the careful note in his voice, and her heart sank.

“It’s your ex-boyfriend—friend—roommate—however you want to define it. Robert Reynolds.”

*

Robert Reynolds stood halfway up the switchback staircase, leaning against a partition wall made of one-way glass. He rested his hand on the railing, eyes fixed on the lobby below. Before Valentina called him out, he had to wait here—or rather, hide here.

He wasn’t sure if he was truly looking forward to making his entrance. Over and over, he rehearsed the scene in his mind, picturing the look on the person in front of him. He realized his hands were trembling slightly, his palms growing damp. Lowering his head, he tried to steady himself—clenching his fists, releasing them, clenching again. Breathe out, breathe in, relax.

A commotion rose from the lobby. He lifted his head and caught sight of the person stepping through the door, and in that instant, his heart stopped.

It was Yelena.

The next second, the stalled heart gave a violent lurch and began to race madly in his chest, buzzing all the way up to his scalp. Bob felt his mind go blank. Every cell in his body crowded together, all screaming at once: It’s Yelena! It’s Yelena!

When he came back to himself, he found he was gripping the railing, leaning forward hungrily, almost tracing every millimeter of her outline with his eyes. He hadn’t seen her in three whole years.

Yelena had cut her hair short, and she’d gotten thinner. This job must have put her under a lot of stress—she hadn’t even bothered to brush her hair. She used to weave it into beautiful fishtail braids, but now she wore it messy, with dark circles under her eyes. Her smoky blue eyeshadow was slightly smudged, sweat beaded on the tip of her nose, and her lips were dry. She licked them, glancing around warily. Bob also licked his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

She looked different from their college days. Or perhaps not so different at all. Yelena was still Yelena. The moment she stepped into the room, it lit up—or at least it did in his eyes.

.....

He thought again of what Alexei had once said.

“Look at this photo,” the bearded Russian man said, holding a thick album and pointing to one of the pages, his face alight with fondness. “This was Lena in elementary school, with her soccer team.”

He was sitting next to Alexei, leaning over to see the photo, a smile unconsciously tugging at his lips. He recognized little Yelena at once. Blonde hair, hazel-green eyes, dressed in her soccer uniform, surrounded by friends, beaming brilliantly at the camera. She looked so happy—her joy felt powerful enough to leap from the photo and touch his heart even after all these years. He wished he’d known Yelena when she was a child. How could he have missed her whole childhood?

“Our Lena was a very special little girl,” her father said, lost in memories, oblivious to the infatuated look on Bob’s face. “Whenever she walked into a room, she made it brighter. She was so cheerful, so kind… Do you know why she chose to be the team’s goalie?”

Bob snapped out of it. “Why?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“She told me she wanted to be the one everyone could rely on if they made a mistake,” Alexei said with a broad grin. “Can you believe that came out of an eight-year-old’s mouth? From then on, I knew our Lena would become someone extraordinary…”

“Oh my god, give me a break,” Yelena’s voice suddenly came from behind them, making Bob jump. He turned to see her standing in the bedroom doorway, hands on hips. “Dad, could you please stop telling every single person embarrassing stories about me as a kid? I’m taking that album. Hand it over.”

“No,” Alexei hugged the album to his chest, putting on a pitiful look. “Are you gonna take away your old man’s greatest joy?”

“Your greatest joy is drinking, except Natasha doesn’t let you anymore,” Yelena retorted bluntly. “Bob, give me the album.”

Bob hesitated, not moving. “I still want to hear Alexei’s stories.” He gave her a sincere smile—the sort of expression that always got to her.

Yelena closed her eyes helplessly and then opened them again. “Fine. Whatever. I’m done with you two. Stay home and behave—I’m taking Fanny out.”

“Where? Can I come?” He jumped up, only for Alexei to yank him back. “Hey, I’m not finished telling my story…”

Even now, Bob could recall every tiny detail of the time he spent living at Yelena’s house. It remained the happiest year of his life.

There was the crackling fireplace, the thick, plush carpets underfoot. The linen tablecloth embroidered with delicate patterns, the iron kettle steaming with lemon tea. The boom of Alexei’s voice and his hearty laughter, the lazy, husky drawl of Yelena’s sister, and her brother-in-law’s quiet, thoughtful gaze. And Fanny—the feel of her soft, furry head resting on his knees, the damp warmth of her tongue as she licked his palm.

But most of all, there was Yelena. Always Yelena. The way her face tilted when she laughed, the stray wisps of hair that danced at her cheeks, the bright delight that spilled unguarded from her eyes. Sometimes he wished he could turn invisible, just so he could watch her forever—utterly, shamelessly—without her family ever noticing. He was afraid of seeming weird to them; this was the closest he’d ever come to belonging to a happy family, and he couldn’t afford to ruin it.

It was Yelena who had taken him in, accepted him, and shared her family with him. He’d told her he didn’t want to go home over the summer because Florida was too far away—not entirely true. The bigger reason was that every day spent in his own house was pure agony. If he went back, he’d end up fighting his father. Maybe this time he wouldn’t be able to stop himself until he crippled the man. He hated him. And he deserved it.

