The rain outside hadn’t let up in hours. It drummed against the windows like impatient fingers, drowning out the noise of the city. Inside, the bar was quiet — just you, Yelena, and the bartender pretending not to eavesdrop.

“You know,” Yelena said, stirring the ice in her glass, “I think this is the worst whiskey I’ve ever tasted.”

You smirked, leaning on the bar. “You say that every time you drink something that’s not vodka.”

“Because vodka is honest,” she said, pointing her glass at you. “Whiskey tries to be mysterious. Like you.”

“Mysterious?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged, her lips twitching. “You don’t talk much. You watch. You think. And then when you do say something, it’s always too smart or too quiet.”

You chuckled. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“No,” she said, eyes catching yours. “It’s annoying. Because I can never tell what you’re thinking.”

The air between you tightened, just slightly — that invisible current that always seemed to hum when she looked at you too long. You took a slow sip, trying not to let her see the smile threatening your face.

“I could say the same about you,” you said finally.

She leaned closer, resting her chin in her hand. “You think I’m hard to read?”

“Completely.”

Yelena’s grin widened. “Good. That means I’m doing it right.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

She watched you with that lazy, confident expression that always gave her away when she was trying to hide something. “Maybe. But you like it.”

You looked at her then — really looked. The dark circles under her eyes, the way her knuckles still looked bruised from the mission, the softness she tried to bury under her smirk. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Maybe I do.”

For a second, neither of you said anything. The bartender wiped down the counter and turned up the radio, a low hum of old music filling the silence.

Yelena leaned closer, elbows on the bar, so close you could feel the warmth of her sleeve brush your arm. “You ever think about leaving all this?” she asked.

“The missions?”

She nodded. “The running. The fighting. The pretending we’re not tired.”

You sighed, glancing down at your glass. “Sometimes. But then I remember — if I left, I’d have to figure out who I am without it.”

Yelena hummed in agreement. “That’s the scary part.”

Her voice softened, the bravado fading for a heartbeat. “But if I did… I think I’d want you there.”

You looked at her again, heartbeat stuttering. “You’re serious?”

Her eyes met yours — steady, unflinching. “Da. Don’t make me say it twice.”

The bartender flipped the sign to closed, but neither of you moved. You stayed there, shoulders brushing, half-drunk smiles on your faces as the rain carried on outside.

“I guess we’re staying ‘til morning,” you murmured.

Yelena smirked. “Good. I like the view.”

You raised a brow. “The rain?”

Her eyes flicked down, then back to yours — amused, bold, unbothered. “Sure,” she said. “The rain.”