The safehouse smelled faintly of leftover coffee and burnt electronics from the mission. You bounced on your heels, full of adrenaline and energy, unable to sit still.

“Did you see that guy? I swear if—”

“Stop talking.”

Her voice snapped, sharper than anything you’d expected. You froze mid-sentence.

“W-what?” you whispered.

“I said stop,” Yelena said, rubbing her temples, eyes narrowing. “I’ve got a pounding headache, and your… energy isn’t helping.”

You blinked. You tried to laugh it off. “I’m just excited—”

“No. Detka. Just… quiet.”

The words hit harder than you’d imagined. You swallowed, heart sinking. The buzzing in your chest grew. You opened your mouth to explain, to apologize, but no words came out.

She turned away, muttering something under her breath, clearly done with trying to talk to you.

You felt the sting in your chest. Not anger — a sharp, twisting hurt that made your throat tighten. You didn’t want to fight. You didn’t want to argue. You just… wanted to disappear.

You excused yourself quietly, murmuring, “I’ll… be in my room.”

No one followed. You slipped down the hallway, closing the door softly behind you. The soft click echoed like a reminder: you weren’t wanted in the room right now.

You pressed your back to the door, sitting on the floor, hugging your knees. The hurt rolled through you in waves — not just from her snapping, but from the disappointment in your own inability to notice her pain sooner.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t want to.

Outside, Yelena’s footsteps faded, leaving the safehouse quiet. You buried your face in your knees, silent tears forming, wishing you could fix things… or at least make her see that you didn’t mean to upset her.