Yelena never knew that he was actually very good at fighting. Who would have guessed? Back then, he always slouched, kept his head down, spoke in a low voice, and sometimes even looked timid. He seemed easy to bully. In fact, every time Yelena “happened to” catch him being bullied, it was by design. How could she possibly stand by and do nothing? As Alexei had said, she was so kind.

It was how he got rid of the people who were after Yelena. He remembered Ted from the football team most vividly—what a hot-headed fool. Ted was so easy to provoke, and Yelena just happened to step in front of him, shielding him. Bob would never forget that moment—Yelena said he was her guy, and the whole stadium heard it. Standing behind her, he smiled at Ted like a victor, driving the loser into a rage. Then he turned his head, letting his chin brush lightly against Yelena’s hair, and murmured in a soft, pitiful voice, “Yelena, let’s go. I don’t want to fight.”

He even used the same tactics to sow discord between Yelena and John Walker. From the moment he first saw Walker, he didn’t like him—at first because Walker reminded him of his own father, and later because of how naturally close Walker was to Yelena. Who did Walker think he was, not knowing about keeping a safe distance? But Bob was careful, because Yelena had known Walker longer than she’d known him. He couldn’t actually make her cut Walker off; he could only slightly weaken her trust in him.

But now. Walker was still by Yelena’s side.

The realization made Bob’s expression instantly darken. Through the one-way glass, he looked down at the three people standing not far away—Walker, Yelena, and Ava. Friends since college, now working in the same department at the same company. How close. How touching. Nothing could seem to come between them.

*

“Everyone,” Valentina said, standing at the center of the hall, her voice cheerful. “I am honored to introduce an important partner—Robert Reynolds, who will be the face of our 2025 Spring/Summer ‘Sentry’ suit collection…”

Bob knew it was time to make his entrance. He walked down the stairs step by step until he reached the middle landing on the first floor. Valentina was still giving her welcome speech, but he couldn’t hear a word of it anymore. Even on the runways of Milan Fashion Week, he had never felt this nervous. His muscles felt tense and stiff, as if he were dragging a petrified body forward, with only his heart left to pound wildly. The rapid heartbeat echoed in his ears, making his thoughts sluggish and fuzzy. Don’t look at her—he warned himself—otherwise your heart will explode.

Valentina, sensing his tension, gave his arm a gentle, considerate pat, her face wearing that professional fake smile. “Robert, say hello to our brand’s marketing team.”

Now he had no choice but to look in her direction. Adjusting his expression, he pulled up the corners of his mouth, gave a quick glance, then immediately looked away. Breathe, he told himself, breathe. Just like he’d rehearsed—act calm and easy.

“Hey guys,” he said.

He decided to keep his eyes on Ava, so he could still catch Yelena in his peripheral vision without making it too obvious. Ava was tilting her head, messy black hair falling over her shoulders, eyeing him with suspicion. Suddenly, she asked, “Have you dyed your hair?”

Bob heard the trace of disapproval in her tone, and his heart clenched. He had dyed his hair blonde to match the ‘Sentry’ suit’s theme color. If Ava didn’t like it, then Yelena wouldn’t like it either. —Damn.

Just as he was about to muster the courage to look at Yelena, a loud voice cut in. John Walker finally figured out what was going on and exclaimed, “Hey, Bobby! Did you take some kind of growth hormone? You’re actually this tall? When did you become a model? If I’d known business school just leads to selling your looks, I could’ve saved myself a few years…”

Bob frowned. Walker’s thoughtless jokes had always irritated him. He gave a cold smile, looked down at Walker from above, and said, “You can call me Mr. Reynolds.”

Walker’s eyes widened, and he instinctively turned to Yelena as if to complain. “What’s his problem—?” Bob read his lips clearly.

Now. At last, he could justifiably, casually, let his gaze settle on her.

…...

He thought back—at completely the wrong moment—to the first time he met the three of them.

Dim emergency lights, towering metal shelves, and a strong smell of alcohol filled the air. Deep in the pharmacy, the refrigerator was wheezing on its last legs as he searched through the cabinet of controlled medications, using the faint light from his phone. He needed to find it as quickly as possible—

“Who’s there?”

A flashlight beam cut through the dust and shone directly in his face. He could barely keep his eyes open, blinking to see three silhouettes on the other side of the shelves. An irritable male voice snapped again, “Who’s there?!”

That was the first time he met Walker—and their first conflict. Walker refused to believe he was just “lost” in the pharmacy; he insisted Bob was a thief. Walker had always been like that—whatever popped into his head, he had to say it out loud. Ava had always been like that, too, wearing a slightly judging look, arms crossed, watching coldly. But Yelena—Yelena was different from them. She always stepped in to smooth things over for him.

Later on, Yelena found out he’d lied. He hadn’t been “lost.” He’d been desperate, looking to steal some morphine from the med room. But Yelena never once blamed him. “If it were back in Prohibition,” she shrugged, “I’d be doing the same thing. Lucky for me, buying liquor is legal now.”

