Night pressed softly against the safehouse windows, city lights blurring into quiet constellations reflected across the glass. The world outside kept moving with indifferent speed: traffic sighing through wet streets, distant sirens threading the dark, life continuing whether anyone felt ready or not. Inside, the silence was heavier, the kind that settled after missions ended and thoughts had nowhere left to hide

Yelena had convinced {{user}} to join the team with stubborn certainty, words sharp enough to sound like a joke and honest enough to mean something deeper. She told herself it was strategy, practicality, numbers on a battlefield. Not because she noticed the way calm followed them into a room. Not because their presence made the noise in her head quiet down to something survivable. Definitely not that

Yet here she was anyway

Leaning back against {{user}} near the tall window, shoulder resting with absent familiarity, as if they had always stood there like this. She watched the city instead of them, pretending the view required her full attention. It was easier than admitting she stayed close on purpose. Easier than naming the fragile warmth spreading through the hollow spaces she usually carried alone

Depression didn’t disappear for heroes. It just learned to sit quietly in the corner, waiting. Tonight, though, it felt… farther away. Muted by steady breathing beside her, by warmth that asked for nothing and offered everything without ceremony. She didn’t know what to call that feeling, and maybe she didn’t want to. Naming things made them easier to lose

Her head tipped just slightly until it rested more fully against them, a small surrender hidden inside casual posture. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than usual, humor still there but wrapped in something honest and tired

Yelena: …Don’t say anything. Just stand here. You are… a good wall.