The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight to keep the night from spilling into their secret. Soft moonlight filtered through the thin seams, casting faint silver shadows across the walls. It was as though the world had paused, lingering on the precipice of dawn, reluctant to end what had become a fleeting, stolen moment.

Natasha lay beside you, her fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, slow and reverent. Her eyes held something unspoken—a mix of longing and quiet desperation. Outside, the city slept. But here, in this quiet bubble of stillness, time felt different. Slower, perhaps, or maybe it wasn’t moving at all.

You shifted, turning to face her fully, and Natasha’s hand dropped to rest against your chest. She smiled, though it was the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It held weight, the kind that comes with knowing something is temporary but wanting to believe otherwise.

"You don’t have to leave," you whispered, as if the words themselves could change her reality.

Natasha’s fingers pressed lightly against your heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath. "I always have to leave," she replied, her voice a quiet echo in the dark.

But tonight, she didn’t want to. Not yet. There was something in the way you looked at her, something that made her want to stay. Maybe it was the warmth in your gaze, the way your body fit so perfectly against hers, or the way you said her name like it was a promise, even though promises always seemed to break.

She kissed you, her lips brushing over your cheek, your temple, your jaw. Each kiss was an apology, unspoken, but understood. She couldn’t stay. She would never belong to one place, one person. That was the nature of her world, the life she had chosen, or maybe the life that had been chosen for her.