It was hard to say exactly when he fell for her. Maybe it was her fierce, unhesitating defense of him, or her subtle, unnoticed help, or the way she understood him so effortlessly... It all seemed so natural—so inevitable—that by the time he realized what was happening, he was already hopelessly bound to her.

Yelena never once voiced a judgment about his addiction. Not a word, not even an unwelcome look. It wasn’t until the summer after their junior year, when he confessed that he had nowhere to go, that she responded—by inviting him to stay at her house.

Moving in was simple. Bob was eager to start that very night. But Yelena looked serious and said, “Bob, there’s something I should tell you first.”

“What is it?” he immediately felt a pang of dread.

“You know my parents divorced ages ago, right? Actually, it was because my dad was an alcoholic that my mom left. Since then, my sister hasn’t allowed anything addictive in the house. My dad and I don’t even dare drink around her, unless it’s a holiday. My brother-in-law quit smoking, too.” She paused. “So if my sister found out you have a bit of a… painkiller problem, she wouldn’t be happy. She might not let you stay.”

Bob felt weak, like he was teetering on the edge of a tall building, terrified of falling. He rushed to say, “I’ll quit, Yelena, I’m already quitting.”

Yelena’s eyes curved, a lazy smile blooming across her face. She ruffled his hair, running her fingers through his messy curls, and said, “I know. You’ll be just fine.”

Later, he realized—maybe this was Yelena’s roundabout way of helping him kick the habit. He was deeply grateful; she really had found the best way for him. As long as he could be with her, he could give up anything—he’d be a perfect saint.

When the cravings hit, he would lie on the big bed in her guest room, staring at the crack in the ceiling. Night spilled in through the window, creeping up to the headboard. It felt like ants were crawling inside his spine, nibbling away at his sanity, tempting him to ease it all with a tiny syringe. He lay there rigid, nails digging into his palms. He forced himself to think of something else—he began recalling the Russian words Yelena had taught him. He wanted to learn quickly; it would make Yelena happy. So he opened his mouth, whispering each familiar Russian word into the darkness.

Hello. Thank you. Goodbye. Sorry. Good morning. Good evening. Yelena. Yelena. Yelena. Yelena…

*

Yelena.

He almost said her name out loud.

Yelena stood right in front of him. Only now, up close, did he realize she looked even more exhausted than he’d feared. What had Valentina done to her? A sudden, overwhelming urge surged through him—he wanted to reach out, smooth her tangled hair, and pull her into his arms like he used to.

But Valentina’s hand closed sharply over his, her smile all brittle politeness. “Do you guys know each other?”

Walker jumped in at once, “Bob was in college with us.”

Bob noticed how Walker subtly set him apart from that collective “us.” A dark, heavy irritation stirred in his chest again.

“How convenient,” Valentina said with a perfunctory nod and smile. “Friends always make the most efficient collaborators.”

Coldly, Bob replied, “No. We’re not that close.”

The air turned awkward. Walker let out a strained laugh, trying to defuse it.

“It’s been years, right? Even the closest friends drift… But Bob, why didn’t you ever reach out to us?”

He shot back without even thinking. “Why would I?”

The silence thickened, tense. A flicker of vengeful pleasure curled through him.

…...

Honestly, he didn’t even know what exactly he was trying to get revenge for.

The truth was, Yelena had never done anything wrong. She’d been kind to him, taken care of him, supported him, which gave him the illusion of something closer, something intimate. She had done nothing wrong—he was the one who’d misunderstood, who had allowed himself to believe in foolish hopes.

It all began to unravel that summer after graduation, when he accidentally overheard Yelena arguing with Natasha. Natasha seemed to be urging her to go visit their mother. Yelena’s voice cut sharply, fiercely:

“She’s never bothered to see me, so why should I go see her? I don’t have time!”

Natasha said something else. Yelena shot back:

“No way! I already made plans to travel with my best friends; I’m not letting some ‘mother’ I haven’t seen in centuries ruin that!”

He didn’t hear the rest. He just stood frozen on the other side of the door, as if a blizzard had slammed straight into his chest and spread its cold through every limb. He couldn’t move.

“Best friends”…

He didn’t need to ask to know that plural included him. Two years ago, that might have filled him with joy and gratitude. But now, it only left him hollow and cold.

Friends.

Deep down, he’d always known that was all he was—just a friend. But he’d simply chosen not to see it, feeding himself fantasies that someday, somehow, things would change.

But in that moment, all his excuses crumbled. The truth stood there, raw and bloody, impossible to look at and impossible to ignore. He had to force himself to accept it: Yelena liked him, but she didn’t love him. Or at least, not in the way he so desperately wanted her to.

In Yelena’s eyes, the world was simple—there were people who were her friends, and people who weren’t. Nothing in between. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how he twisted himself inside out to be indispensable, he couldn’t carve out a place more special than that. Maybe such a place didn’t exist at all. This was a war with no rival, and yet he had still managed to lose, spectacularly.

If it had been Carl, or David, or Eric she’d run into at that pharmacy instead of him—anyone, really—she would have helped them too. They all might have ended up among her “best friends.”

So what did that make him? What was he, then, truly?

