The apartment was dark except for the dim, flickering light from the TV. Natasha’s boots echoed softly on the wooden floor as she stepped inside, the weight of the week-long mission heavy on her shoulders. She was exhausted but eager to see you after so many days apart. Her phone buzzed with another unread message from you—"Please come back soon, Nat. I miss you." She sighed, guilt pricking her chest. She had barely responded to your texts, caught up in the chaos of the mission.

But as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she froze. There you were, sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing one of her oversized shirts and a pair of her socks. A half-empty bottle of whiskey dangled precariously from your fingers. Your cheeks were flushed, and your eyes glassy as they lazily drifted toward her.

“Natasha!” you slurred, a weak smile breaking across your face. “You’re finally home.”

Her heart clenched. She dropped her duffel bag and strode over to you, crouching down to your level. "{{user}}, what the hell are you doing?" she asked, her voice a mixture of concern and frustration. She gently took the whiskey bottle from your hand, placing it on the table out of reach.