He had once been so grateful just to be her friend. But the longer it lasted, the greedier his heart became. It simply wasn’t enough—nowhere near enough.

At night, lying in bed, he couldn’t stop conjuring her in his mind: the flutter of her lashes, the soft dry curve of her lips, the gentle slope of her chest just hidden by a loose collar, the warm, sweet scent at the hollow of her throat, the haze of steam curling around her silhouette when she stepped out of the shower…

She was so achingly beautiful that to think of her this way felt like desecration. But he couldn’t help himself.

Knowing she didn’t love him didn’t lessen his love in the slightest; it only twisted it into something murkier, darker. Envy. Doubt. Cowardice. Despair.

He felt like a crumpled piece of paper—creased, torn, and easily held in her palm, tucked into her pocket, to be discarded whenever she pleased.

Her kindness, because it was never reserved for him alone, turned into a particular kind of cruelty.

He started avoiding Walker and Ava; he couldn’t bear to watch them laugh and joke with Yelena. They had known her longer. They were the ones who were truly her best friends.

He even found himself resenting Yelena’s brother-in-law—simply because of that effortless way Bucky seemed to belong. He fit into the house, into the family, and slipped so easily into Yelena’s trust. Why should he?

One afternoon, Bob walked into the living room just in time to hear Yelena say to Bucky, “You really ought to meet John. When John and Olivia get married, will you be my date to the wedding?”

It was like a dull knife sinking into his chest. But he said nothing. He forced a smile, greeted them, and pretended everything was fine. He could sense Bucky’s pitying glance, but he didn’t want it. He wouldn’t accept it.

Eventually, even living under Yelena’s roof became agony.

At night, he curled up on the bed as if crushed into a crater, falling through pitch-blackness straight to the earth’s core. The weightlessness spread through him, swallowed by darkness so deep it choked the breath from his lungs. His mind turned thick and heavy, circling only her—unable, unwilling, to let her go.

Have mercy on me, Yelena. Please.

Why can’t you just look at me? Why can’t you care only for me? Why can’t you belong only to me?

Have mercy on me, Yelena.

Bob realized he couldn’t go on like this. He was spiraling into an abyss, something far worse than his old addiction—because this he couldn’t quit. If he kept sinking, one day Yelena would see through him, and then they wouldn’t even be friends anymore.

So he left.

He packed up everything he owned, pulled out his SIM card, bought the earliest flight to the farthest place he could find, and slipped away from that fairy-tale house without a word. He told no one. Left no note. Like a pitiful deserter, he chose to flee before things could get any worse, cutting it all off with a clumsy, desperate finality.

But leaving Yelena didn’t banish the darkness. If anything, it made it grow wilder, more unruly. He started drinking heavily, rotting away in a cramped apartment in Kuala Lumpur, burning through what little money he had. When the cravings got bad, he’d sometimes dial her number—just to hear her voice—but always hung up before the call connected. He knew it was pointless. By then, maybe she’d already forgotten him. He was probably just another face in her vast gallery of friends. Nothing special at all.

In the end, he almost couldn’t survive. Tried to find a job, only to discover his degree was worthless there. Then, by accident, he realized he could make money off his looks. It wasn’t exactly a shining chapter of his life, but fortune intervened: someone spotted him, and soon he was working as a model, starting from nothing.

He had an unexpected knack for it. Southeast Asia led to Europe, and eventually, back to America. He rebuilt himself, put on a new skin, and waited—quietly, stubbornly—for the day he would see her again.

And now, at last, he was seeing her again.

Yelena looked at him. He looked at Yelena.

“All right,” Valentina’s bright voice sliced through the moment, breaking their gaze. “I’m not paying you guys to catch up. Let’s get to work. Mel, start assigning tasks.”

But Yelena didn’t seem to hear. She suddenly stepped closer. Bob went rigid, utterly unprepared, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

She stopped right in front of him. Instinctively, he dipped his head so she could easily reach his unruly curls. He turned his cheek into her palm, lingering there. It all happened so naturally, like it was meant to be. As if he’d grown his hair out just for her to touch.

Finally, she spoke.

“Bob, are you okay?” She stared at him intently. “It’s been three years—you vanished without a word. Where did you go? Why did you change your number? Dad still asks about you all the time. I went by your old job; I even checked your house—they all said it was like you’d left the country. So where were you?”

Valentina gave a loud, pointed cough. Behind her, Mel was frantically gesturing.

Yelena shot her boss a brief, annoyed glance, then sighed. “Okay. Fine. Not now. We’ll talk after work, all right?”

She let her hand fall away. But Bob remained frozen, head still bowed, his heart so full it felt like it might burst right out of his chest.

—She still cared about him. She’d gone looking for him. She hadn’t forgotten him all this time. That had to mean—he was special to her, somehow, right?

He felt almost ridiculously close to tears. But none of it mattered anymore. Right here, right now, he believed it was enough.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll talk after work.”

[END]

John:🙄

The link to the original Chinese version on LOFTER:

https://yinyuan4869.lofter.com/post/1d08fcc7_2bea0a932?incantation=rz0wErLAZLiu

Chapter Text

And all my walls stood tall, painted blue

I’ll take them down, take them down

And open up the door for you

And all I feel in my stomach is butterflies

The beautiful kind, making up for lost time

Taking flight making me feel like

I just want to know you better, know you better, know you better now

I just want to know you, know you, know you...

 

Cause all I know is we said hello

And your eyes look like coming home

All I know is a simple name

Everything has changed

All I know is you held the door

You’ll be mine and I’ll be yours

All I know since yesterday

Is everything has changed

*

Bob was woken by the sound of the door closing.

He opened his eyes. The morning sunlight was like melted butter, spread evenly over the soft comforter. From the entryway came the faint sounds of someone moving about. He couldn’t help but smile.

Instantly, he sat up in bed, threw off the covers, and stepped barefoot onto the carpet. He maneuvered around the trash can by the bed and the clothes they’d carelessly tossed on the floor last night, reaching out to push open the bedroom door that had been left ajar.

With a bright grin, he started, “Yelena, you’re back—”

His voice cut off abruptly.

Standing by the door wasn’t Yelena. A red-haired woman was there instead, holding a bulging thermal bag in one hand and a ring of keys in the other. Her eyes met his—equally startled.

Bob felt every drop of blood in his body rush backward. Oh God… This was quite possibly the most mortifying scene he could imagine: stepping out of the bedroom early in the morning, wearing nothing but boxer briefs, and coming face-to-face with his girlfriend’s sister.

His first instinct was to retreat into the bedroom, close the door, and pretend none of this had ever happened. But for some reason, his body wouldn’t move. He stood there frozen, like a petrified statue. The sunlight pouring through the window no longer felt like warm, melted butter. It was more like hellfire, roasting him alive on Satan’s grill.

Natasha looked him up and down, working very hard to keep her tone level. “Bob, what are you doing here?”

He snapped back to himself and stammered, “S-sorry, Yelena—had to go to work.”

“On a Sunday?” Her eyebrow lifted.

“Her boss… called her in. She just left a little while ago…”

“And why didn’t you go with her?” Her voice sliced sharply.

“Me?” Bob blinked. “I don’t have work today… Yelena said I could sleep in…” Then he realized what her question actually meant. “Wait—how do you know—?”

“Of course I know.” Natasha’s eyes somehow managed to cool the bright June air. “I know you’re modeling for Valentina. I follow O.X.E.’s social media. But I didn’t know—” She drew a deep breath and turned her gaze away, taking in the messy apartment. As if hoping to find some clue that might contradict her current suspicion, only to be met with the sad truth: everything pointed to the same conclusion.

She knew the layout of Yelena’s place well. There was only one bed.

“So,” Natasha exhaled again, trying to steady herself, keeping her voice as calm as possible, “you and Yelena—”

“Got back together,” Bob blurted automatically.

“—started dating?” Her question landed at the exact same time.

The air went still once more. Natasha narrowed her eyes and repeated, in a flat voice, “‘Got back together?’”

The early summer sunlight shone down on Bob, but all he felt was a chill. He scrambled to correct himself. “No, not— It’s just, we started dating. We weren’t dating before…”

“Is that so?” Her voice was devoid of inflection. “When did this happen?”

“Just… a few days ago.”

“A few days? And no one thought to give me a heads-up? At least so we could have a meal together.”

Natasha paused, then feigned curiosity. “You do realize my husband and I live only three blocks away, right?”

“We’ve just been… really busy.” Bob wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor.

“Oh, have you now?” Natasha’s tone was icy. Her gaze drifted toward the bedroom behind Bob, where clothes—his T-shirts and Yelena’s pajamas—were scattered on the carpet.

The atmosphere was so frigid it seemed to bite. Bob felt himself start to shiver. Like a schoolboy raising his hand for permission, he asked meekly, “Um, may I… put some clothes on first?”

“OK.” Natasha’s eyes finally left him. “Go ahead.”

She walked straight into the living room, set the thermal bag on the coffee table, and the stacked containers inside knocked gently against the surface, the little thud sounding disturbingly like a nail sealing a coffin for this awkward morning.

*

Bob fumbled around in the kitchen, rinsing cups, boiling water, and pouring tea, all under Natasha’s calm, watchful eyes as she sat composed on the sofa.

With her scrutinizing him like that, there was no way he could sneak off a quick text to Yelena. Stalling clearly wouldn’t work either. So he braced himself and brought the tea into the living room.

Natasha accepted her cup with unhurried grace, took a sip, then set it back on the table. She didn’t invite him to sit, so Bob decided to keep standing. Rootless, he hovered across from her. Natasha lifted her lashes and studied him.

Three years hadn’t changed her at all: the rich wine-red curls, the jewel-green eyes, the feline sharpness in her expression. Bob had never met their mother, but he was certain Melina must have been this exact type.

—Which was to say, completely unlike Yelena. Completely outside his comfort zone.

Out of a primal survival instinct, he’d never tried to play any games when he stayed at Yelena’s place. Natasha, he always suspected, could see straight through him.

The very first time he met Natasha, he’d been reminded of Ava. But soon he realized they were different. They both possessed an unsettling ability to see exactly what he was thinking, but Ava was blunt and never meddled in matters that weren’t hers. Natasha, though—she was different. Her words were always polite, graceful, and beautifully phrased. But you had to understand: you did what she said.

Finally, Natasha spoke.

“So, where were you working these past few years?”

Bob perked up. Maybe this was his chance to prove himself. “I started out in Southeast Asia, that’s where I broke into modeling. Then moved to Western Europe, signed with an agency there. Came back to the States recently, now I’m working with O.X.E.…”

“Traveling so much? Must’ve been wonderful.” Natasha’s lips curved in a smile, but there was no warmth in her eyes. “Our Yelena’s never been anywhere like that.”

Bob instantly shut his mouth.

“Did you know the summer you graduated, Yelena was planning a trip to South America?” Natasha’s tone was almost casual. “She had everything mapped out. I told her she should go visit Mom first, and she actually fought with me over it.”

“I know,” Bob mumbled. He had overheard that argument.

“You know?” Natasha’s smile deepened, turning unreadable. “But I suppose you didn’t know she never made it to South America, did you?”

Cold sweat broke out all over Bob’s back.

“You vanished all of a sudden. She spent the entire summer trying to find you—couldn’t. Nearly filed a police report. Even got me to pull strings with my boss. We practically tore up half of America looking. Never found you. Who would’ve guessed you were off in Southeast Asia?”

“I’m sorry.” Bob felt something heavy settle in his chest, pressing the air from his lungs.

Natasha ignored that and went on, “That whole summer, Yelena did nothing but worry over you. Didn’t look for a proper job. Drank behind my back. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t control her.”

“I’m sorry. Natasha—Mrs. Barnes.” He suddenly realized he didn’t deserve to use her first name anymore, so he quickly switched to a more formal address.

She didn’t even bother acknowledging how he’d switched to calling her “Mrs. Barnes.” Instead, she just tilted her head slightly, studying him.

“So after all that mess, you two are just… fine now?” Her voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was a distinct chill beneath it.

“I’m an asshole,” Bob said heavily.

Natasha’s smile vanished like a raindrop swallowed by the ocean. “When I saw what Yelena looked like back then, I actually had a sit-down with John and Ava, trying to figure out what to do next.” Her tone was calm, matter-of-fact, “I’m very grateful to them. They’ve always been good friends to Yelena. They know when to step in and when to back off.”

Right now, Bob wished the floor would just open up and swallow him whole.

Then Natasha seemed to remember something, speaking lightly, “You know, James was the only one who tried to defend you.”

James? It took Bob a second to realize she meant Bucky. She always called her husband that.

“James said you didn’t mean to. That you ran off because you were hurting so badly. Said you loved Yelena so much it hurt…” She added, “Of course, he didn’t say that to Yelena. She’d never have believed it.”

“It’s true,” Bob blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Oh, is it?” Natasha’s face stayed neutral, her voice light. “Sounds like you and James understand each other pretty well.”

A surprising warmth bloomed in Bob’s chest. “I didn’t think Mr. Barnes would get it. I’m—actually really grateful.” Remembering how he’d once been jealous of Bucky, he felt like the biggest jerk alive.

“Oh, he gets it alright.” There was a sharp, ironic edge to her voice now. “He pulled the same stunt years ago—found a hole to hide in, pretended not to know me. Is that just… a guy thing? You all hurt so much you have to run away?”

The way she said “hurt so much” cut sharper than any knife. Bob went rigid, not daring to say a word. He silently apologized to Bucky; clearly, the man had already absorbed a fair share of Natasha’s wrath on his behalf.

“I really am sorry, Mrs. Barnes,” he rasped.

She shook her head slowly. “I know you must’ve had your reasons, your pain. But my sister? She’s not some superhero. She doesn’t owe it to anyone to save them. For god’s sake—she’s just a little girl!” Her voice took on a stern edge. “Maybe try treating her like a girl once in a while, huh? From what I’ve seen online, you’re pretty popular with young girls, aren’t you?”

“I—”

Natasha held up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not trying to make this harder on you, Bob. But I was furious about what you did. I can’t stand people who run away from their problems—it fixes nothing. So I need you to promise me something. Next time there’s an issue, you talk it out. Can you do that?”

The word “next time” jolted through his foggy brain.

“Yes. Yes, I swear, Mrs. Barnes.”

Some of the tension eased from Natasha’s face. She let out a breath, “Good. Because there can’t be a next time like that. If you’re going to date, then date properly. No more world-shattering drama, alright? New York’s a small place. It can’t handle being turned upside down.”

“I promise,” he said, and meant it with every fiber of his being.

Natasha held his gaze, searching, and seemed to find the sincerity she wanted. She let him go. Turning away, she reached for the thermal bag on the coffee table.

“I brought Yelena some food. Mostly half-prepped stuff, easy for her to take to work for lunch. James made it—I haven’t looked too closely yet. Oh, this is mac and cheese. This one’s pumpkin cream soup. And here’s…”

She looked up, “When Yelena gets busy, she forgets to eat. Will you keep an eye on her for me?”

“Of course, Mrs. Barnes,” Bob said at once.

“You can call me Natasha.”

“Natasha.” He nodded gratefully, thinking he’d never heard her name sound so lovely.

*

When Yelena came home, she didn’t receive the enthusiastic welcome she’d expected. Instead, she found Bob sitting on the sofa, looking utterly dejected and staring off into space.

“What’s wrong with you?” She kicked off her shoes, slipped on her slippers, and walked toward the living room.

Bob turned his head, looked at her with sorrowful eyes, and said, “Natasha was here.”

For the first time in his life, he saw an expression of terror on the fearless Yelena’s face. She staggered, eyes wide. “Oh no… I haven’t told her yet… I was going to wait a bit… It’s all over! Why didn’t you text me?!”

“I didn’t have time…” he said weakly.

Yelena’s expression suddenly turned uncharacteristically serious. “Alright, Bob, given the situation, I have to tell you—Natasha’s got a big problem with you. Not for anything else, just because you disappeared without a word back then. She absolutely despises people who vanish like that.”

“I can imagine,” he said bitterly.

“You can’t imagine it! She was furious, because I wouldn’t stop trying to find you. But she couldn’t bear to yell at me, so she took it out on Bucky instead… Every time Dad brought you up, she’d get this look. Honestly, sometimes I think she wishes she could crack my head open, scoop out all the parts that have anything to do with you, and toss them out…” She let out a dry laugh that wasn’t funny at all. Bob still looked utterly crestfallen.

Yelena immediately grew worried. “Bob, she didn’t make things hard for you, did she?”

“No.” Bob shook his head, his voice hoarse. “I deserved it.”

She couldn’t stand seeing him like this. So she stepped right up to him, opened her arms, and let him rest his head against her chest. Her fingers slid into his soft curls, gently stroking, like she was soothing a big, wounded dog.

“It’s alright,” she murmured. “Just talk to Natasha properly. She’ll come around.”

No, she won’t. She’s not you. That thought stung, but he just closed his eyes and let her comfort him. In a low, slightly choked voice, he said, “I did try to explain.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said we need to talk it out next time there’s an issue.”

“Well, obviously.” Yelena let out a tiny laugh of relief. “Haven’t I been telling you the same thing? Just talk it out. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face deeper against her. The faint lavender scent of laundry soap mixed with her body warmth, seeping right through the fabric and filling his lungs. He breathed in slowly, like he might just melt into her completely, never wanting to move again.

Moments like this—something he’d never dared to hope for in the past—now came so easily.

Turns out, all it really took was learning how to talk about it.

…...

He thought back to the day they reunited. He had promised Yelena they’d talk after work, finding a place to have dinner. He hadn’t expected her to also want to invite John and Ava.

Luckily, they both declined. John said, “Sorry, unlike you two, I’m a man with a happy family. I won’t waste my off-hours having dinner with ‘not-so-close’ coworkers.”

Ava’s reason was much more straightforward: “I don’t eat dinner.”

“Do you really have to squeeze yourself into that outfit?” Yelena frowned. “Dieting like that is unhealthy.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “And what right do you, who doesn’t even eat lunch, have to call me unhealthy?”

“I just forgot—”

“Alright,” Bob quickly cut them off, “then it’ll be just the two of us, Yelena.”

But finding a restaurant didn’t go smoothly either. They’d finished work too late, and any half-decent place had a wait. In the end, Yelena said, “Let’s just go to Shake Shack. I’m hungry.” Her reasoning made Bob give in.

It was like being transported back to college: the noisy fast-food joint, the cramped table, the messy burgers, and the one he loved sitting across from him, gobbling everything up. He stared at her while she focused intently on the food, cheeks puffed out like a hamster. He felt another hopeless rush of affection, so full it almost hurt his heart.

She seemed completely oblivious, starting to chat with him. Mostly asking about the last three years of his life, though he glossed over the bleak, dark parts, and she didn’t pry. When he asked about her, she just shrugged. “Nothing new. Work, you know. You met Valentina—she’s tough. But she pays well, that’s her only redeeming quality.”

“Still, you shouldn’t overwork yourself. You don’t even eat lunch—”

“I just forget.” She defended herself. “I was practically full from John and Ava getting on my nerves at lunch. They found out you were coming and kept circling around, trying to talk to me about you.”

His eyelid twitched. “What did they say?”

“Nothing much.” She shook her cup of lemon soda; the ice clinked. “Oh, you’ll never believe it—John and Ava apparently thought we were dating back in college.”

That familiar dull ache flared up again. “Really?” He tried to sound nonchalant.

“Yeah.” She sipped her soda, then, dissatisfied with the chill, shook the cup again. “So weird, right? Don’t you think?”

Maybe it was because it had been too long since they last saw each other. Or maybe it was because this scene had played out so many times in his fantasies that he couldn’t tell dream from reality anymore. Whatever the reason, he suddenly lost his head and blurted out, “Actually, I wish we had been dating.”

Yelena’s hand stopped mid-shake. She lifted her eyes to look at him.

“Sorry,” he snapped back to his senses, quickly saying, “I know that’s impossible. That’s why I left…” He trailed off, looking downcast.

Yelena blinked, as if only just processing what he’d said. “Bob, if you wanted to date me, you should’ve just said so. I’d have been fine with it. You didn’t have to—” she waved her hand as if physically brushing aside the heavy topic, “anyway, you should’ve told me earlier. I definitely would’ve said yes.”

In that instant, Bob felt like the world had been put on pause. All sounds vanished, and all motion froze, leaving just him and Yelena staring at each other across a small, cluttered table. Her lips moved, a bit of egg yolk sauce from her burger clinging to the corner of her mouth. What was she saying?

“What?” he asked dazedly.

“I said, let’s date,” Yelena stated calmly. “Though honestly, I don’t really know what dating’s supposed to entail. But you can teach me, I can learn. Just… don’t ever disappear without a word again.”

*

Bob didn’t give her even the slightest chance to regret it. Very soon, Yelena found out exactly what dating entailed. And Bob could hardly believe he was the one teaching her these things.

Holding hands meant interlacing their fingers tightly. His fingertips traced between hers, coaxing them to twine until they locked snugly in place. When she instinctively tried to pull back, he simply tightened his grip, pressing his wrist against her quickening pulse, sharing his warmth with her palm.

Hugging meant fitting together seamlessly. He would lean forward, arms slipping under her ribs to close around her back, burying his face in the warm hollow of her neck. He could hear her heart beating clearly in her chest, feel her hands rest on his back, the two of them meshing like perfectly matched puzzle pieces.

Kissing meant complete, undivided focus. He would lower his head, planting slow kisses from her brow down to the bridge of her nose, pausing teasingly at the tip, until he could no longer help himself and captured her lips. His breath came hot and ragged against her mouth, their mingled scent flooding his lungs. One hand cradled the back of her head, keeping her close, silently pleading with her to stay in the moment with him, to finish this kiss with all the care it deserved.

And of course…

That last part was the hardest to keep under control. Whenever Yelena said she was tired, he would rest his head on her bare shoulder, gaze up at her under the moonlight, eyes bright with unshed tears, looking utterly pitiful.

“Do you know?” he whispered. “Every single night these past three years, I thought about you. Sometimes it was so vivid, I wasn’t sure if I was hallucinating. I’m terrified this moment right now might be a hallucination too. I’m scared, Yelena.”

Whenever he said things like that, she always melted. “It’s not a hallucination, Bob.” Her lips found his again—which meant she allowed it.

*

After a few dreamlike days, Bob found himself troubled by a new doubt. Why had things progressed so fast between them after they got back together? How much of Yelena’s response was because she truly, genuinely loved him—like a real couple should—and how much was it simply her way of indulging him, afraid that he might disappear again?

He remembered Yelena’s words about “talk it out,” so one night after dinner, he finally screwed up the courage to ask.

Yelena was curled up on the couch, legs crossed, ice cream tub in hand, digging out scoop after scoop. Between bites, she said, “I won’t lie to you, Bob. It’s both. I do love you—how many more times do you need me to say it? But I also can’t handle you disappearing on me again. It felt like someone ripped a piece right out of my heart. That’s not a feeling I ever want to repeat.”

Hearing that, Bob first felt guilty. But almost immediately after, a quiet, secret thrill unfurled in his chest. He was indispensable to her. In the end, those two reasons weren’t all that different.

*

Now, back to the present—his head was buried against her, soaking in her touch, memories of the morning replaying vividly in his mind. Another question rose up, unbidden.

“I’ve got a question,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Mhm?”

He lifted his head, met her eyes directly, and with all the bravery he’d built up from their promise of “talk it out,” he blurted out, “If it came down to choosing between me and your sister, who would you pick?”

For a heartbeat, Yelena’s face froze. But then she quickly recovered her usual calm. “That’s a ridiculous question. I refuse to answer.”

“Refusing to answer means you’d pick your sister,” he pointed out immediately, sharp as ever.

She let out a long sigh. “Oh, Bob… don’t start.”

“Alright, alright. Forget about your sister.” He gave in gracefully, knowing better than to push too hard. “What if it was just me against the rest of the entire world? Who would you pick then?”

“Bob, how old are you?” she asked.

“You’d pick me, right? Come on, say it.”

“I would. Of course I would.”

“That’s good.” He settled right back into her arms, nuzzling like a contented puppy, his soft curls tickling her skin—a smug, overgrown, utterly spoiled puppy.

“Let’s have dinner with Natasha and Bucky sometime,” he suggested suddenly. “I’d really like to talk to Bucky… I hardly ever did before.”

“Alright.” She idly ran her fingers through his hair, then suddenly paused, suspicious. “Talk to him about what?”

“Oh, nothing much… this and that,” he said obediently, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

[END]

Bucky: 🤨

The link to the original Chinese version on LOFTER:

https://yinyuan4869.lofter.com/post/1d08fcc7_2bea93591?incantation=rzskIz1TYFTY